Page 122 of Going Viral for Christmas
Tonight isn’t about readers or fans or keeping the Bell and the Blade ship trending on ShelfSpace.
Tonight is about Ava.
About us.
If I do this right, it won’t beonenight. And one night only.It’ll be the beginning of so much more.
I pull my journal out of my bag. What started as a weekly routine has now morphed into nightly letters. Obsessive? Maybe. But it’s become a mission Ihaveto complete.
Some are funny. Some are rambling. Some read close to love poems and others similar to apologies I haven’t earned the right to give. But every single one ends with the sametone:
Choose me, Bells.
I open my journal to a random page and trace the words with my thumb. They’re worn soft from revisiting them too often. Maybe tonight I’ll let Ava see the proof–the ink on paper–that she’s been my reality long before this fake-dating circus. That she’s the only story I’ve ever wanted to tell.
I shrug into my coat, slip the journal into my inside pocket and smooth my palms down the front of my black sweater. Presentable, layered for cold weather, and exactly what I know she likes: low-effort hot. I even shaved. Well, trimmed, really. Which I never do unless there’s a stylist hovering with a lint roller.
But Ava’s different. Has been from the start. The world falls away when she talks. And I want nothing more than to keep her talking.
Hopefully, she doesn’t think tonight is some prelude to casual sex.
Aonenight… stand.
Lord knows the girl is horny. And hell, I wouldn’t complain. But I want her trust before I want her body. Because I know her well enough now to recognize the heat in her eyes, how her body leans toward fire, even when she swears she wants distance. Desire makes her reckless for a heartbeat, maybe two—but the traitorous hunger that I know she feels with me isn’t what I want from her. I want the part she’s afraid to give.
Hopefully, when she says yes to this—whateverthisis—it isn’t to silence the ache between her thighs, but to answer the deeper ache in her heart. The one I’m waiting for her to trust me with.
Tonight, I need to let her keep control while I rewrite the story she tells herself—the one where all men are lying, disappointing assholes.
I’m here because ofher, not the cameras. Or our brand. Not even her… Well, you know.
I won’t lie, though.Thatvisual has forced me to cold shower every day since Thanksgiving.
She saidonenight. That’s her boundary. So I’ll give her the best one she’s ever had.
I pull up the itinerary on my phone and double-check the plan. She thinks we’re going to dinner. And we are. But I’ve also arranged for a private viewing at an immersive book-themed art exhibit in downtown Boston—one I know she’s been dying to visit but couldn’t score a ticket to. Thanks to Emily, who’s helped me set up a few things for tonight.
After that, we’re hitting an indie bookstore. Not just to browse.
We made a deal when she helped me with my spicy scene. She gets three minutes to grab as many books as she can carry. No limits. Although there will probably be lots of judgment. Still, I’ll buy every single one, no matter the cost.
I make good on my promises. And if I’m lucky, this night will be one she doesn’t file away as fantasy.
Andafter that, something quieter. More personal. A stop that will remind her of childhood, of comfort, of the way books feel close to home. She said that when we were side-by-side atThe Great Booksgivingpanel. Probably didn’t realize I was listening.
I was.
I am.
Ava Bell deserves a man wholistens. Who shows up, doesn’t walk away or lie or make her feel like collateral damage in someone else’s story. She deserves a man who sees the fireandthe fear and stays anyway.
That’s exactly what I plan to do.
The car I rented for tonight is a Bentley Bentayga—ridiculously impractical, absurdly expensive, and worth every damn penny.
Let’s be honest, Ava could care less about the car. She’d roll her eyes at the price tag and ask why it doesn’t come with its own library.
I didn’t get it for her. I got it for me. It handles icy curves like a dream, the cabin smells of leather and ambition, and every detail whispers:You’re worth it.
