Page 91 of Going Viral for Christmas
I know better.
“That burning inside,” my voice trembles. “It’s heat. Lust. It’s not good, Soren.”
“The fact that you can describe it to me tells me you feel it too.”
Shaking my head, I duck under his arm to escape and retreat to the bed. “I’m not about to act on it.”
“Except, you did.”
My entire body goes rigid, nerves locking tight beneath my skin. I could tell him the truth—that I’m scared. That I’m in too deep. That he makes me feel things I can’t control.
“That was a mistake,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”
Soren strides up to me, closing the space and erasing every inch of distance I’ve tried to build. His hand comes up, fingers firm but gentle beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his.
“Yes, it will,” he says. “And when it does, I’ll make damn sure it doesn’t feel like a mistake.”
This is too much for me. So, I go for the jugular.
“You’re confused,” I say, both words clipped and cold. “Whatever fantasy you’ve built in your head over the last couple of days needs to end. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed with the idea of family, since you don’t have one.”
The words hang between us like shrapnel. For a heartbeat, Soren doesn’t move. Or blink. He stares at me, the color draining from his face as the hit lands exactly where I aimed. Then he nods once—pointed, contained—and looks away, swallowing hard.
I hate myself for it instantly. But hate feels safer than hope.
I plant my hands on my hips and turn away. I put the hurt in his face there, and I can’t stand to look at it.
“That was a low blow, Bells.”
I let out a long breath before turning back to face him. “Look, I don’t do casual. And you don’t do relationships. You’re not the long-haul type. You’re fireworks and flings that burn fast and bright. We wouldn’t be right for each other anyway.”
The air between us turns to ice. I’m really twisting the knife today, and I hate myself for it. But it’s easier to strike first than wait to bleed.
When he speaks again, there’s no anger, only quiet resolve. “It doesn’t mean I can’t want something different.” His arms drop to his sides. “And that something different is you, Ava.”
Ava? No Bells. Just… Ava.
“You don’t wantme,” I say, angling my head to look back at him. “You just want tofuckme.”
The silence that follows isn’t soft or comfortable. Soren’s stormy eyes flame with fire. His smile—ever-present, ever-disarming—is gone. What replaces it is ice and fury.
“Wow,” he says, voice lethal. “You really think that little of me?” He steps into me, close enough to steal my air. “You think this is about sex? That I’ve spentmonthscircling you, sparring with you, craving every damn second of you… because I’m what? Horny?”
I search for the right words, but come up empty. What does he mean he’s spent months circling me? And craving every damn second of me?
“If all I wanted was sex, I could’ve had that with a dozen other people by now. People who didn’t insult my integrity every time I gave them a piece of myself.”
“Soren, Idon’tunderstand. We’re rivals. It’s a gimmick. A show. And now, that show has become a clichéd fake dating trope. For numbers. Nothing more.”
Soren presses a hand to his chest as though he’s physically holding himself together. Like if he doesn’t keep the pressure there, the wound I’ve just inflicted will split wide and spill everything he’s trying so hard to keep inside. “That’s where you’re very wrong.” A shadowed sadness I’m not prepared for passes over his features.
My chest tightens, a coil of confusion winding tighter with every word. He sounds so certain, and I don’t know what to do with it. Or with him. I don’t know if I should believe him or run away before I start to.
“You, Bells,” he says, softer now—dangerously so. “You’re the one Iwant. And not just in my bed.” Big hands grasp my waist. He leans down, his voice a whisper pressed between clenched teeth. “So if you’re going to accuse me of something, make it something that actually reflects what I’veshownyou. Not this bullshit version you’ve made up to protect yourself.”
Soren releases me and steps away, breath ragged. I’m instantly confused as to why I want him to come back.
“And for the record? Wanting to fuck you andwanting youare notmutually exclusive.” He waits, watching me as though I’m the final page of a book he’s not ready to finish. Then, that shadowed sadness reappears. This time, as his smile spreads across his handsome face. “Maybe I’m notknownas the long-haul type, but I don’t survive tarot readings, turkey hats, the whiplash you’re dishing out, andfamilyfor just anyone.”
