“Hey! Ruby Van Raspberry!” she says. I’ve had people actually call me Ruby before, so I’m not sure if she recognizes me or is just excited about my shirt.
“Thanks, I—”
“Sucha great shirt,” she says right over me. “The one I want is ‘Who fucked my puppet?!’” She does this imitation of me screaming the words. It’s not a bad impression, actually. “Totally brilliant. I—” She stops as another person comes up for help, and groans. “There’s an electrical problem!They’re working on it!”
I extricate myself, giving her a smile and a wave and hurrying back to the booth. Poor Emily’s going to hear all week about whether we havethatshirt, which we don’t. It’s a reference to an unfortunate incident on the reality show I was on three years ago—Starving with the Stars. I don’t begrudge the person who probably made a mint on Redbubble off of those, but I couldn’t ever bring myself to monetize poor Ruby’s trauma.
Stupid Chad Montgomery. I should—
I’m stopped from thinking about what kind of scathing Chad Montgomery-mocking sketch I could write, when I see my old friend Jason—ironically a friend I met while filmingStarving with the Stars—at our booth, talking with Emily.
Not just talking. Laughing, both of them. Emily is sort of leaning forward over the booth toward him, and Jason’s doing the same.
I dodge a pair of vendors lugging boxes and pop up next to the booth, catching them both off-guard.
“Hey, Jason!” I say.
“Hey, Hobbit,” he says fondly—and loudly, because he always has to say everything like he’s speaking to a crowd of hundreds—throwing his arm over my shoulder. I don’t love this nickname he’s given me, but at least it’s not because I have hairy feet. He’s just crazy tall, probably around 6’3”, maybe another couple inches with that spiky blond hair. “I just found out that I’ve actually spent the last few months tweeting at your friend here, thinking she was you.”
Emily grins. “I do a pretty spot-on internet Su-Lin. Lots of exclamation points.”
I mock-glare at her.This isn’t entirely true. Not that there’snoexclamation points, butlotsis—
“Well, you convinced me,” Jason says, grinning back at Emily a little too widely for my comfort.
Don’t get me wrong, I love this dude. He’s awesome and fun and he probably saved me from third-degree burns when I (ill-advisedly) tried to kill Chad Montgomery by leaping at him across a campfire.
But Emily can’t be into him, not when I know thatTate is her perfect guy. Not Jason. He’s too loud and brash for her, and too distractible. Pretty much every time I see him, he’s got a new girlfriend. Emily is more serious and sensible, which is much moreTate than Jason. I can’t see anything happening between her and Jason in the long-term, and I know Emily is tired of wasting her time with relationships that go nowhere.
“So how’s your show going?” I ask, trying to get them to stop eye-humping each other.
He looks back at me, but it’s a tad reluctant. “Great! Views keep going up and up. Which gives me the opportunity to climb more unique shit.”
That’s pretty much his whole show—Jason Climbs Sh!t. He’s a professional rock-climber and films himself climbing stuff all over the world. Mountains, sure, but also crazy buildings, dams, and pretty much whatever he can without getting tossed into some foreign prison for sacred shrine desecration.
It’s a surprisingly addictive show.
“I was just telling Emily about how I’m going to be doing a climbing presentation here at the con on my portable rock wall.” He smiles at Emily before turning back to me again. “Any chance I can get you to help out?”
I raise my eyebrow. “Help out? With a climbing presentation?”
“Right. My oldStarving with the Starspartner, climbing by my side—you know people will freak for it. No climbing experience necessary; it’ll be totally safe,” he assures me quickly. “You’ll have someone belaying you.”
I have never climbed anything higher than a chain-link fence, and I didn’t do that particularly well. But he’s right, people would love seeing the two of us together again, and it could be good for both our shows.
I consider this. “Can I have my friend Brendan belay me?”
“If he can hold a rope, sure.”
Emily rolls her eyes. “You just want him to do that for the innuendo, don’t you?”
I grin. She’s right, I have all the jokes about “Will Brendan belaying me?” ready to tell him the minute I get back to the hotel room.Then my body heats up thinking about telling him those jokes. In a hotel room. With beds.
Maybe I should make those jokes some other place. Where it’s not so tempting to rip his clothes off and turn things a lot less casual.
Stick to the plan, Su-Lin.
And keep Emily to hers.
