Page 35 of The Emerson Effect
“I am,” he says, and his tone is sure and solid. “Are you?”
I swallow thickly as I nod. “I am.”
“You should like the video, itself, too. Do you have your likes set to public?”
“I think so,” I say slowly. “But I’ll check to make sure.”
“Only if you feel comfortable with it, Twila,” he says quickly. “I don’t want this thing to invade your privacy any more than it already has.”
There’s an honest edge to his voice, and I know he means it. He won’t push me beyond my comfort level to make this plan a success, and his concern makes my insides warm.
I was so wrong about him before we got to know each other. He’s not a user or an opportunist.
He’s a good guy.
“I’m fine with it,” I assure him. “If my likes aren’t already public, I have no problem making them that way. I’ve got nothing to hide…well, except this.”
I motion between my phone and me where Emerson can see it. He laughs, then sobers quickly.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I say, and he grins.
“One more breadcrumb to lead them down the right path,” he murmurs.
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t end with us getting shoved into an oven so they can swallow us whole,” I reply, and a dimple pops out as he smirks. My breath catches, and I hide it behind a forced chuckle before adding, “I should go. Call me later?”
“Of course,” he says. “Bye, Twila Greene.”
“Bye, Emerson House,” I whisper, and he winks just before he ends the call.
I take a deep breath and blow it out harshly. I really don’t want to think about how complicated this thing is getting with my burgeoning feelings, so I push any romantic thoughts away and focus on business.
I like the comment that put two of our puzzle pieces together, then like the post, itself. Navigating to my profile, I set my likes to public––theywereprivate, after all––then I close the app. I can’t just sit here and stare at it while I wait. It’ll drive me crazy.
But damn, my heart is pounding.
Is this what bungee jumping feels like? Barreling toward the ground at dangerous speeds while praying fervently that the cord holds and the backlash isn’t too violent?
Taking my phone with me while vowing not to open BingBang for a while, I head upstairs to take a shower. I need to calm down and try to get some work done without obsessing over this whole thing. After my shower, I put on a pretty sundress and set my ring light up in the bathroom.
I got a free sample of a new tinted moisturizer that is supposed to shrink pores, cover imperfections, and protect from UV rays all while looking invisible to give you a fresh-faced, make-up free appearance.
It seems like a tall order, but I’m hopeful. A blind reaction video is perfect for trying something new, and if it works like it’s supposed to? If it works, the video will be gold, and I’ll probably get a sponsorship offer. If it doesn’t work or just looks bad, I can scrap the video and pretend I never made it. That’s the beauty of the free samples I receive––no real commitment.
I set my camera to record and talk as I apply the moisturizer. It gives my skin a nice, smooth glow, and I let my surprise at how great it works show in my expression. I don’t overplay it too much, because I want my reaction to look genuine, and it is. This stuff is really good.
After I finish filming, I pop the video into my drafts folder. I’ll edit and upload it later, and hopefully, end up with a new sponsorship deal.
Then, I take my phone with me back into the bedroom and sit on the edge of my mattress. Holding my breath, I open the app and navigate to the notifications page.
Holy shit.
I have hundreds of notifications. It’s only been, what? And hour? Maybe?
Most of them lead me to Emerson’s video, so I tap one and scroll through the comments. I can practically hear the squealing as girlies gush over my “likes” and the assumed confirmation that I’m the one Emerson is crushing on. The commenter who’s comment I liked has posted her own video showing a screenshot of the notification that I gave her guess a heart, taking it as confirmation that I know for a fact I’m the girl. That video has gone viral, as well.
This is it. It’s getting real, now, and I really hope the bungee cord holds.
