Page 52 of The Emerson Effect
There was no acting. No embellishment.
That was as honest a reaction as there ever was.
The video cuts off abruptly, and holy shit, it’s perfect. I couldn’t have scripted a better ending if I tried. Opening BingBang, I cobble the videos together and add some music at a low volume. Watching it all together, I’m happy with the result, so I post it, making sure to tag Twila.
Grinning, I grab my flip-flops from the suitcase and drop them to the floor so I can slip my feet into them. Then, I head out to the common area to wait for Twila. I’m enjoying the view of the crowded strip when I hear her door slide open. Turning toward her, any words I might’ve said die on my lips at the first sight of her.
She looks like a vision in a teal bikini that makes her tanned skin glow. A white sarong covers her from low on her waist to mid-thigh, and my mouth waters at the thought of her taking it off to reveal more skin out in the bright Nevada sunshine.
“Emerson, your video is perfection,” she gushes, apparently not noticing my stunned silence. Her smile turns into an adorable pout as she goes on. “I’m so mad I didn’t get a reaction shot of seeing you for the first time like you did. It’ssogood.”
“Thanks,” I say, finding my voice, at last.
“Here’s mine,” she says, approaching with her phone gripped in her hand.
It’s incredibly similar to mine, but her last shot is of the strip. It needs a better ending.
“I guess I could fake a reaction in the lobby,” she says, her tone revealing she doesn’t particularly like the idea.
“What if you get a shot of your hand slipping into mine?” I ask, the idea coming to me suddenly. “We could film it in the hall.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s a good idea.”
“I do have those every once in a while,” I say with false offense, and she giggles.
“You have all the best ideas,” she says quietly, and pride swells in my chest.
“You ready to go?” I croak, then clear my throat.
“Yeah,” she says, motioning to the large bag hanging on one shoulder. “I have sunblock, some water bottles, and my sunglasses. Oh, and the room key. Do you need to add anything?”
“I didn’t bring any sunblock,” I say. “I forgot.”
“It’s okay. You can use mine.”
“Thanks,” I say, dropping my sunglasses and phone into the bag as she holds it open.
We step out into the hall, which is well-lit enough for Twila to film the ending of her video. After a brief discussion, she films a couple of seconds of my outstretched hand before slowly slipping her palm against mine and twining our fingers together. We squeeze tightly, making our knuckles white with the effort before she ends the shot.
I watch over her shoulder as she reviews it, and my mind wanders away from the technical aspects as I muse over how good our hands look together. How warm her palm was against mine. How my heart skipped a beat despite the preparation and planning we put into the move.
“It looks good, right?” she asks, and I snap back to the present.
“Yeah. Really good,” I murmur.
She smiles and takes a couple of minutes to add the video to the ones of her drive up. She adds music and some text overlayabout her excitement. She shows me the final product, and I give her an approving nod. Her grin widens as she tags me and posts it to BingBang.
Closing the app and dropping her phone into the bag, she meets my eyes. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” I say, then we fall into step beside each other as we head for the bank of elevators.
And, God, it’s a battle to keep my hand from slipping back into hers.
I’m fighting so hard against it, I almost jerk away when she takes the lead and slides her hand into mine. I glance over at her, and she shrugs.
“Just in case, right?” she asks. “We could be seen, and we need to keep up appearances.”
“Right,” I say, unable to stop my fingers from tightening around hers. “Appearances.”
