Page 14 of The Emerson Effect
“Fine, I’ll go.”
“Yes,” Mason says, holding up a fist for me to bump.
I give him what he wants then brush past him so I can go up to my room to get ready. I’m still not loving the idea, but it’s a necessary evil. If I don’t distract myself somehow, I’m going to go insane.
The club is bumping,the people are beautiful, and the drinks are strong.
But all I can do is stand in the corner and stare at my phone, willing Twila to message me back. This little outing did nothing to get my mind off her and our potential agreement, and I really don’t want to be here anymore.
“Hey, there. I’m Bianca.”
I lift my gaze from the screen to give the stranger a brisk nod, then look right back down as I refresh the BingBang app for the umpteenth time in the last hour. I vaguely hear a huff, but I ignore it as the screen refreshes and there’s still no response from Twila.
“Dude.”
I look up and actually focus when I recognize that voice. Ritchie is staring at me with an incredulous expression as he shakes his head.
“What?”
“That girl was smoking hot,” he says.
“What girl?” I ask, looking around to see who he’s talking about.
“The girl you just ignored when she tried to talk to you, E.”
I shrug and shake my head. Sure, I know a woman just introduced herself to me, and I was probably rude as fuck, but I told him and Stone what I told Mason in the kitchen earlier––I have zero interest in picking anyone up or even enjoying a little harmless flirting. Even if not a single soul in this club knows who I am.
I’m hyper-fixated on this possible collaboration with Twila, and I won’t do anything to fuck it up. If she ever gets back to me and agrees to it, that is.
Sighing, I shove my phone into my pocket and clap Ritchie on the back. “I’m going to take off, man.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m just not feeling it. Tell the twins I said bye, and I’ll order a ride.”
“All right. Fine,” he grumps, and I laugh.
“I’ll see you in the morning…if you sleep at home, that is.”
He grins at the prospect of sleeping elsewhere, then holds up a fist for me to bump. I knock mine against it, then jerk my chin up in a goodbye before walking away. I zigzag through the maze of people––this place really is more crowded than I expected for a Wednesday night––and push through the door. The midnight air is cool after the crush and heat of the club, and I pause to take a few deep breaths.
I order a car, then lean against the building to wait. About thirteen seconds pass before I open the BingBang app to see if Twila has messaged yet.
She hasn’t. Shocker.
I know this is a good idea, and I know it will give us both a boost. Hell, if she says no, I could just propose it to any of the other creators being tagged inMargarita-Gate, and surely, oneof them would agree. It could be a hell of a lot easier than all this waiting and fretting over Twila.
But the mere thought of asking someone else just feels wrong. No. This started with her, and it needs to end with her, one way or another.
My phone chimes to alert me that my car is approaching, and I nearly jump out of my skin, thinking it’s Twila reaching out.Jesus.I really am hyper-fixated on her.
A car pulls up, and I greet the driver as he calls out my name. Climbing into the back, I shove my phone into my pocket and attempt to make small talk with the man. To think of somethingelse.
Because, you know, a watched pot never boils.
NINE
Twila
