Page 51 of Going Viral for Christmas
Silence lingers.
My mind jumps back to the Genre Feud when Soren told me he readThe Lumberjack’s Love Letters. That moment’s been gnawing at me ever since, chewing through every wall I swore was indestructible. I’ve tried to write it off, to file it under “irrelevant nonsense,” but it keeps coming back.
“Why did you read my book?” I finally ask, even though I already know this question has claws.
Swirling his cider, his gaze fixes on the firelight. “The guy in it... I saw a lot of myself in him, except, you know, with more restraint and less flannel.”
A nervous laugh escapes me.
“What inspired his character?” Soren inquires.
I hesitate, my response snagging like fabric on barbed wire. “He was based on someone I used to lo—” I choke the word back, because even after all this time, it still tastes like rust and regret. The memory of it hovers anyway, daring me to set it free, but I bite down hard, refusing. “He’s just a made-up book boyfriend.”
My chest twists. On so many levels, that answer is true. The man in my book isn’t real. Neither is his inspiration. He’s a wish—a dream stitched together in the dark—of someone I needed to exist.
But wishes don’t come true. They blur lines and make monsters look like miracles.
I don’t look at Soren. I can’t. If I meet his eyes, he’ll see the jagged, unfinished edges of me—the parts I’ve spent years patching over. I don’t want to share that part of my story with him.
“I know you’re lying,” he calls me out. “So, what happened?”
He wasn’t who I thought he was. And he didn’t love me back.“He wanted other things.” Women, to be more specific.
Soren’s gaze snaps to mine as though I’ve said something blasphemous. “Well, he’s a fucking idiot.”
The air stalls between us. It’s been almost twoyears, and still, there’s a part of me that flinches when I talk about it out loud. That relationship carved its name into my bones. Don’t mistake that for poetic. It was more like scar tissue.
I’ve told myself countless times I’m over it. Thatheno longercontrols me. I’m stronger now. But somehow, hearing Soren call him a fucking idiot makes my insides ache. I guess there’s a soft place there I didn’t realize was still bruised.
“And now?” he asks, quieter this time, like the answer matters to him.
“Now, I write about the guy Iwishexisted instead. It’s safer that way.”
Soren studies me for a second, brows lifting slightly. “That’s kind of devastating, Bells.”
Shrugging, I stare into my cup. “Yeah, well. So is dating in real life.”
Another pause. The hiss and pop of wood from the fire and the occasional bell of laughter from across the patch fill the silence.
Soren leans forward, cradling his cup in both hands, fingers tapping a slow, distracted rhythm against the paper sleeve. He draws in a breath. The crease between his brows tells me he’s weighing the thoughts in his head, rolling them around on his tongue before deciding whether or not to let it go.
That tongue.The one that did wicked, swirly things with mine during our kiss. My lips recall how it moved, with confidence and hunger. An uninvited thought slinks in:If that’s what his tongue can do in my mouth… what kind of magic could it work lower?
Heat floods my cheeks. I clear my throat. “What about you? How come the hottest ShelfSpacer ever to live is single?
Soren huffs a laugh. “I’m single by choice.”
“So much magical pussy, so little time?” I quip, lifting my cup in mock salute. “The burden of the chosen one.”
His jaw tenses, and that casual lean he had a moment ago is gone. Soren shifts in his seat. He sets his mug down on the bench with more force than necessary. Long fingers flex once. He’s tamping something down. It’s subtle, yet unmistakable.
“Am I wrong?”
“Yeah, you are. I’m not some horny asshole who collects conquests for power points.” His voice is suddenly less amused. “That’s not why I’m here. And for the record? If I wanted a harem, I wouldn’t be wasting my time sitting here with someone who views me as just another trope.”
The words sting. I deserve them.
I try to laugh, brush it off, but the sound catches in my throat. Soren managed to open up a sealed door inside me with a tiny crack, but I slammed it shut with a cheap line. Because that’s what I do, make jokes when things start to get heavy.
