Page 92 of The Unfluencer

Do I know how to do this again?

Heat flows through me.

It’s okay to be happy, I tell myself, then try again.

“Whitney, I’m talking about right now. I’m in,” I say with more conviction. Then add, “For the adventure.”

This time, I push pause on the movie and steady my gaze on her. Even with the freeze-framed image of Sandra Bullock kneeling in that pink sequin jumpsuit, facing a full-frontal, leech-free Channing Tatum on the screen, my nerves don’t subside. Haven’t stopped for the past two days.

She nods, touching her tongue to her upper lip.

“Oh, say less…” Whitney stretches back, flattening her hands on the bed. “I’ve still got another puzzle in my bag if we finish this one too quickly before the generator kicks back on. And lucky for you, I’ve got a charged-up power bank… Bam! Ten more high-octane romances on deck. And tomorrow…” She whistles. “Plus, that coast guard guy gave some more recommendations. The action-romance genre is severely lacking in Black women, like we can’t be badass, high-class assassins and have a love interest. Closest he got was Taraji in Proud Mary and Colombiana with Zoe, neither of which ends happily ever after. Unless I go old school. Jada in A Low Down Dirty Shame is close. But there’s easily a huge gap I’d love to see filled⁠—”

“Did you hear me?” I choke out. Frustration cuts my tone. Use your words. “I said, I’m in. This, you and me, Whitney.”

It’s the best I can do.

“Oh.”

She straightens, finally getting a clue that I couldn’t care less about puzzles or action romcoms right now.

I inhale sharply, breaking eye contact. “My apologies for the blunt delivery, but I just don’t have it in me to hold back, you know?” Closing my eyes, I clear my throat. “And yes, high-stress situations and all that, but it’s been there since before when we boarded that plane. That day at the Artery, I knew it. And seeing us plastered on the front page, the way I’d looked at you…”

“Yeah, every blog and news outlet ran something on the Restroom Rendezvous.” She winces. “I’ve never felt more vindicated in my decision not to be on social media…”

“Oh, trust me, I wish I didn’t have news alerts on my name.” I nod. “It was a media circus.”

“So… you’re in,” Whitney says, testing the idea on her tongue. Then she shoots me a nervous smile, twisting a puzzle piece between her fingers. “What does that mean? You sort of…like me?”

I let out a deep sigh.

Something like joy prickles along the back of my neck because she’s getting it. Even if, on my end, it’s way more than like.

“Whitney, I’m saying this is more than a physical connection for me. Cord, my know-it-all best friend, even teases me, calls me a relationship guy because I’ve never been into casual hookups or friends with benefits.”

“Well, are you?” She shivers in mock horror. “A relationship guy?”

A laugh sputters out of me. “I’m not not a relationship guy.” I squint one eye. “Yeah, apparently I’m a one-woman man and I’ve got no poker face. And now… I’m realizing he might be right.” Because I’m definitely looking at Whitney like she’s the next Mrs. Easton. “And, you know, I’m okay with it. I’ve reached the acceptance phase. It’s about me, consciously moving on.”

With you.

I let out a strangled laugh. “But truly, I don’t want you to feel at all like you’ve got to be on the same page. Not this fast, right?”

“I feel it too.” She winces.

Something behind my ribs shifts, loosens. Suddenly, I’m convinced bragging rights are overrated, and maybe it’s not such a bad look—falling for the first woman I meet.

“You do?”

I lean in, moving on autopilot, cradling her face in my hands and pressing my lips to hers as the last forty-eight incredible hours play on a loop in my head.

It takes me a second to catch my breath.

When I pull away, my head is spinning in the best way possible.

“We’ve got tonight to relax. All day tomorrow we’ll focus on Sherry’s collection, figure out everything for the delivery to the gallery, while my mechanic fixes the landing gear.” I shoot her a wide-eyed look of terror, teasing her. “Then Monday morning, we’ll pack up and fly—safely—back to Ellswood. I just wanted you to know. I’m open.” That happens next is whatever she wants us to be.

“Wow, okay.” Whitney’s eyes sparkle, and I’ll admit, I’m sort of hoping that’s a really good sign of how she’s feeling.