Page 3 of Going Viral for Christmas
“I’ve never been into the brooding, cosplay types.” Not typically, anyway.
“Sure,” Fisher draws the word out. “And I hate gossip along with all things sugar.” He takes another bite. “All I’m saying is, Soren Pembry is one fine specimen. No wonder the line wraps around the ballroom. He’s literary lust in human form. I bet his special editions come scented with pine, musk, and male validation.”
My eyes slide back to where Soren is standing tall, like a king ruling over his kingdom. Fisher’s right. The line to see him coils across the ballroom, vibrant and alive.
Mine…not so much. It wilted the second he walked in, as though every reader suddenly remembered who they really came for. My shoulders slump.
“Flirting is a blood sport to him. He probably has a groupie rotation synced to his release schedule.” Fisher perks up. “Do you think there’s a sign-up sheet for that on his table? Or like... a QR code? Maybe a Google Form with checkboxes for preferred positions and safe word creativity?”
“Gross.” I steal his cookie, snap it in half, and chew my frustration.
Fisher licks sugar off his thumb. “So, are you all set for the Genre Feud?”
“No.”
“You’ll be brilliant,” he says, grinning like he knows exactly how not brilliant I’ll be. “The two of you together—in the flesh—will kill the internet. Honestly, after a year of online sparring, this feels less like professional rivalry and more like the longest foreplay in history. The sexual tension in your comment threads alone could power a small country.”
“What we have isfarfrom foreplay. It’s loathing.”
“It’s lust.”
I roll my eyes so hard they nearly detach. “You’re deranged.”
“Mhm. Then explain why you’re staring at that man like you want to suck his soul out through his dick. Because honestly, same babe. Same.” Fisher bites his lip.Oh God, he’s visualizing it.
I swat his shoulder. “Stop playing it out in your head.”
“Can’t stop, won’t stop.” Fisher crosses his arms. “It’s not like you haven’t thought about it.”
My mouth drops open. “I haven’t.”
Fisher arches a brow. “Luv, you’ve been staring at him since he walked in here.”
“I’m observing. Sizing up the competition.”
Fisher barks a laugh. “Sizing up, huh? Judging by the way you keep sneaking glances at his…sword, I’d say you’re not observing, you’re measuring.”
“I’m not!”
“Well, why not? The two of you together are enemies-to-lovers crack. Everyone in this room knows it. Act on it. Go over there and rub that magic sword, babe. Do it for the people. Do it for me.”
As if he heard us, Soren looks up. Stormy grays rake over every inch of my body in a sweep so slow and thorough it should come with a parental advisory. He stares as though he’s got me pinned against the nearest wall, dress hiked up, whispering something indecent in that deep, gruff yet somehow smooth voice of his.
Heat soars straight to where it absolutely shouldn’t. Lower belly. Inner thighs. And?—
That particular traitorous place clenches. Typical. She’s never met a bad idea she didn’t want to sit on—Soren’s cock included, which, if rumor threads are true, could probably be classified as a public safety hazard.
Nope. Delete. Backspace.
I shake the thought away so hard, I nearly sprain a neck muscle.God, I need holy water. Or at least another latte.
Fisher raises a brow. “You just disassociated into a sexual fantasy sequence, didn’t you?”
I school my face into innocence.
He retrieves a water bottle from his bag and unscrews the top. “Did it involve brooding, biting, or begging?”
“…shut up.”
