Page 155 of The Holiday Clause
“Joce, I don’t want it to hurt!”
“Then you shouldn’t have waited this long, toots. Your shit’s probably atrophied.”
She planted her face in her hands and groaned. “Why did I come here?”
“Relax. You came here because I’m the most unfiltered friend you have, and you know I’m going to give it to you straight.”
“I think you mean unhinged.”
“Unfiltered, unhinged. Tomato, tow-mah-tow. The point is, once he’s in there, you’re going to ride that man like he’s the last warhorse out of Valhalla.”
Wren choked on her prosecco.
“I’m serious. You summon your inner shieldmaiden, and you plunder that man’s soul. Leave him so dazed he forgets his name but remembers yours for the rest of his life.”
“Jocelyn!”
“Don’t you dare go in there shy, Wren. Be the Viking princess I know you are.”
“My family’s from Boston.”
“Well, Bostonians are a little nuts. Channel your inner Viking and don’t ask for permission—just conquer. Storm the fjord. A true heroine doesn’t tiptoe into a love scene—she raids it.”
Wren blinked. “What does that even mean?”
“Flip him. Mount him. Ravish him like it’s Midsummer and there’s a fertility festival on the line. Make your ancestors proud.”
“I’m pretty sure my ancestors included English Puritans.”
“Then make his proud. Moan like a war horn. Scratch his back like you’re climbing a glacier to save your life. And for the love of Freyja, move your hips like the fertility goddess you are. A true Viking wench never lies still.”
“Okay, okay! I get it.”
“No, you don’t. But you will.” Jocelyn tipped the bottle to refill her glass.
Wren put a hand over the rim. “I have to drive.”
“Oh. Right. You want the bottle? It might help.”
“No, that’s okay. I probably shouldn’t drink.”
“Why?” Jocelyn scrunched up her nose.
“I want to be fully aware.”
“Oh. Smart. Especially if it hurts.”
On second thought, Wren grabbed the bottle by the neck. “Maybe I’ll use it to ice my crotch afterwards.”
“Atta girl! Now, you’re thinking. And one more thing…”
“Yeah?”
“Trust your body. It knows what it wants, even if your brain’s overthinking everything. Let instinct take over.”
“Thanks for the advice.” She slid off the barstool.
“Any time.”
