All the Feels (Spoiler Alert, #2)

by Olivia Dade

Thank goodness he’d chosen acting instead of, say, founding a cult.

“You—you have a mini-castle.” Her voice wavered. “With turrets. And a moat.” Then she threw back her head and laughed. The joyful sound floated through the evening sky, rich and warm, bright as the smile transforming her features into near-beauty, and— And he couldn’t seem to look away. Fuck, he couldn’t seem to look away.

“Hope you like chicken enchiladas. If you don’t, you’re objectively wrong, because chicken enchiladas are fucking delicious.

Oooh. He was going to see his stern minder’s inner sanctum? Her Fortress of Stultifying Solitude? He couldn’t wait.

When she failed to bite back more laughter, he was tempted to record the snorting merriment, just so he could replay it whenever he needed to smile.

That night, she’d lain awake again, wondering why he kept getting so angry on her behalf. Angrier than she’d ever been for herself. She didn’t get it. But it did make her feel . . . warm.

“If I don’t know what I did or said, I can’t deploy that particular action or phrase when an urgent need for assholery might arise again. As always, preparation is key.” No response. Fine, then. He’d be sincere, damn it. “If I don’t know, I also can’t avoid doing whatever I did again. I don’t want to make you angry.”

He’d bet his mini-castle that she was an exemplary therapist. He already knew she was an exemplary human.

Lauren Clegg might well be the most frustrating human being on the face of this planet, and coming from him, that was a fucking indictment.

By all rights, the car should be festooned with the exploded remains of his head. “What?” Somehow, that was all he could articulate. “What?”

Her face puckered in thought, and it was fucking adorable, and he hoped like hell she gave him the answer he wanted. Because a woman who’d spent her life serving and protecting others at the cost of her own safety and emotional well-being deserved a champion. A better one than him, obviously. But he was what she had right now, poor woman, and he wanted her to accept his entirely inadequate fealty.

In the end, despite all her attempts to be small, despite the discomfort of those attempts, she’d still have bruises. Pain following pain. It was unavoidable. Inevitable. She’d accepted that for herself long ago. But Alex hadn’t been willing to accept it for her. He’d witnessed her pain, and destroyed himself to avenge it. For that reason, and for that reason alone, she wished to God she’d never met him.

Marcus chafed his shoulder supportively. “Maybe we should reclassify you as a weepy bitch instead of a gossipy bitch.” Alex raised a trembling middle finger.

“Lauren, you’re fucking terrible at being angry at other people for mistreating you or overlooking your interests.” A home truth, and one he hoped she understood. “Your lack of anger does not reliably indicate a lack of wrong done to you.”

“Let me get this straight.” He braced his hands on the counter and leaned in closer to the clerk. “There’s only . . . one bed?” The young man blinked at him. “Yes, sir.” When Alex pumped his fists in triumph, punching the air, Lauren and the clerk both jumped. “This is the best day of my fucking life!” he shouted. “Only! One! Bed! My second-favorite trope!”

LMAO

They were going to cuddle for warmth? Holy shit. All his fanfic and real-life dreams had come true. This really was the best day ever.

“Is that another Pretty Woman reference?” It totally was. “I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”

“But you knew about the rest of it. Unless you’re having amnesia issues. Which, incidentally, is another of my favorite fic tropes, so if you’re an amnesiac or want to pretend to be one, let me know, and we can have some fun with that.”

“And this means I’ve wanted you ever since you walked toward me in LAX looking like a freaking god. That damn Henley should be outlawed.”

The only way to save him was to leave him.

ugh i hate this trope

He sighed and held his mom tighter. “I wish you didn’t know the phrase thirst tweets. Especially in reference to me. Especially especially since I’ll be posting more shirtless pics soon.”

“I fucking love you, Wren, and you’re obviously my soulmate.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Of course it’s a goddamn soul mark. Have I taught you nothing, you obtuse harpy?” Delightful. Asshole.

“Please excuse my profanity, Vika,” she said calmly, “but in the immortal words of my husband: Those people can go fuck themselves.”