Page 55 of Subscriber Wars

Sebastian and Valentina

Second Interview Continued, or that time I counted the gray hairs on Tom’s head

“Sweetie, I think you aren’t remembering correctly. I think I was trying to give you a science lesson and you clearly misunderstood me.”

Vee smiles and shakes her head. “I feel pretty certain you told me you loved me that night when I changed your clothes and tucked you into bed.”

Okay. So I vaguely remember saying that part but, again, I was completely and utterly trashed. I offer Tom a tense grin. “As you can see, Vee and I go way back. It’s actually kind of hard to determine when exactly we realized we were in love.”

“It still doesn’t look right,” she whines, moving the pillow under my head. “It looks staged.”

I grunt when she snatches the pillow—the one she still hasn’t given back. My head falls against the mattress. “It looks like it’s staged because it is.” I lean up enough to see her eye roll.

“I think you’re just stalling. It doesn’t matter if we’re up against the wall or in a bed, our fans just want to see us kiss.”

Last night when Vee came over to watch a movie in her chair on my back patio, we scrolled through the comments of the video at the dog rescue her uncle owns. Brick managed to get a clip of me arguing with Vee that Scarlett was nothing but a lap dog at this point. To prove it, I scooped up a squealing Vee, pretending to kidnap her, while Scarlett watched on, unamused. It was all fun and games until Turner (I was right. He was the tan one) caught up to me and took me and Vee down with one well-placed jump.

Vee was on the ground. I was laughing, hovered above her, while we both tried to calm Turner down. It was a mess, but apparently, our viewers went crazy and commented with the likes of: “Kiss her already!” “I wish he would kidnap me.” “Some guys have all the luck.” “Kiss her!” “Kiss her!”

“Kiss her already!”

You get the point. Our viewers had spoken, and if we want to keep them voting by liking our videos, we have to give them what they want. And what they want is for me to suck Vee’s face.

“I’m not stalling,” she says, huffing so hard that a piece of hair flutters over her face.

“I disagree. When you’ve set this pillow up eight different ways, only to make me move to the sofa and back again, I’d say you’re stalling.”

I can see the determination set in when she narrows her gaze on my face.

“I promise, I’ve brushed my teeth.”

“Shut up.” She sits down on the bed and hands me the remote to her camera, which is set up on the tripod. We opted not to let Brick film this one since it would be difficult for the two of us to relax enough to kiss. Clearly, that was a good decision.

“Let’s just do it really quick.”

She leans in and purses her lips like a kid would do, all while squeezing her eyes shut as if it’s painful to get this close to me.

“You’re going to have to kiss me,” I tell her. “Sitting here acting like you’re about to vomit is just slowing us down.” I blew off a night of poker at Gigi’s for this. Not that I expected a big payout, but it’s extra money, nonetheless.

Vee throws her head back, her dark, satin hair falling off her shoulders like a curtain. “Gah! I wish we could find some stock videos to insert into this clip.”

I don’t let her lack of excitement dampen my mood. Really, just seeing her suffer perks me up more than shoving my tongue down her throat again. The last time I was too pissed to enjoy her discomfort.

“Such a shame, but the last time I checked, the angry tomboy clips were all sold out.” I shrug, back to being a shit. “They probably make around one a year. I think that look died in the 90’s.”

“I will stab you,” she threatens, easing her head up and leveling me with a look that I think might be a real threat.

“I hope you’ll at least film it when you do. My mother would like to be proud of me one day, even if it’s just seeing my corpse on Dateline.”

My cheek twitches as my comment hits a little too close to the truth.

“You’re sick,” she says, twisting her hair up and piling it on top of her head before letting it go. “Why is it so hot in here?” she groans.

I refrain from stating the obvious cliché. I think she might actually hit me, and I get turned on by a slap just as much as the next man but not today. I’d rather we get this torture over with quickly so she can take her sweet-smelling self next door and give me some damn space. Being with her every day this past week has not been the highlight of my college experience. I mean, sure, she’s hot, but she’s argumentative and the enemy. I haven’t forgotten that part.

“We could open a window,” I suggest for the both of us. It’ll keep my room from smelling like her. It probably won’t cool her down with the high humidity, but the breeze might help a little.

She eyes my window, where I watch her seven days out of the week, and tips her chin. “Fine. It’s gotta be better than sweating my butt off while we do this.”

---