Page 38 of Going Viral for Christmas
And contractual obligations.
And an audible purring sound from our managers.
Soren Pembry??????
I’m scrolling through pics from the panel. Why does it seem like you and Mr. Sword Daddy are about to kiss and/or kill each other?
It’s called professional tension.
Ava. His eyes are doing “I’d burn down a kingdom for you” things.
Pretty sure that’s his default setting. All part of the fantasy brand.
Uh-huh.
You haven’t answered the question! Did you fall on his “sword” or just look like you wanted to?
We haven’t. And we won’t.
Are you trying to convince both ofus?
Nothing’s happening.
Yet.
Please stop. I’m in a public place. And sweating. Profusely.
Girl, same. It’s because I was writing until 3AM, and now I’m on my third cold brew, and the barista put way too much AXE body spray on today.
Still. EXPLAIN.
Can I call you later? I’ll tell you everything.
Youfuckingbetter. I’m in Port Townsend for the weekend working on my novel, but my phone is by me.
Also, please know that if this ends in scandal, heartbreak, or a surprise wedding—I’m flying down, slapping you once with love, then officiating.
There will be no wedding. Can’t promise the other two won’t happen though.
Uh oh.
Yeah. Remind me why I let you leave me for the Pacific Northwest again?
Tenure and peace and less nonsense.
Right, I forgot.
For what it’s worth, you two are cute together. You would have gorgeous babies.
Again…NEVER happening.
Don’t think I won’t board a ferry back to Seattle to drag your romance-avoidant ass back into emotional alignment.
Tell Fisher he still owes me a rematch in Mario Kart. I want blood.
I’m wiping away the sweat from my forehead when the gym door swings open behind me.
Soren struts in as a mix of lust and temptation, wearing black joggers, a fitted white shirt that emphasizes his built chest and arms. A towel is slung over one shoulder. His hair is messy in that deliberate way, and the stubble lining his jaw could probably file steel.
