Page 29 of Going Viral for Christmas
“There’s nothing wrong with it. In fact, I’d argue it’s the most natural response your body’s had in years.”
My lips part—then snap shut again. Great! My mouth has become a faulty garage door.
Fisher clocks it instantly. “You’re cautious. I heard you. Thou-Whom-We-Shall-Not-Name torched your heart, your trust, and your career. We won’t mention the other failures since him. I get it. You’re afraid of stepping back into the fire with anyone, let alone an industry peer.”
I don’t have to say anything. It’s all true.
Fisher’s voice dips to a teasing whisper. “But don’t go pretending your clit didn’t saluteThe Bladetoday… probably still is.”
My shoulders tense. I cross my arms in a too-tight hug, willing the heat in my cheeks to cool down. “No.”
Fisher nods. “Yes.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You like him,” he sings.
“I do not,” my voice cracks.
“He likes you.”
“He does not.”
Fisher’s eyes glint. “Your voice cracked. That was your shame talking. Your horny shame.”
I go silent. Which, of course, is all the proof Fisher needs.
Fiddling with the button on my sleeve, I yank a stray thread. The button pops off.Shit.
“Let’s consider for one moment the what-ifs.” Fisher crosses his arms.
I exhale. “I already have been.”
“Mhm, I’m sure you have. Except what if theoppositeof what you’re worried about happens?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if all this boosts your approval ratingandcleans up his image in the process? Makes him less the fantasy fuckboy of ShelfSpace and more... a genuinely good guy who’s with a genuinely good girl.” His tone drops a few decibels to his deep, silky, dark romance narrator voice. “Come on, Ava Bell agood girlfor Dagger Daddy.”
Despite myself, I laugh at the same time a shadow falls across the table.
“Am I interrupting?” Soren drawls, setting a hand on the back of my chair. “Or did I just hear my government-assigned nickname?”
Well, speak of the smolder. Soren Pembry stands beside me in a forest green cardigan layered over a white V-neck that shows his golden, muscled skin.
Somehow, this is worse than the sword, the smirk, or the signature fan service swagger. He’s normal. Casual. Achingly touchable. Almost resembling a character right out ofmybooks–one who reads literary fiction on their porch and owns too many flannel shirts.
It’s doing things. Inappropriate, unprofessional, wildly inconvenient things.
His hair is slightly damp, which means he took a shower.
Great, now I’m picturing him in the shower. Clothes off. Naked. Water beading down carved muscles.
Fisher eyes me skeptically. Soren tilts his head, waiting for an answer. I can’t speak. My brain is a traitor. My hormones are holding my sanity hostage as Soren’s gaze flicks to Fisher, then back to me.
“Please do join us.” Fisher gestures to the open chair with a shit-eating grin.
“Thanks.” Soren sits. “Didn’t want to interrupt anything private.”
