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“Just ask her!” he yells, but I’m already underground.

I’m too nervous to do tonight’s activity under the influence, so Valencia is meeting me at my apartment before we go out for drinks. She arrives ten minutes after I do, and we get started right away.

I’ve done research, so I know to get Valencia revved up beforehand. But to my surprise, when I show her the mini riding crop I bought, she insists I use my hand instead—on her assandher tits. I can’t lie, it’s kind of hot, but I’m afraid of hurting her, even though she assures me that I can smack her ass a little harder while I fuck her.

She, however, has no qualms about using the crop on me and turning my butt as red as Santa’s suit. But considering she’s also working my lubed cock with quick strokes of her fist, I barely notice.

Later, however, when we finally get into Rolf’s German Restaurant and take our seats on the high wooden bar stools, I’m definitely aware of the sting. Good thing tomorrow’s activity isn’t butt plugs. My ass needs a break.

Rolf’s is known for its bountiful Christmas decor and holiday cocktails. Valencia orders the hot spiked cider, and I go for the vanilla-spiced eggnog with bourbon. While she visits the restroom, I text a picture of the ceiling to Rodrigo. It’s heavywith lights, baubles, plastic icicles, and vintage ornaments. Porcelain dolls hover among the pine boughs like the restless ghosts of Victorian children. I can’t deny that it’s atmospheric, somehow managing to be both cozy and overwhelming at the same time.

I hear Valencia’s voice a few minutes later. Out of the corner of my eye, I recognize who she’s talking to, and my blood runs cold.

It’s Fern Mulholland.

Fern’s hair is platinum now instead of brown, but her sprite-like face and smoky voice are unmistakable. She’s farther down the bar with her arm around another woman. I strain my ears and catch Fern introducing her date to Valencia. Then Fern lets out a little laugh and says, “For a second I thought you were sitting with Gideon Noble.”

My body goes numb. There’s a long pause, and I fully expect Valencia to deny it. She has the perfect opportunity to say, “Of course not, don’t be silly,” and go, leaving me behind.

But Valencia, as always, is stronger than I give her credit for. “I am.”

Fern’s smile drops off her face comically fast. She blinks a few times, then whispers, “Valencia.”

There’s a wealth of feeling in the way she says the name, and it cuts me to the core. It would be easier if Fern launched into a litany of recriminations. But this one word, utteredwith a combination of disbelief and censure and dismay, is a thousand times worse.

Because she doesn’t actuallyneedto say anything. Valencia already knows. Hell,Iknow.

But Valencia still doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t denyme.

It warms the cold place deep inside me, moves me more than it should. If I had any decency, I’d get up now and leave. Not just the restaurant, but leave Valencia alone for good, like I tried to do in high school. She doesn’t need me and all my baggage weighing her down.

I sneak another glance while pretending to text, but all I can see is Fern’s concerned expression and the back of Valencia’s hair.

“Are you sure you know what you’re—”

“I’mfine.” Valencia says it firmly, and I would sell my soul to see her face right now. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Fern’s features soften and she places a hand on Valencia’s arm. “I know. But I do anyway.”

Valencia’s posture eases almost imperceptibly. “You’re a good friend, Fern Mulholland.”

At that, Fern winces. “I’ll leave it to you to tell Ev about this.”

A chill goes down my back, and I’m relieved when Valencia shakes her head.

“I have nothing to say to him. Besides, it’s none of his business who I spend my time with.”

My chest swells with pride. Pride in Valencia for standing up for herself. And also, maybe, a bit for myself. To know that someone like Valencia Torres accepts me ... I don’t even have the words for what it means to me.

So I’ll just have to show her. Somehow.

But then Valencia says something that gives me what can only be described as a hot flash. “Why don’t you come over and say hi to him?”

My muscles tense as the two women approach. I greet Fern with a wary nod. “FernGully.”

She responds with an impish grin. “Hey, Knobble.”

I groan at the mocking childhood nickname, even though I had it coming. “God, I haven’t heard that one in years.”