Page 101 of Going Viral for Christmas
Now he’s here, standing with his hands in his coat pockets, staring out at the water with an adorable expression that guts me even more.
“This place is magic,” he says, turning to look back at me.
“It’s a swamp,” I reply, my voice coming out lighter than intended.
Soren doesn’t flash the full grin—the one that has broken hearts from coast to coast—but the one he’s seemingly reserved just for me.
I’m on the bench, arms crossed, legs bouncing. My pulse is a mess, and my mind won’t stop replaying his outstretched hand and that: “Hi, I’m Soren Pembry.”
Those words reached under my ribs and tugged.
“You should know I don’t bring anyone here.”
“I’m honored,” he says, genuinely.
That makes it worse. Because here’s the thing: Soren Pembry is the enemy. Or was. Then he became the fake boyfriend. And now he’s the man whose tongue was in my mouth, whose body heat is still branded on my skin, whose cock—dear god, that cock—has no business rubbing up against me in the early morning. But did.
I shouldn’t trust him. I certainly don’t trust his dick. Worse, I don’t trustme.Around him. Or around his… Well, you get it.
But I haven’t let anyone in for a long time. The last time I kissed someone and felt it all the way to my toes was years ago. I haven’t laughed like this, or shared quiet spaces, or…
Let myselfwant…anything.
“You’re looking at me with such reservation, Bells.” He lowers himself to sit beside me. “Is it because of the dick thing?”
My throat clogs. “What?”
“You said you don’t trust my—and I quote—massive dick,”he teases. “So I’m wondering if I should be offended.”
My face flames. “I didnotsay that outloud.”Did I?
Soren smiles, wide and wicked. “You did.”
Burying my face in my hands, I groan. My inner dialogue seriously needs a time-out. How is my brain not connecting to the part where we filter these things before they hit the air?
“Relax.” His shoulder nudges mine. “It’s cute, the way you talk out loud—like I’ve got backstage passes to your brain. And I’m only giving you shit. But let’s be real, Bells—you’ve been staring at me for ten straight minutes as though you’re running a private poll in your head: strangle me or straddle me. Figured I’d cut the tension before it combusted and took the wharf with it.”
“This was a mistake.”
As I move to stand, Soren palms my knee, stopping me.
“You keep calling me a mistake.” His tone is now exasperated. “And yet… here we are. Sitting on a bench at your sacred spot. Just a boy, asking a girl?—”
“Don’t you dare.”
A grin tugs at his mouth, but his eyes are serious. “You see the irony, right?”
I do. Iliveit. I write it.
The silence between us is loaded with the weight of all the things we’ve said. And the mountain of things we haven’t hovers above–a volcano ready to explode open.
Soren angles his body toward mine. “Bells, I need to know?”
I eye him with caution. “Need to know what?”
“Well, actually, it’s more of an explanation.”
“What do you mean?”
