Even now, faced with a situation neither of them had ever dreamed about, with Sloane trying not to throw up for different reasons, Emma was acting like the world wasn’t ending.

The audacity.

“Your super-secret, highly personal blog went viral after you drunkenly decided to make it public, and now everyone wants to talk to you about it,” Emma stated. “That’s the long and short of it.”

“The long and short of it?” Sloane shrieked. “Emma. I need you to hear what I’m about to say. To really hear it. To feel it. Okay?”

Her steel-gray gaze swept over to what Sloane could only assume was her own very frantic dark one.

“The stupid little blog I’ve been using as a journal since I was seventeen is trending, and not even for the really embarrassing and awkward posts about losing my virginity or the time I had to sneak out of my date’s bathroom because I clogged his toilet with stress poops.” Sloane put her hands down on the desktop and looked pointedly at the monitor. “No, everyone is focusing on one thing. One thing I never, ever, ever wanted to talk about. Not even with you or Callum.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling the defeat deflate her shoulders.

“They want to know who ‘Guy’ is and why I was too chickenshit to ever tell him I was in love with him.”

Saying it out loud again made Sloane’s panic grow in strength. She withered down all the way to the floor. Who cared that it was the floor of a kindergarten classroom? Who cared that it probably housed every kind of germ known to man? Who cared that Sloane looked like a fellow little kid after a tantrum who had used up all her energy reserves?

Sloane didn’t.

Not right now.

Maybe not ever again.

The sound of squeaking wheels preceded the soft slap of sandals. Sloane opened her eyes. Emma was staring down at her. She had the decency to at least look concerned.

“Okay, putting aside a few facts—like how you were the one, drunk or not, who had the bad sense to change the settings from private to definitely not private—I have to point out a few things you’re taking for granted.” She listed each point off on her fingers, some of which were covered in paint and glitter. Even when Emma wasn’t prepping for the annual Sailors and Mermaids Festival, she always seemed to be covered in the stuff. A hazard from being surrounded by tiny humans all day, no doubt.

“One, most people nowadays do tons of out-there stuff just for the chance to have something of theirs go viral,” she started. “All you had to do was drink way too much rosé, change a setting, and go to sleep.”

Sloane cringed at the mention of rosé. She’d been betrayed by something she loved, and it still hurt.