Love, Comment, Subscribe by Cathy Yardley

CHAPTER 11

Tobin was dragging ass by the time he found Lily’s condo. In a combination of his ADHD time blindness, his underestimation of LA traffic, and the stupid-long drive-through line at In-N-Out, he was almost an hour late, and cranky as hell. As he parked in a ridiculously small visitor parking space at her building, he realized he just wanted to talk to Lily about how they might work together, maybe sketch a couple of ideas out, and come to an agreement on working together. Then he wanted to drive the hell home and get some sleep.

Ifthey could come to an agreement, he thought with a scowl. Despite Bastian’s obvious enthusiasm for their partnership, he still wasn’t sold on this being a good idea.

What the hell do a gamer and a beauty influencer have in common, anyway?

He’d grabbed burgers, fries, and shakes. He was pretty sure she still ate burgers. He probably should’ve asked. Oh well. Too late now.

He took the elevator up to nearly the top level, then found her door, knocking awkwardly since his hands were full. The door opened.

“Hey, Lils, sorry I’m . . .”

He stopped abruptly as he took her in.

She was wearing a black skirt that was all skinny fitting, a pair of black high heels, and a sleeveless white top that had one of those swoopy-material necks. Cowl neck? Was that a thing? Her hair was up in a bun, with little sexy wisps of curls coming out. As always, her makeup was like something out of a movie: her lips were painted a deep red that somehow looked darker in the center, like a rosebud, and her eyes looked unbelievably huge.

She looked like somebody who negotiated soul contracts, he realized. And abruptly understood why a person might actually sign those things if someone like her was offering the pen.

She smiled at him, her eyebrow quirking up. “You’re sorry you’re . . . ?”

“Late,” he finished, then realized . . . “Oh, shit. You thought we were going out to dinner, didn’t you?”

And here he was, wearing scrubby clothes and holding a sack full of fast food. Strangely, though he hadn’t been embarrassed at all at the fancy lunch place where he’d met his agents, he now stood in Lily’s condo entryway, utterly mortified.

“I’m guessing we’re not, then?” she said, and her cheeks pinkened.

“No! I mean . . .” He looked at the food he was holding. “I can just . . .”

“No, this is fine. Actually, it’s probably better if we talk here. We can hear each other, for one thing,” she said, kicking off her shoes and picking them up. “Also, I’ve got all my stuff, and it’ll be easier to write things down.”

He nodded, then toed off his own shoes out of habit, putting them under the bench by the door. Just like he always had at her family’s house when they were kids.

“C’mon,” she said. “Let me put these in my closet; then I’ll give you the grand tour.”

He let out a low whistle. Her place was nice. It probably cost twice what his place did, and his was a single-family house. Granted, Ponto Beach wasn’t exactly Los Angeles, but it was still kind of beach adjacent. All her appliances were gleaming stainless steel. She had a long oak table in the dining area. He set the food down, then continued exploring. She had a set of black sofas in the living room, some framed paintings, some plants out on the balcony that he could see through sliding glass doors. In the corner of the loft, she’d obviously set up an office: a large desk, with several boards, all posted with neatly written notes, pictures, and surprisingly artistic doodles. “Is this where you record?” he called out.

“No,” she said, from the doorway of the room she’d disappeared into. “I record here, in my bedroom. Want to see my setup?”

His body tightened, and he blinked. “Um . . . sure?”

Gingerly, he peeked in. Sure enough, there was Lily Wang’s bedroom. She had a queen-size bed, he’d guess, looking like something out of an interior design catalog . . . a deep-gray quilt with shiny silver pillows, tons of them. Matching nightstands on either side with sleek stainless lamps, and a black lacquer dresser. It all looked sophisticated, even sexy—much like Lily herself.

Which was honestly the last thing he needed to think about Lily, in herbedroom, for God’s sake.

He forced himself to focus. The walls, on the other hand, were the dark industrial gray of noise-canceling egg crate. He was well acquainted with the stuff, since he used plenty himself. She had a nice camera, he noted with professional interest. “You’ve got good equipment,” he said, his voice slightly husky. Which was ridiculous.

“The acoustics suck in the main room,” she said with a shrug as she closed her closet door. “Although the light’s better out there, so I still do some filming there—shows off the makeup better. I do fashion stuff out there, too, and I take almost all my Instagram pictures on the balcony.”

He nodded, feeling himself getting back into the groove as they left the bedroom and headed back to the food. At least he wasn’t grumpy anymore. “You sure you’re okay with burgers?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.”

“Sure. I haven’t had In-N-Out in forever,” she said, shaking her head. “Although my trainer is probably going to scream at me when she finds out.”

“You’ve got a trainer, huh? I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “Your body is insane.”

The two of them blinked.

“I mean that in the most respectful, my-goodness-you-look-healthy way possible,” he added immediately. “How about I shove a burger in my mouth before I say anything else horribly inappropriate?”

“No, no,” she said, but the pink was still up on her cheeks. She sent him a look under her long eyelashes—which was not an expression he understood until he stood there and watched her do it. “Thanks? I mean, I just try to stay healthy. You know my Dad has, um, heart issues. Also, I find that exercise helps my energy levels, and let’s face it, posting three videos a week? Can be kind of tiring.”

“Exactly,” he said as they sat down at the kitchen table. “My doctor said that exercise helped with my ADHD . . . increases my concentration for the stuff I’d otherwise want to ignore and keeps my attitude positive. Also helps me stay motivated.” He handed her a burger, then held up the shakes, asking, “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Vanilla,” she said, and he grinned.

“Does not surprise me.” He handed over the shake, smiling as she frowned.

“Why?” She took a sip—or rather tried to take a sip . . . the thing was thick—and then glared at him. “You think I’m boring? Vanilla?”

“No,” he said, taking his own attempted sip of his shake. Then he gestured to her. “Chocolate doesn’t go with your outfit.”

She pulled back in surprise, then shook her head. “You are so weird.”

“That does bring up a point,” he said, digging into his burger. “I am weird. My content is weird. If we’re gonna work together, you’re going to have to be okay with that.”

She wrinkled her nose, studying her burger. “Did you get this animal style?”

He grinned. “Is there another way to eat it?”

She sighed. “Hold on a second.” Then she got up, disappearing back into the bedroom and shutting the door. When she emerged, she was wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts frayed around the hem and a T-shirt that had the name of some promotional party on it. “Sorry,” she said, when he looked at her curiously. “I was all geared up for a business meeting, but no way was I going to get a bunch of onions and burger sauce on a silk blouse.”

“Smart move,” he agreed. It was a little jarring to see her in full makeup with the casual clothes—but that said, she still looked good.

Real talk, though. Did the woman ever not look good?

He cleared his throat after taking another large bite. “But this brings up another point,” he said. “My content, my work style, is messy. And there’s the little problem of us driving each other nuts.”

“You drive me nuts,” she said, taking a much more delicate bite of her burger and rolling her eyes. “Deliberately. Gleefully. Without remorse. I don’t drive you nuts.”

“Oh, you don’t?” He tilted his head at her. “What about that time we had to work on that paper on The Grapes of Wrath junior year, and you went to war with me over copyedits until I wanted to pitch you out a window?”

“I was being thorough,” she countered, her dark-brown eyes flaring wide. “If it were up to you, you wouldn’t even hit spell-check.”

“You argued with me for half an hour,” he pointed out. “Over a semicolon versus a colon. You made me look it up in the Chicago Manual of Style AND the MLA, after frickin’ Strunk and White! It was a high school essay! Who does that?”

“Things just need to be done the right way,” she said, and he could hear the edge of stubbornness in her voice. They ate in silence for a minute. He finished his burger, then turned to dunk his fries in his shake. Mmm. She rolled her eyes again, noticing his actions.

“There is no style guide for what we do,” he said, hoping that she understood how serious he was being. “Which is why I initially thought this was a bad idea.”

“What changed your mind?”

“My agents,” he admitted. “They think it could help me go mainstream a bit more. Also, my channel needs a little shaking up.”

Also, they think you’re smokin’ hot, and that would only help.

He grimaced. No. Not gonna bring that up. Nope.

“My channel definitely needs shaking up,” she said, her tone rueful. “And you’re right: I’ve been a little too . . . rigid. I need to figure out how to be more creative. I’m hoping you can help me with that.”

He swallowed the fry he’d been chewing. “How do you want this to work?”

“I’m thinking six videos . . .”

“Six?”he yelped. She ignored him.

“Three on my channel, three on yours,” she continued. “Plenty of cross promo between us. The stuff on my channel could be more like my brand, I guess, only with your twist on it? And the stuff on your channel . . . I don’t know. Whatever you want to put on your channel, I guess.”

Tobin frowned. “If it’s on my channel,” he warned, “then it’s going to be my content. My house, my rules. Are you seriously okay with that?”

He saw a cloud of concern pass over her features, before she nodded with resolve.

“I can do that.”

“And maybe we ought to do one video, and see how it goes,” he added, feeling nerves knot in his stomach.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said. “But okay. One video to start. Your channel, just to show you I can be okay with all of this and not kill you. Deal?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered, and she grinned.

“We’ll be fine, Han. You’ll see. What kind of content did you have in mind?”

He should’ve figured she’d get the Star Wars reference, and he reluctantly grinned back. Rule freak or not, beauty guru or not, she was still a Nerd Herd member.

“I didn’t have much on the slate,” he admitted. “Just some game playthroughs. I didn’t even have any silly sketches written up for the month.”

Because I’ve been totally creatively blocked.

“I don’t really game anymore,” she admitted. “Don’t have the time, and I tend to get a little obsessive when I do play. Maybe I could do something, a playthrough, with you?”

He started to protest that it wouldn’t necessarily be that exciting—his viewers liked to see him matched against equally dominant players, or else doing crazy stuff or hacks in game. Watching a noob play, pretty girl or not, was probably not going to be all that interesting . . . and it probably wasn’t going to look good, from a feminist optics standpoint, for a pretty girl to look like a novice at video gaming. He had too many women gamer friends who would kill him for inadvertently pushing such a damaging stereotype. If there was a way around . . .

He jolted, struck by an idea like a bolt of lightning.

“I know just the game we can play,” he murmured, then grinned. “Can you come down to my place? Friday or Saturday? We’ll film then.”

“Friday,” she said, nodding. “Saturday I’ll be filming and editing my own stuff. What were you planning on doing?”

“It’s a surprise, if I can pull it off,” he said.

And that was the question: Could he pull it off? Because it would either be hysterically funny . . . or she really, truly would murder him.

Either way, he thought with a grin, it would be epic.