Page 5 of The Love Rematch
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“Sam!”
“Don’t go on Twitter.”
Emily immediately opens Twitter. “Shit!”
“You’re trending.”
“I’m trending.”
“Don’t click—”
Too late, Emily thinks as she scans the feed for#EmsthePerfectMatch.
EMILY ANN NEEDS A MAN! How about thirty? DO IT! #EmsthePerfectMatch
Wow—she has the BEST mom in the world!!! I wish my mom would start a national scandal for me!! #EmsthePerfectMatch
Mortified. Mortified. Mortified. I have actual secondhand trauma for this girl. Yikes. #EmsthePerfectMatch for a lifetime of therapy.
I KNEW ASHLEIGH WAS PREGNANT! #EmsthePerfectMatch
This chick has got to be the biggest loser in America. Do you really want to watch an entire season of this mess?? How desperate can you get? #EmsthePerfectMatch #NOT
She closes the app…and opens Instagram.
“Oh my god, Sam. I have a thousand missed notifications. Wait—fifteen hundred. No, two thousand.”
The number climbs higher and higher and higher.
What is happening?
Emily closes Instagram and opens her Etsy shop. Fifty new orders have been placed in the last five minutes. Some of her items are sold out!
What in the actual hell is happening?
“Em. I think this is really happening. I mean, this mightreallybe happening. Listen to this.I stalked her on Instagram—she’s definitelyLove Matchmaterial! Wow, her earrings are to die for! Did anyone else see the bangles in her shop? Love! Emily Ann does need a man! Beautiful and talented. How is she single?”
“I just saw one that said I’m the most pathetic person on the planet. Don’t believe everything you read.”
“Well—what about this? Ashleigh Bromberger released a statement. She’s pregnant.”
Emily gasps.
Sam continues, talking in a way that makes it clear she’s skimming while she speaks. “She didn’t know how to tell people so she’d been keeping it to herself. Yada yada. But she’s really pregnant. And she’s off the show.”
“So? They’ll find another girl from last season.”
“What if they don’t? What if they find you instead?”
“Sam…”
Emily’s voice is small. The bright pops of color in her living room normally provide a cheerful source of comfort, but right now, they’re garish. The rainbow pillows mock. The floral paintings stare. The gold lamps jeer. Warmth creeps up her neck as her breath quickens. She applies pressure to her temples with her free hand, while in the back of her mind, Matthew Starhan and a horde of middle-aged women are still chanting,Emily Ann needs a man. Emily Ann needs a man.
“I can’t do this, Sam,” she whispers.
“Why not? Think of what it would do for your brand, for your business! Exposure to millions of people? You’ll never get another opportunity like this.”
