Page 22 of The Emerson Effect
“Yep,” I say, turning my phone screen around so he can see the numbers.
“That’s crazy. I never would’ve guessed that many people would be so invested in a stranger’s secret crush. It’s bizarre, don’t you think? I mean, it’s not like you see someone at the grocery store and start obsessing over who he or she might be crushing on.”
“Social media is a strange place,” I agree, then shrug. “But it pays the bills. And if my videos keep going like this, I could get some influencer deals and start really bringing in some money.”
“And pay Kennedy’s college tuition,” he says quietly, and I nod.
“And her books and anything else she needs.”
Ritchie breathes deep, then blows it out slowly. “I get it. And I’ll remind the twins why this is so important. We’ll lay off the guilt trips…for a while.”
“Thanks, man,” I say, tapping my fist against the one he holds out before he heads for the stairs to go shower and change.
I check the numbers on the video again, and pleasure and excitement zip through me. I’m sure Twila is watching, too, and I suddenly want to see her face so we can gush over our success together. Pushing off the couch, I jog up the stairs to the privacy of my bedroom so I can initiate a video chat.
“Have you seen it?” I ask the second her face pops up on my screen, bypassing a traditional greeting.
“Hello to you, too,” she says, calling me out for it.
“Sorry. Hi. Have you seen it?”
She laughs, and something warm bursts open in my chest.
“I’ve been refreshing your page every thirty seconds for the last few hours,” she admits, and that warmth in my chest expands to the rest of my body.
“It’s crazy, right?”
“Unbelievable,” she says, her tone as enthusiastic as mine. She seems to catch herself, then dims her smile and clears her throat. “It’s great, Emerson.”
“It’s freakingstupendous, Twila,” I shoot back.
“Astonishing,” she counters.
“Fantabulous,” I say.
“That’s not a real word,” she says with narrowed eyes.
“Oh, is that a challenge?” I ask. “If you challenge it, and I win, you lose your turn.”
“This isn’tScrabble,” she says, and delight ripples through me that she caught the reference. It’s my favorite game, and obviously, she’s familiar with the rules.
I watch as she looks to her left, reading something, then flinches. Looking back at her phone screen she huffs.
“Fine. You win. It’sfantabulous.”
“Yes,” I say in a whisper-shout as I pump a fist in the air.
“You’re such a child,” she grumps, but I can see the twinkle in her eyes.
And, fuck, I need to be careful, or this fake crush is going to evolve into a full-blown real one.
THIRTEEN
Twila
Emerson’s excitement is contagious, but there’s a little voice in my head telling me I need to rein it in. Maybe it’s realism. Maybe it’s pessimism. Hell, maybe it’s fear.
This idea might seem to be working, but this is still the guy that spent the last year or so mocking my videos for his own gain. Even if it was “just business,” I can’t let myself slip into thinking this could be an actual friendship. This plan we’re enactingisjust business.
