Love, Comment, Subscribe by Cathy Yardley
CHAPTER 21
“How are you doing over there?” Tobin asked tentatively, glancing over at Lily in the passenger seat as they headed back to his place. He hadn’t meant to stay at Asad and Freddie’s for quite so long. Obviously, had he been on his own, he would’ve hung out for as long as the party went on—he’d been over there until four in the morning before, playing Call of Duty or even Cards Against Humanity. Hell, he’d crashed over on their couch or their floor before, when the games had gone late. But he’d told Lily that they wouldn’t stay too long . . . that they were going to work on the video. That he’d find some kind of inspiration or motivation once he shook out the cobwebs and hung out with friends.
Ordinarily, that would be the case. He’d started to feel the subtle claws of desperation digging in, though, as the night grew later and he still didn’t have a single damned idea. He didn’t want to open it up for discussion, like he had with Josh and Asad back at the Belly Up. That had only made him more frustrated. But now he was creatively empty and starting to feel anxious that he might be completely out of luck. Only this time it was worse—because Lily was counting on him.
He found himself really not wanting to disappoint her.
“I’m fine,” she said with a drowsy smile in her voice. “It was fun. I should hang out with friends more.”
His eyebrows went up at this. “Do you not have friends in LA?”
“Oh, I do! I do,” she quickly clarified, and he realized she was a tiny bit tipsy. “But . . . um, they’re other YouTubers. And they’re lovely, wonderful people, don’t get me wrong. But . . . you know. We don’t just hang out and have fun. We’re usually talking stats or talking shop, or . . . I don’t know. Talking about other influencers. That kind of thing.”
He nodded. That world could get really insular, really fast. “I like hanging out with Shawn—Skeptic Sketcher—but I like hanging out with my other friends too. And I know it probably seems weird, all us townies still hanging out ten years later. But I’ve liked staying in touch.”
“I should have stayed in touch more,” Lily said, a little mournfully. Then she perked up. “I’m gonna go to the reunion in two weeks, though! I told Emily I would. I missed Emily.”
“She missed you too,” Tobin said as they pulled into his driveway. “Um . . . I hate to say this, but I don’t think you should be driving.”
She let out a deep sigh. “I agree,” she said. “Honestly, I wasn’t planning on going back to LA this late anyway, especially if we haven’t, you know, filmed anything.”
Guilt hit him like a slap. “I’m really sorry about that,” he said. “I know I told you . . .”
She waved a hand at him, stumbling ever so slightly on the way to his front door. “Whatever. We’ll just start early tomorrow, huh?”
He felt relief at the reprieve. “Sure thing. I’ll set an alarm.”
She blinked heavily at him. “Guess I ought to get a Lyft, find a hotel.”
The relief fled, and guilt hit him twice as hard. “I’m not . . . you don’t have to get a hotel. Christ’s sake, it’s, like, one thirty in the morning,” he said. “I’ve got a spare room—you can crash there, and we’ll get going early tomorrow. Okay?”
She nodded. “Sure,” she said, the slightest slide of slurring in her voice; then she grinned at him. “I can’t believe I’m sleeping at your house.”
“You and me both,” he said.
“You got something I can sleep in?” she said. “Since I wasn’t planning on staying somewhere tonight, I didn’t bring anything.”
He blinked. “I . . . um. Sure.” He went to his bedroom and rummaged in the drawers until he pulled out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He handed them over to her and pointed her to the bathroom, the location of which she knew perfectly well. “You can, um, shower if you want?”
She shrugged. “Sleepy,” she announced, then went into the bathroom and shut the door.
He quickly went to the spare bedroom. He hadn’t been in there in a while. That fact became abundantly clear when he opened the door, turned on the light . . . and then winced. He’d been doing videos for some time, with a surprising number of props. One included about a thousand rubber ducks in various sizes—which he’d stored here, in big plastic bins, meaning to eventually repurpose in another video. He also had a surprising array of plush animals and hand puppets, some sent by fans, some that he’d gotten for various skits. There was a large Hula-Hoop and a five-foot-tall stuffed teddy bear. There was even part of a skateboard ramp. He tried clearing the way to the room’s bed, a futon that was currently upright in a couch position. The mattress was harder than he remembered, and the whole thing was covered in dust and a disturbing amount of LEGO.
Getting new sheets and clearing all this off was going to take a while, he realized, aghast.
“I’m supposed to sleep in here?” Lily’s voice came from the doorway, filled with amusement.
“I’d kinda forgotten about all this crap,” he admitted, then turned and just about swallowed his tongue. “You’re . . . um. Not wearing the shorts?” he squeaked.
She shrugged. “They were these huge basketball shorts, and they kept falling off my waist,” she said matter-of-factly. “The shirt’s long anyway.”
Lily Wang had perfect legs, he realized. Like, stunning, curvy, long-limbed legs. Her figure was slight, but pixieish and graceful. She had her hair pulled back, her face damp and clean.
“You know,” he mused, “I don’t think I’ve seen you without makeup since junior year at Ponto High.”
She shot him an exaggerated frown. “Be very careful what you say next,” she said. “Because if you say that you think I look better with the makeup, I’m going to be annoyed. And if you act like all girls look better without makeup, I’m going to probably be pissed too.”
He chuckled. She was so funny—especially when she was being honest and put her filter away. He’d known that, even back in school. It was probably why he was such an ass all the time, pricking at her to get a response. “Honestly, I think you look good either way.”
She narrowed her eyes, as if waiting for the punch line. He let it lie.
“Um . . . this is going to take me a few minutes,” he said. “I have to find the sheets, and, um, put these LEGOs somewhere,” he said, holding his breath as she walked up next to him, poking at the futon.
“This thing is hard as a rock, Tobin!”
He clenched his jaw. Too. Many. Jokes.
But there was no way in hell he was going to make a “hard as a rock” joke to Lily, who was currently tipsy and only wearing a T-shirt and underwear. That just felt creepy. Instead, he said, “I’m sorry. I mean, it’s a futon—there’s only so much we can do there. But, um . . . maybe one of the couches? You’re short.”
Her eyes flared. “You have love seats, Tobin. I’m not tall, but I’m also not a toddler. I can’t sleep on those!”
He grimaced. He ought to take her to a hotel. He was the one who . . .
She turned, walking past him. “I’m sleeping with you,” she announced, then looked over her shoulder. “Coming?”
He gaped. “I’m . . . excuse me?”
She rolled her eyes, then headed to his bedroom. He followed her, too stunned to even be a smartass. She opened his door. He was glad that he didn’t have laundry all over the place—he used his hamper religiously and kept things relatively tidy otherwise—but his bed was still unmade. “See? You’ve got a nice king-size bed,” she pointed out, “and I am exhausted. Besides, I have standards. I think we can safely share a bed without anything weird happening.”
His eyes widened. “Uh . . . okay?”
She nodded with satisfaction. “Great. Good night.” With that, she climbed into his bed, hunkered down into one of his pillows . . . and fell asleep.
He blinked again. What the hell had just happened?
He went to the master bathroom, getting ready for bed. He pulled on pajama pants—which was weird, since he didn’t usually wear pajamas, but again—no way in hell was he sharing a bed with Lily and just wearing his usual boxers. He turned off the lights and climbed into bed.
He could smell her perfume. He could hear her soft, even breathing.
Just like that, his body went harder than his damned spare bedroom futon.
Warning! Warning! Danger, Tobin Bui!
He was not going to share a bed with Lily while he was sporting . . . this. No way in hell. The last thing he needed was for her to feel weird or threatened or . . . ugh. Just no.
He quickly went through his mind, trying to find some way to fix the situation. He went through his usual thoughts: that weird stinky Scandinavian fish, oversteamed broccoli, coffee grounds gone moldy. But unfortunately, his body just wasn’t getting with the program. He turned away from her, all but yelling at his own body. Knock it off, stupid!
Horror. He thought about the goriest, grossest movies and games he could think of. Razor-blade-and-eyeball stuff. It started to work, which he took consolation in, upping the ante. He thought about the stuff that had scared him as a kid. Bloody Mary. Ghost stories. That stupid Ouija . . .
He blinked, then sat straight up. “Lily!”
“Hngh?” she mumbled, her head mostly in the pillow.
“Get up. Get up!”
“Wha?” She sat up, groggy.
“I got it!”
“Got what?” she mumbled.
“An idea for the video,” he said as pure electricity jolted through him. “Let’s go!”