Page 22 of Subscriber Wars

“You’re in a shitty mood,” notes Mav, shuffling the cards in his hands. “I thought you wanted to come to Gigi’s tonight.” He eyes my hand and the stupid small bets I’ve been tossing in the pot.

I sigh. I did—I mean I wanted to come to Gigi’s. I could certainly use the distraction, but instead of poker distracting me, it’s the image of Vee in that fucking bikini smiling up at Vance’s stupid ass with his talk of recycling. Please. I could smell the lame from all the way in my backyard.

“The neighbor piss you off again?” asks Rowan, putting his phone away and pulling his cards toward his chest. No one is looking at his fucking cards. He’s going to lose regardless. I can already tell Mav has a good hand. That damn cigarette hangs from his mouth carelessly and relaxed.

I shake off my mood. I need to focus on the game. Not my video and definitely not Vee. I mean, I don’t give two shits that she had been hit on by several fuckwits by the time I’d left for Gigi’s. She’s a big girl and can take a man down without warning. But shouldn’t Drew or Bennett be looking out for her? Isn’t that what they do in between classes and games? Stalk the ever-loving shit out of my neighbors… No one gets close to Vee and Aspen. And here Vee was… For God’s sake, I could see every one of her curves, the swell of her tits, the soft edges of her hips—

“So you entered the competition?”

I force myself to unlock my hands from clenched fists. “Of course. No one dominates the internet like I do.”

“Except for Malcolm,” Rowan adds, getting a laugh out of Maverick who adds, “And Vee.”

They both can eat shit.

“I didn’t realize you both were so interested in my film career,” I snap.

A light chuckle goes through Maverick. “We aren’t. We’re interested in when this pouty bitch phase is coming to an end. The competition will be good for you. It’ll give you something to focus on instead of—” He shrugs, not wanting to say her name. Which is good because her name evokes powerful emotions like rage and lust and I don’t have room for that right now. I only have room for ambition. I’m getting out of Georgia, no matter what.

“We came here to play poker, didn’t we?”

Maverick grins, knowing when to leave me alone. “Yes, we did. So don’t cry when you’re two grand lighter tonight.”

I’m not fucking losing. Not while I’m in this mood. I push all my chips to the middle. “I’m all in.”

“Sebastian!”

Fuck, I did it again.

I roll out of bed with a groan and fall to the floor. The wood floors are cool against my skin. I could sleep a few more hours before class starts, if the banging would stop.

“It’s Brick! Your new cameraman. You know, the one you hired yesterday.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar. And then it hits me.

Last night.

I pull my hands close to my face and focus. The permanent marker is still there. A grin, the size of something really huge—I’m hungover, don’t judge me—tugs across my face as I remember bits and pieces of last night.

Her keys.

My failure of a video.

Her stupid bird feeder that she just had to hang in the tree that I park next to.

Her ‘Save the World’ attitude.

Her stupid texts.

All of it came to an explosion that ended up with another drunken idea.

“Sebastian?”

I spring from the floor, ignoring the pounding in my head, and wrench open the door to find my shiny new cameraman. He’s sober and has two coffees clutched in his hand.

I tip my head. “Hurry. Get your camera.” I literally pull him through the door and slam it shut.

“Hurry. She gets up at 7:30,” I bark, snagging one of the coffees and chugging.

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