The Sexpert

“I know,” I say. Sighing. Suddenly all pouty. Lips all pucker-y. “But I’ve avoided him successfully so far.”

Or is he avoiding me? I mean, how weird that I bumped into him again and again those first two days and then sexy times ensue and now nothing. Ghost.

“So you like him?” Zoey asks.

I grab a fuzzy pink throw pillow off her couch and hug it to my chest, still puckering my lips in one of those sad faces I make.

“Oh, shit, Eden. You can’t fall for this guy. He’s too dangerous. What if he does find out who you are? What if Le Man really does sue us? We’ve worked so hard to build something of our own, something that might get us out of the corporate rat race, and this could—”

“I know!” I say, a little too loudly, because Stevie, who is sitting in the middle of a blanket chewing on a plastic block, startles. “Sorry, baby,” I say. “I know that though,” I say, putting on a serious face for Zoey so she’ll believe me. “I’m not going to see him again. And besides, he’s forgotten all about me anyway. Hasn’t even tried to come down to my desk and…” I shrug. “You know. I dunno. Whatever.”

She stares at me for a little bit longer and I do my best to avoid her gaze.

Because I really do like him. He’s like Prince fucking Charming, right? Rich, funny, hot, and he really seemed to like me. He thought all my weird quirks were adorable.

Not too many people get me like that. Most people just write me off as a dumb, ridiculous blonde girl who kicks ass at social media and that’s about it.

I really felt like Andrew and I made a love connection.

“Well,” Zoey says. “Let’s just talk about the business.”

“Yes,” I say. “Let’s do that.”

She hands me a printout with all our numbers on it. She’s a data freak. Which is perfect because I’m not. I take the paper automatically and notice she’s giving me one of her quirky Zoey smiles and I say, “What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

“You haven’t even looked at our numbers, have you?”

“No, why?” I say, glancing down at the printout. I squint. She’s circled something at the bottom in lime-green sharpie. I blink, because for a second I think I’m hallucinating. “What? Does this say—”

“ONE MILLION SUBSCRIBERS!” Zoey screams it and this makes Stevie burst out crying. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Zoey is saying as she rushes over to pick him up. She holds him close to her chest and rocks back and forth on her heels as she starts spilling out facts. “We hit one million last night!” she says. “And we’ve gotten insane click-through rates for our affiliate ads since we went to paid last week,” she continues, her voice high with sweet excitement. “And I’ve estimated that we’re going to make about fifteen thousand dollars this month!”

“What? Oh, my God!”

“Yeah, and look,” she says, swinging her laptop around so I can see our channel. “We’re way past a million subscribers now! If we put out another video tomorrow, we’re going to hit one point five in another couple days! And that means next month—who knows! Maybe we hit thirty thousand dollars!”

“Holy shit! We did it!”

“We did it!” she yells, her whole body doing her adorable little happy dance that involves a lot of ridiculous wiggling. Stevie is laughing with us now, happy about our success.

“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand. “I hate to be the Debbie Downer and all, but we don’t have another video.”

“We will,” she says, holding up a finger to make me pause. “But come with me first. I have a surprise for you!” She sings that last part, which makes Stevie laugh.

I get up and follow her down the hall to the bedroom. Half of it is decorated like a nursery and half is her bedroom. She could never afford a two-bedroom apartment in this neighborhood, so she and Stevie share a room.

“What the hell?” I ask, looking at the mess of clothes and boxes all over the place. “What’s going on in here?”

“I had to empty my closet,” she says. “Forget about the mess. Look what I made!”

And then she pulls on the barn door that covers her master closet and reveals…

“A studio! For you! And look! All the freaking desserts are on the wall!”

The whole closet has been painted cotton-candy pink. And there’s like scalloped trim on the walls painted white. And a fake painted window with white mosquito-netting curtains. The eight-by-eight former closet looks like she’s been watching way too many shabby chic shows on Home TV.

“We need to up our game,” Zoey says, words rushing out of her mouth. “We needed a proper sexy backdrop and props. Look!” Then she covers little Stevie’s eyes and adds, “Not you, baby. Don’t look at Mommy’s naughty closet.”