Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
What? Wait . . .
My brain replays his words, assuming I’d misheard.
No, that’s exactly what he said. So again . . . what?
A sponsorship with BlindDate, with Life Corp? That could be major, much larger than any partnership I have now. But that comes with goods and bads. I should think about it, but my brain and my gut are already shouting the answer at me, and I’ve learned to trust my instincts. They’ve never steered me wrong.
“Noah . . . I don’t want Life Corp to sponsor me,” I tell him, and Noah stops, looking confused.
“You don’t?”
I shake my head, taking a deep breath. “No, Noah. I . . . I don’t want Life Corp using our story at all. I don’t want the world to hear that we met on BlindDate.”
“But it’s the truth,” Noah says tightly. “I was hesitant at first too, but I thought about what Elisa said, and it makes a lot of sense. There are all these people out there looking for a connection. That’s what Riley Sunshine offers them, and in a different way, what BlindDate offers too. We can help each other while helping all those people out there.”
“You think it’d be good for me, for Riley Sunshine, to have Life Corp use my brand for something like this?” I ask, trying to keep calm and not doing a great job of it. “I’ve worked too hard to build my reputation to tie it to another company so directly. Especially when I’m a small fish in a Life Corp-sized pond. I’d be completely swallowed up by it. I don’t want to be used that way.”
“You had no problem using me for your gain,” he snaps. “I’m no social media savant, but I knew going on your page—picture after picture, like after like, comment after comment—was a risk. I mean, I was with you when you got recognized at the park. But I still did it. It’s your life, and you share it, all of it, with your Sunshiners. And I want to be something you share, not something you hide.”
He’s pacing back and forth as he speaks, his eyes tracking from me to his shoes to the sky as though he doesn’t know where to focus.
“I do want to share you. I mean . . . with the followers. But only if you want to. We don’t have to do that.”
“That ship has already sailed. How many likes, how many comments did you get on the reveal pictures of us, Riley?”
It sounds like an accusation, like I’ve already been found guilty of something in his eyes, but I don’t know of what. We decided to do that together—the pictures, the words, the post. I thought it was special, but it feels tainted now.
“A lot,” I mumble.
“How many?” Noah barks, finally locking his eyes on me.
“Almost one hundred thousand likes, and around eighteen thousand comments,” I answer quietly.
“So you’re not ashamed to use me, to be seen with me. I guess that’s good. Is it just the BlindDate then?” Bitterness does not sound good on him.
Use him? I’m not using him. In fact, I literally told him I didn’t want to do that.
I’m happy because of him, and that’s worth sharing. With my followers, with the world. But not . . . how we met. That’s . . . embarrassing.
“Noah, I have this image as Riley Sunshine.” I hiss the name quietly because people are starting to look at us arguing on the sidewalk. “One I’ve worked really hard to build. But if I tell everyone that I was so lonely I had to use a dating app, so scared of being recognized by people and judged a loser that I didn’t want my face out there, what does that make me?”
“I don’t know . . . human? Imperfect? Isn’t that the authentic self you’re always preaching about?” The dig is way below the belt, deep into my soul.
“And that dating app? It’s my heart and soul, something I poured every bit of myself into to create,” he confesses, beating on his chest with every word. “But I guess that’s not good enough for Riley Sunshine, is it? Maybe I’m not good enough for Riley Watson either.”
Noah turns, walking away from me, and I want to run after him.
I don’t understand how our walk turned into this, but I want to fix it. But I also don’t want to be plastered on billboards as some lonely, desperate woman who had to use an app to get a date.
“Noah!” I call to him, my voice cracking and tears threatening to fall. “Don’t you get it?”
Fifty yards away, Noah turns, his face still filled with pain and anger. “I got it!” he yells back. “I get that you only want to share the sunshine. But that’s not real, Riley.”