Page 179 of Going Viral for Christmas
I ignore all of them and turn back to Ava, who is now beet red and mid-eye roll.
I yank her into my bare chest and plant a kiss on her. The cameras go wild and dirty, and she’s speechless when I finally pull back.
The crowd loses its mind.
Phones are up. Flashes. Screeches. One woman faints—Fisher fans her with a vendor map while muttering on about OSHA violations.
Ava gapes at me.
“Merry Bookmas, baby.” I wink.
“You areinsane.”
“Admit it… you’re a little turned on.”
One corner of her mouth curls back into the tiniest smirk.
Confirmation received.
My voice drops, for only her to hear. “Bet if I slid my hand between those gorgeous thighs right now, I’d find you wet, andachingfor my flesh sword.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Find me a supply closet and five minutes, Bells, and I’ll tickle your tinsel.”
Ava’s eyes darken. She might actually say yes.
“Absolutely not,” Fisher snaps, appearing out of thin air as the ghost of Too Much PDA. “No closets. No cellars. No oral situations. No penetration. You two have scarred enough hotel employees to last a lifetime.”
Ava coughs into her fist, blushing even brighter.
I pull her up to standing, then step back with my hands raised in mock innocence. “What happened to your magic of Christmas?”
“It’s down below,” Fisher mutters without missing a beat, “exactly like yours.”
Before I can throw back a quip, the air shifts with a familiar presence.
There he is. Matthew. Best friend. Agent Extraordinaire.
His face says:What in the peppermint-dicked hell did I just walk into?
Another voice slices through the noise. “I’m confused.”
The words. The tone. Both hit like a bucket of ice water down the back.
Ava and I swivel in unison. So does Fisher.
Standing a few feet away, wearing a holly-red lip stain and a face full of arrogance, is Lena. One perfectly manicured brow arched. Arms crossed. Looking bitchy enough to frost the whole damn exhibit.
The crowd hushes, instinctively aware that something is about to shatter the holiday glow.
My gaze cuts to Camilla. One look, one silent question:How the hell did she get past security?
Camilla’s eyes widen. Her shrug screamsdon’t look at me,even as she fumbles for her phone, already barking into it for backup.
Lena’s smile is venom and velvet. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but I’ve been having a hard time wrapping my head around this whole— ” She gestures between Ava and me. “—Thing. I mean, Soren Pembry, body collector, fantasy fuckboy, man who practically has a revolving door installed on his tour bus, is suddenly playing committed boyfriend to America’s romance sweetheart?”
Ava stiffens beside me. Lena’s doing it again. Same sweet poison, same performative interest. A pinch of empathy to make Ava second-guess everything. Her voice isn’t only echoing off the walls, it’s reverberating through Ava’s cracks, slithering into every dark, doubtful corner I’ve spentweekstrying to silence, dragging Ava’s deepest fear into the light, using it for gossip and nothing but entertainment.
