Page 13 of Going Viral for Christmas
Shirley reads off a card. “What’s your favorite trope to write, and why? Soren, you first.”
“Enemies to lovers. It’s timeless. The tension. The banter. The delicious descent into obsession.” He side-eyes me. “Especially when one character pretends to hate the other, but secretly wants to strangle themandmake out with them. You know the type—morally gray with a tragic backstory and hands you definitely shouldn’t trust… but want all over you.”
“Interesting,” My mouth says before my brain can stop it. “You sure you’re a writer, Pembry? Or just fanservice with a sword?”
Fucking hell. He’s going to make me regret every ounce of confidence I just faked.
Soren’s grin falters. He turns toward me in his seat, eyes white-hot.Here we go.
That easy smile of his snaps back into place, this time with a little more edge to it. It’s when stormy grays spark like steel on flint that I know I hit somewhere I wasn’tsupposed to.
“Oh, we’re doingthattoday?” His voice is velvet and venom. “So, tell us then, what’s the Queen of Pumpkin Spice and Flannel-Wrapped Feelings favorite trope?”
I try to swallow. Forget how.
“Second chance romance,” I manage.
“Why?”
“Sometimes the one who hurt you the most is the only one who can help you heal.”
Soren’s brow lifts, intrigued. “How so?”
“It’s messy and rooted in forgiveness. When done right,” I let my tone smooth out. “It shatters you… yet somehow makes you whole again.”
A hush settles over the room. Soren suddenly appears flustered.
Point: Bell.
“I love that.” Shirley plucks the next card from the stack, reads it to herself. “Oooh, this one’s fun.” She wiggles in place. “If your co-panelist were a romance trope, what would they be… and why?”
The crowd hums.
“Oh, that’s easy.” Soren’s grin is that of a wolf locked inside a henhouse. “Ava’s the grumpy sunshine with a gooey center trope.”
“Excuse me?” I chuckle. “I don’t have a gooey center.”
“I’d be willing to fact-check that,” he says, wicked and amused. “And if you ever need help locating it?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
Soren’s voice goes syrupy-smooth. “Ava, I’d be willing to bet that you have a spreadsheet for your feelings, and a planner to schedule when you’ll actually deal with them. Color-coded, of course. Deep down, though…” He looks straight into my soul. “You’re just a knife-wielding cupcake… sugar and spice stuffed inside a very stabby exterior.”
Point: Pembry.
My cheeks burn. I open my mouth to respond, but my brain is buffering. It lost signal somewhere around “knife-wielding cupcake.”
“However,” he adds, lifting a finger, “she’s also the ‘falling for the enemy’ trope. Which is definitely one of my favs.” Soren winks.
Shirley’s attention bounces between the two of us. I glance at theexit, calculating my odds of escape. Then to Soren, who’s very clearly enjoying himself.Asshole.
“Fine.” My chin lifts defiantly. “If we’re assigning romance tropes, then you’re the cocky fantasy anti-hero who’s secretly one soft touch away from crumbling.”
The audience gives a collectiveooh. Soren hides his smile behind a closed fist.
“And the heroine doesn’t fall at his feet?” My voice is sugar-dipped steel. “She makes himworkfor it.”
Gasps. Laughter. Applause.
