Page 4 of A Very Addicted Christmas

My biggest fear is that the world finds out before my family. I don’t know how that would happen, but that will fuck up my life in too many complicated ways.

Whatever or however I choose to tell my family—I know I’ll replay the moment in my head for years and years. I don’t want to mess that up either.

So yeah, give me a second or five-million.

“I’m alright,” I assure Uncle Ryke.

His hand falls off my shoulder and drops to his side. “Call your dad. He fucking misses you.” He adjusts the snowboard and glances back at Sulli. She laughs at the phone, still speaking to her sister.

“I talked to my dad last night.” I unzip my jacket, hot all of a sudden.

My parents are dealing with an eleven-year-old daughter, a soon-to-be eight-year-old son,anda six-year-old daughter back at the lake house.

I want to give them some slack here. My parents don’t need to worry about me, and I’m not about to blow up his phone for what?

I can handle anything.

Ryke rubs his unshaven jaw. “You change your mind at all and you fucking call me. Alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” We hug, and he approaches my bodyguard, saying a few words to Declan. The usual.Stay close to Moffy. Protect Moffy.All of that. I kind of tune it out.

I call out to Sulli and wave goodbye. She waves back, and then I aim for the hotel-lodge again. Walking on a stone path. Passing a few fire pits, pubs, a giant Christmas tree and other festive decorations. Garland strung and wreaths hung.

Declan sprints until he’s several feet ahead of me, but he hangs sort of off to the side like a shadow.

A second rental store is attached to the actual hotel-lodge, and I notice a college-aged guy restacking snowboards. His longish blonde hair sticks out of a beanie, and he hoists three snowboards above his head, fitting them in place.

He looks like a young Thor.

He’s hot.

Really ho?—

My foot catches something hard, and I almost face-plant on the stone and light layer of snow. But I stumble forward and keep enough balance to stay on two damn feet.

I glance back and realize what went wrong.

I tripped over a short wooden bench.

Greaaat.

Turning back to the rental boards, Young Thor is staring right at me with a load of fucking confusion. I can’t be certain if it’s because he’s wondering why this kid just tripped over a bench or if it’s because he’s beginning to recognize who I am.

Maximoff Hale.

Famous.

He’s jogging over. Fucking Christ.

I’m more aware that paparazzi are in perfect distance for money-shots from the parking lot. I don’t care if they take photos of me.

I care if they sell these to the media who’ll print headlines that say:Maximoff Hale Caught Checking Out Hot Young Thor! He Likes Dudes!

Just let me tell my family first.

Please God.

I mortar nothingness in my features. Stoic. But friendly. I’m approachable, which is why Young Thor comes up to me.

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