Page 16 of Always You


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“I’m going to work a wedding,” she says, as if I should have already known. “You’re welcome for helping you edit the video, by the way!”

“Thank you,” I say, but I’m not sure I mean it. I don’t know how I feel about this many people seeing it. I thought I’d have a couple hundred, maybe one thousand views at best. A thousand people isn’t scary, but over seventy-five thousand is terrifying. And the numbers just continue to climb and climb.

“Are you going to show Josiah?” she asks. I bite my lower lip while I think. “He’s going to have a conniption fit, you know?” Of course I know. Everyone who knows him is going to know that this is his worst nightmare. I feel really bad for bringing this on him.

“I’m thinking of a way to break it to him slowly.” I could sit him down with his favorite meal—fish and chips. I would have to drive all the way to Clifton to get it, and he’d immediately know something’s up as soon as I gave it to him. But if Igive him his favorite ice cream too, maybe he’ll be euphoric enough to let it roll off his shoulders.

I can’t do it tonight because I have to work. It’ll have to wait until Wednesday when I have another night off. I’ll have to skip bingo night, and the girls will give me a hard time for it. We really need one of us to get a win so the old ladies don’t win everything again. But this is more important. They’ll understand. That’s four nights away. Hopefully he won’t find out before then.

I don’t know how, but Josiah found out about the video. As of the last time I checked, it has 523,000 views and thousands upon thousands of comments, mostly about Josiah’s hot bod. He showed up at my house in a panic about ten minutes ago, and now he’s pacing in front of me in the living room.

My mom is such a traitor for letting him in. She knew, thanks to Jolene’s big mouth, that I’ve been trying to hide from him for the past four days. She’s my mother. She’s supposed to protect me against threats like this. One look at the man’s face and you can tell he’s not here to exchange pleasantries. He’s positively fuming. I saw smoke come out of his ears, and there’s an awful lot of grunting and growling going on. He hasn’t even said a word to me yet. I think he’s reverted back to a caveman. Is de-evolving a thing? If so, he has successfully done it. Perhaps we should take him to be inspected by some scientists. They’d have a field day conducting experiments on him.

Finally, he stops pacing. He faces me with his hands on his hips, but still he says nothing. He’s just looking at me with those wild eyes. My mind is frantically trying to come up with a way to turn this situation around. How can I make this seemlike it’s not a big deal? Better yet, how do I paint this in a positive light?

“So, you saw the video?” I ask in a breezy voice, doing my best to hide my nerves but utterly failing.

“Everyone on planet Earth has seen the video,” he says. Okay, that’s a bit of a stretch. 523,667 people is hardly the entire planet. It’s not even the entire state of Texas, but I know for him—someone who hates the thought of his picture being online—it’s a bit much. If I could turn back time, if I had known that all the thirsty women of the internet would run wild with that video, I never would have posted it. I thought about just taking it down, but as Jolene pointed out, the video has taken on a life of its own. Taking it down wouldn’t change anything.

He plops down on the couch and holds his head in his hands. I feel awful. I knew he would hate this. I should’ve found some way to break it to him before someone else showed him.

“How did you see it?” I ask.

“Caleb showed me last night,” he says. Ah, his gym buddy is on all the socials. “You have to delete it,” he adds. He looks at me with those big puppy-dog eyes, and I’m tempted to bow to his demands. He knows I would do anything for him when he gives me those sad, mournful eyes. I truly wish it were as simple as deleting the video.

“It wouldn’t matter. Too many people have already seen it. People have saved it and shared it. And don’t even get me started on all the stitches people have made. At this point, it’s out of my hands,” I say.

“Okay, but no more videos with me,” he demands. That I can agree to. But what if… A thought grabs my attention, and I latch onto it. Josiah is trying to garner business for his graphic design, and what better way to do that than with the powers ofsocial media? Everyone knows social marketing is the most effective these days.

“Josiah, what if I tag your graphic design account in the videos, though? We could use my account to funnel people to yours and find you clients!”

He stares at me for a minute, thinking over the idea. He comes to some sort of decision and lies back on the couch, resting his hands on his lean stomach. He doesn’t say a word. He just stares at the ceiling, leaving me in suspense, wondering what he’s going to say. Internally, I’m praying he’ll say yes. This could do wonders for his new business. I know he doesn’t have any clients at the moment, and he’s barely had any views on his accounts. He had one person comment “Nice work” on one of his pictures, and that’s it. Not even an inquiry.

My account, however, is far more interesting in substance, and he wouldn’t even have to do anything but participate in activities that he was already going to be doing anyway. A smile every now and then would be helpful, but we can talk about that later. The women were okay with his scowling in the first video because I was cracking jokes about it in the voice-over, but I doubt they’d like it in every video—not that I’m trying to cater to the crazy women. I’m not creating a thirst trap account.

He wouldn’t have to lift a finger. I would do everything: film the videos, edit the videos, narrate the videos, etc. He would just rake in the views and hopefully the clients. It’s a nice setup for him. I just hope he realizes it.

“You won’t post anything about my personal life on there, will you? I don’t want these women knowing anything about me.”

“Nary a word!”

“And you won’t post anything embarrassing?”

“More embarrassing than you scowling and snarling while rock climbing? No.”

“That was unnecessary,” he says, trying to sound grumpy, but I see the way the left side of his mouth tips up in just the hint of a grin. I’ve got him. I know it! “Fine,” he sighs. The look of dread on his face almost convinces me to back out, but I know he needs this for his career. He’d never do something like this on his own, so convincing him to do this with me is the only way.

“You won’t regret this!” I say. And I hope it’s true.

9

Josiah

I regret agreeing to be in Ellis’s videos. Ever since she tagged me in the first one, I’ve been inundated with emails and messages. Only two of them were genuine messages about my graphic design work. The rest were from women asking me if I’m single, how tall I am, if I’m looking for a sugar baby. One woman, who looked old enough to be my mother, asked if I was interested in her being my sugar mama—and other things I’m trying to scrub from my brain. I don’t even know what a sugar baby is. I’m not sure what they’re hoping to achieve with all these inappropriate messages. I’m just a small-town guy who is currently unemployed. That doesn’t sound very desirable to me, but they don’t know anything about me other than the fact that I’m apparently attractive. I’m realizing that the general population is just downright shameless.

Ellis claims that the interest in my business will pick up on my own account soon enough, but how long will I be forced to deal with the crazies before that happens? A month? Fourmonths? A year? I don’t think I can put up with this insanity for a year. I want to tell her I can’t do this anymore, but I don’t want to let her down. She’s so excited about helping me. And I think she might hold me hostage if I try to back out anyway.

Caleb, my workout partner, won’t stop reading the comments. Every time I look at him, he reads me his new favorites. He’s supposed to be doing his set at the squat machine, but he’s too busy harassing me. His laughter is starting to draw stares from the other gym patrons. I throw my sweaty towel at his head, and he bats it away with ease.

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