Page 36 of Going Viral for Christmas
It’s a candid moment of her. I like the lighting.
Bullshit. You can swap lock screens all you want, but we both know which one you stare at fifty times a day.
Seek help, man.
Matthew has known me since we were nineteen and stupid. He’s seen me through several bad decisions, messy breakups, and more than a few 3 AM drunken crises. Of course he figured it out.
It’s… complicated.
Oh my god, you’re so fucked.
Thanks for the support.
Ava Bell doesn’t strike me as the type who tolerates bullshit.
And you, my friend, are approximately 73% bullshit on a good day.
Your confidence in me is overwhelming.
I’ll make the fake dating thing work. The optics are actually brilliant. But if you’re using this as a way to try to make her catch REAL feelings for you, you’re deranged.
That’s a special kind of emotional masochism even for you.
I can handle it.
Can you?
You’ve been gone for this woman for so long, and now you get to hold her hand and stare into her eyes and convince the entire internet that you’resoulmates.
That’s psychological torture, not a marketing stunt.
When did you become a therapist?
When I started representing idiotic fantasy authors who fall for their genre rivals.
You’re the worst.
I’m the best. That’s what you pay me for.
Speaking of which, I’m billing you extra for this conversation. Emotional labor surcharge.
Of course you are.
One more thing. If this shit goes sideways, I will personally make sure every book blogger on the internet knows you cry during Pixar movies.
ONE TIME, and it was Up.
That movie is everything.
My point stands. Don’t fuck this up, Pembry.
No pressure
Now go to sleep. You have a fake girlfriend to NOT screw things up with tomorrow.
Matthew is correct, as usual. This whole thing is going to be a disaster.
I toss my phone onto the coffee table and sink deeper into the chair. The Lumberjack’s Love Letters bites into my side. Yanking the book from where it got wedged between the cushions, I stare at the Lumberjack for several seconds, thinking.
