Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
SOREN
There are good nights. Great ones, even. And then there are the nights where your fantasy-hating, mayhem-bringing, mind-melting girlfriend puts on a pair of elf ears and ruins you for all other women—past, present, or theoretical.
Last night? Top. Fucking. Tier.
I’m not even entirely sure what happened after the photo booth.
I remember grabbing the photos from the dispenser, the two of us nearly fucking again and again every five steps on the way to our suite, the click of the lock on our hotel room door, and the sultry way Ava bent over the minibar in stolen reindeer antlers and asked if I wanted to unwrap my Christmas gift early.
Reader, I did.
And even better, I plundered the entire prop station, treating it as my own personal treasure hoard.
I’m not proud. Actually, that’s a lie—I’m incredibly proud.
Somewhere in my suitcase is a sparkly candy cane tie, two Santa hats, the aforementioned antlers, a suspiciously phallic snow globe, and one single velvet glove I’ve decided to keep for reasons I will not be explaining.
Now, here Ava and I are, on the bed—after some of the most intense sex I, for one, have ever had.
We’re curled in sheets and each other. Ava’s pressed against my side, one leg slung over mine, her fingertips drawing lazy circles on my chest, etching her name into my soul.
We’re existing. Breathing the same air. Skin to skin. Glowing.
I’m dangerously close to asking her if we can live here now. Right here, in this bed, in this moment. Forever.
Then she says it—softly, but not accidentally. “So… what are we going to do about that Lena chick?”
Fuck.
I keep my breathing steady, but inside, every one of my organs winces in unison. I was hoping this wouldn’t come up, but of course it did. Of course, Ava would ask.
Shifting to gaze down at her. “She’s noise. She’ll fade. You and me—we’re what matters.”
Ava lifts her head, eyes searching mine. “Is there more to you and her than what you’ve told me? It seems strange that she would be so extra with her scorch-earth shit if the two of you were only together once.”
The question’s fair. Reasonable, even. But it lands disgustingly hard in my gut—a punch thrown by someone who knows precisely where the bruise is hiding.
I take Ava’s face into my hands. “Lena and I have zero history. One night. One mistake.” One too many times in a single goddamn evening.
“I told you. It wasn’t romantic. Or meaningful.
Or anything close to what I have with you.
But it happened. She tried to come back for seconds this past summer, and I told her no.
Now she’s making it everyone’s problem. I wish more than anything I could erase that mistake. ”
Ava studies me a second longer than I’d like.
I move one hand to her back, trace a line down her spine. “She likes attention. And drama. She can’t stand being told no, apparently. And she hates that you stole a spotlight she never even had.”
Ava doesn’t press. She settles back into the crook of my arm and hums a soft, thoughtful sound, resting her cheek on my chest again.
“I love you.”
She still doesn’t say it back.
I kiss the top of her head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. And I promise myself—it will resolve itself. Lena will disappear. I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing from the start. Whittling away at every last wall, Ava Bell thinks she needs to survive.
An hour later, room service arrives. Breakfast should not feel like aftercare.
Yet here we are, basking in the glow of culinary comfort and recent sexual relations as two vainglorious criminals sipping overpriced lattes and pretending we didn’t defile an entire holiday photo booth sponsored by a romance imprint and their corporate partners.
I look at Ava—eyes still sleepy, lips still kiss-swollen, hair a beautiful mess—and all I can think is: I’m fucking gone.
Honestly, I don’t even want to be saved.
Ava takes a sip of her peppermint mocha, still flushed and warm from the night before, and I catch myself.
I said Girlfriend earlier.
Fantasy-hating, mayhem-bringing, mind-melting… girlfriend.
I freeze.
Girlfriend?
Shit. I said that without thinking. Not out loud—but still. That’s a word—a loaded one.
I mean… we travel together. Sleep together.
Text like lunatics when we’re apart. Which is practically never.
I’ve met everyone from her terrifying agent to her aggressively endearing grandmother.
I’ve worn her shirt. I’ve watched her cry.
We binged Twilight together. I’ve told her I love her.
We do all the things couples do. We just haven’t… labeled it as anything else.
My thumb taps the side of my mug. I should let it go. Let it stay easy. Let the definition remain vague so no one gets spooked.
Ava peers at me over her cup with those sleep-heavy eyes and that wild, no-one-else-gets-this smile and—
Yeah. No. I want the word.
“Hey,” I say, casually. Too casually, maybe. I sound suspicious. “Random question.”
She narrows her eyes. “That never ends well.”
“Would you say,” I begin, drawing the syllables out as though I’m prepping for a dramatic reading, “that we are…label toeing?”
Ava’s face scrunches in confusion. “Label toeing?”
I nod solemnly. “Yeah. You know—like camel toeing, except with relationships. A little too tight, a little too obvious, but we’re all pretending not to see it.”
Ava’s cheeks flush, but her glare could slice me in half. “Oh my God. You did not just compare me to a wedged-in yoga pant situation.”
“Metaphorically speaking,” I say, smirking. “It’s the part where we toe the line without crossing it. Except in my head, I may or may not have just called you my girlfriend.”
“Just now?” she asks.
“Literally two sips ago,” I admit. “I didn’t mean to. It was a reflex. Like breathing. Or stealing prop antlers.”
Her lips twitch. “So you’re telling me I’ve been demoted to a hypothetical mental girlfriend?”
I grin. “No, I’m trying to find out if you’d consider being officially upgraded to something with capital letters. I mean…I told you I love you, soooo…”
Ava’s eyes soften. The moment stretches a breath, long enough for me to panic. And then she leans over the table, grabs a sugar packet, and flicks it at my chest.
“Well, if I’m going to be labeled, I expect stickers. Glittery ones. Or maybe edible.”
“Done,” I say, instantly relieved and also a tad hard. “I’ll text Camille. She probably already has branded relationship stationery.”
Ava rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Pembry.”
“You’re lucky I’ve already mentally monogrammed your initials next to mine.”
Ava leans across the tiny café table, her robe slipping and showing those beautiful breasts of hers. I meet her halfway, cupping her cheek and kissing her deeply. I’ve earned the right to every inch of her. Repeatedly. In holiday-themed headwear.
She tastes sweet, like mocha and mischief, and when I deepen our kiss, her breath catches a little. My hand slips beneath the robe, grazing over soft skin and lower, lower—until I find her slick and waiting.
“Goddamn, Bells,” I murmur against her mouth. “You’re already this wet for me?”
She bites her bottom lip, eyes dancing. “You do things to me, Pembry.”
I drag my thumb through her arousal. “I’m going to fuck my girlfriend’s pussy so hard, they’re going to hear it at the North Pole.”
“Harder than last night?” she asks, breathy, teasing.
I growl. “Harder than—”
BANG BANG BANG.
We both freeze.
The knocking is intense. Someone’s trying to break down the fucking door. And I’m about to break their fucking face.
“Soren?” a voice calls. Camille. “Ava? Are you decent?”
Ava yanks her robe shut. I glimpse at the very not-decent state of my lap.
Fisher’s voice comes next, too cheerful to be trusted. “There’s been a… situation. We need you to open the door. Now.”
Ava stares at me. “What kind of situation?”
“Honestly?” I sigh. “I have no idea.”
BANG BANG. “NOW, please!”
Groaning, I shove off the chair, adjusting my robe and cursing whoever decided the hotel didn’t need deadbolts strong enough to keep our PR team out.
Ava’s scrambling to tie her sash tighter while I reach the door and crack it to peek out.
Standing there as the weirdest version of the Four Horsemen I’ve ever seen are Camille, Renata, Fisher…and Matthew. Matthew raises his brows at my half-dressed state. He can sense what was about to happen.
“I was promised breakfast,” Matthew says dryly.
Camille ignores him. “Are you going to let us in, or are we holding this intervention in the hallway?”
“Intervention?” Ava echoes, appearing behind me and peeking out from under my arm. Her cheeks are still flushed, her hair a mess of post-coital curls, and yeah—if four extremely annoyed adults weren’t currently staring me down, I’d be dragging her back to bed.
Instead, I step back. “Fine. But know—whatever this is—we’ve been a little busy.”
Fisher walks in first, already unlocking his phone. “Oh, we know.”
Ava freezes. “Wait. What do you mean, you know?”
Renata shuts the door behind her, like she’s locking us in for questioning. “Have either of you checked ShelfSpace today?”
“No,” Ava says, gnawing on her nails. “We told you. We were… distracted.”
Camille gives us both a look that could cancel Christmas. “Well, congratulations. You’re trending. Again.”
Fisher flips his phone around and hits play on a video.
The sound plays:
“Ava—this whole fake dating publicity stunt has been gold for you. Enemies with benefits! You’re trending daily. Your numbers are off the charts. But tell me the truth… is that all it still is?”
“It hasn’t stopped being fake.” Her voice isn’t her voice, but it still sounds sure. “Just because we started fucking for real.”
The video cuts off.
Ava pales. “That’s not what I said. That’s not how either of us said it—”
“Somehow Lena recorded it,” Matthew says grimly, arms crossed. “Then she edited it using A.I.”
“But she wasn’t there with us,” Ava counters.