She snorts. “You look like you’re gonna puke sparkles.”
I blow out a breath and try to roll the tension out of my shoulders. “Just nervous. It’s kinda a big deal.”
“Yeah, babe. It is. Which is why we’re keeping it tight.” She finally looks up, gaze sharp. “You pick the winner on cam. We contact him. He gets tested, signs the NDA, clears legal. Then and onlythendo you even think about flirting off script.”
“I know, I know.”
“Do you? Because your cheeks are giving summer camp first kiss energy and I need porn star with a plan.”
“Rude,” I mutter. “This is just my face.”
She smirks. “Sure it is.”
I swear, she lives to roast me. But I love her for it. Lorna’s the one who took a chance on me when I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. She saw something and now here I am, about to pick a rando sub to make content with forCotton Candy Day, of all things.
This could either be iconic… or a total trainwreck.
We roll. Camera’s live. My name flashes on the screen behind me in a bubbly pink font,Sweetest Ride Giveawayand I flash the camera my best sugar-sweet smile.
“Hey, Sugars,” I coo. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for is finally here. I’ve got one name to draw. One ride to give. And it’s gonna be oh-so-sweet.”
I hit the button on the giveaway app Lorna loaded up, it has a big spinny wheel of usernames and flashing colors like I’m hosting the sluttiest game show ever.
My stomach’s in my throat.
Please don’t be someone weird. Please don’t be that foot guy who messaged me seventeen times about toe rings. Please don’t be?—
The wheel slows. Ticks. Ticks again.
Then lands.
MountMeEverest.
I freeze. No way.
No. Fucking. Way.
That’s… him.
The quiet one. The sweet one. The one who DM’d me when I canceled a stream and said“are you okay?”like he gave a damn.
My heart legit skips. I almost forget I’m being filmed.
“Ohh,” I say, voice going breathy, and I clear my throat fast. “Well, would you look at that? Looks like someone’s climbing higher than the rest.MountMeEverest, you’re my big winner, baby.”
I try to keep my face from doing anything stupid. Like smiling too hard. Or blushing. Or giggling. Lorna’s watching from behind the camera like a hawk. I know that look. That’s thestick to the plan, bitchface.
So I stick to the plan.
I go through the rules again—testing, screening, no contact until the boring-but-necessary legal stuff is squared away. Gotta keep it safe. Gotta keep it clean. (Well, notclean-clean. Just, like, lawsuit-proof.)
We wrap the shoot. Lights cut off. I slump into the velvet chair like my bones turned into jelly.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Holy shit.”
Lorna doesn’t even lift her head. “You good?”
“That was him.”
