Page 131 of Going Viral for Christmas
“That’s it?” The shock in my voice is painfully apparent. I almost slap myself for not filtering the question.
Soren’s eyes sparkle with humor and control, as well as desire. His stormy grays are all mixed up and cocky as hell.
“Ava Bell, I had an amazing night with you. I’d love to see you again,” he says. “Maybe over breakfast tomorrow?”
“Breakfast?” I repeat, still confused.
He nods. “How about I come back tomorrow morning with pastries?”
“Okaaay.” The disappointment I’ve tried to keep at bay takes over. It’s thick in my tone.
Taking a step back, a faint smirk tugs at his mouth. “Goodnight, Bells. Dream about a handsome, fantasy-obsessed warlock with half-decent sword skills and an inconvenient weakness for one woman in particular. In case you’re wondering…it’s you.” He winks.
My arms cross, but I’m smiling. “I’ll try not to let it ruin my eight hours.”
Soren chuckles, turns to head back toward his car. And I just… stand there, arms still folded, body still buzzing, mouth still twisted in a smile I don’t mean to wear.
Because hell.
Iamdefinitely going to dream about that handsome warlock tonight… might even masturbate to him. And I don’t mean the publicist-pleasing version. Or the internet’s fantasy prince. The one who took me to dinner. Danced with me. And is now walking away from me to prove he’s in it for the long haul, and not justonenight.
Yeah.Thatversion is hard to resist.
Lingering in the doorway, I watch the taillights of that ridiculously expensive SUV fade down the drive. With every inch that disappears, my heart sinks deeper in my chest.
The silence that follows isn’t peaceful. It’s cavernous. All the laughter and heat and banter that filled our night got sucked out the moment he hopped into the car and shut the door.
I press my palm to the banister on my porch as though it might hold me up, as though I can physically secure myself to something before the ache in my chest tips me over.
Fuuuuck.
Grabbing a few of the bags of books, I make my way inside and set them onto the kitchen counter, then retrieve the rest. I wander through my empty, quiet house, set in the middle of nowhere. I chose this solitude for myself—on purpose, with intention, as a means of control. And silence from the world. Protection, also, if I’m being honest.
But right now, I’ve never felt more alone in my own house. I’m not sure how to go back to my typical kind of quiet, which doesn’t include Soren’s voice in it.
My coat is still on, cheeks flushed, fingers shaking. I look out the window at the empty driveway, and my heart plummets. I wish he’d turn back.
I don’t want the night to end. Which means, I’m in trouble. And I now very muchwantto be in trouble.
But two seconds ago, I put myself out there, offered Soren more time with Ava Bell up on a silver platter, and… nothing.
He’s being respectful. It’s fine. I get it.
To distract myself, I toe off my boots. Hang my coat. Wander back into the kitchen where I’m going to do something normal and adult, maybe clean a dish or organize a cabinet.
That doesn’t happen. Instead, I open the fridge, stare at a wedge of brie, and close it again.
Why didn’t he push?
Why didn’t he kiss me?
He said he wanted to come in, Ava. Don’t overthink it.
Tonight, Soren gave me safety. Respect. And then he kissed my forehead and promised a tomorrow. A future.
Fucking hell. I’m so goddamn confused.
A few seconds later, I’m standing in my living room. I pick up the blanket from our picnic and wrap it around my shoulders like a dramatic widow in a BBC period drama. I consider calling him back for a second. To... rewrite the moment. Take control. Level the field.
