Girl Gone Viral

by Alisha Rai

  “Oh my God.” Jia clutched her face. “Say you love him too!”

  Katrina started typing, then deleted. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, now that he’s made himself vulnerable, you are free to make yourself vulnerable,” Rhiannon lectured. “But not in excess of his vulnerability. That’s the rule.”

  Katrina waved the phone. “Tell me what to say.”

  “Okay, right.” Rhiannon leapt to her feet. “Thank you very much. I return your affections.”

  Katrina tried that, and immediately erased it. “Never mind. I’ll do this on my own.”

  “WHAT DID SHE say now?” Andrés demanded.

  Jas dropped his head in his hands and stared at the phone in his lap. The scotch had made his head fuzzy, but not fuzzy enough to dull the pain of this torture. “Dots. Three little dots.” Evil dots.

  “What does that mean?”

  Gurjit hushed Andrés. “She’s typing.”

  Typing, typing, typing. Forever.

  When the text did come, Jas almost passed out releasing the breath he was holding. “Well?” Gurjit clutched Andrés’s hand. “What’s the verdict?”

  His smile could probably light up the hospital.

  I love you, too. Hurry up and come home.

  “Grandpa?”

  “Yes?”

  “Got any pilots who owe you a favor?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  SLEEP CAME SLOWLY to Katrina, but the alcohol helped. She would have slept straight through to morning but a noise woke her up.

  Her eyes popped open. It was still dark in her bedroom, but someone was knocking on her door.

  She breathed deep. Don’t freeze. Katrina reached under her pillow and groped for the little spray bottle she kept there, because she was paranoid as hell. She crept to the door. “Who is it?”

  “Jas.”

  What! Delight shot through her. She flung the door open.

  The reciprocal excitement on his face flipped to alarm. “Don’t shoot. Not again.”

  Katrina followed his gaze to the pepper spray in her hand. “Never again. I didn’t know who was at the door.” She backtracked and placed the bottle on her bureau.

  Jas entered the room and shut the door behind him. “It’s a good thing I didn’t go with my first idea and sneak in through your window to try that fantasy of yours.”

  His smile made her hot, and his gaze tracking over her body made her hotter. He made a startled sound when she launched herself at him, but he caught her close. “Hi.”

  She looked up at him. There were shadows under his eyes and his shirt collar was no longer crisp. Jas looked about as close to bedraggled as he could ever get. He was so beautiful. “Hi. How’s your family?”

  He pulled her tighter to him. “Good. My grandpa’s ridiculous, and I chewed him out. I also gave a firmer commitment to try to go to the parade, and he’s going to move heaven and earth to make it accessible for me.”

  Now that Jas was here, she felt nervous, more nervous than she’d been when sending those texts. “That’s so nice.”

  “How’s the internet treating you?”

  “Jury’s still out, but there was this video with a man dressed like a panda—actually, it’s not important. Everything’s fine, so far. Can you hug me hard?”

  He did, and they embraced for a long time in the middle of her bedroom. He finally brushed his lips over her hair. “I try to remember when I fell in love with you. But I can’t. It feels like it’s always been there.”

  She swallowed, joy filling her from top to bottom. “I love you too. I don’t know when it started either. All I know is, I woke up one day, and it was like I’d been looking for you my whole life. And there you were.”

  He shook his head, chagrined. “We could have had this conversation years ago.”

  “Or we were meant to wait for right now. Like everything led to this, you know?”

  “Always the optimist.” He pulled away and gazed down at her, lingering on her braless breasts under her shirt.

  The zings. From his eyes alone.

  “Tell me you stopped at the pharmacy.”

  Jas’s grin could rival the sun for brilliance. “I got some goodies in my pocket.”

  “Can we try it then?” she breathed. “The fantasy?”

  He started to unbutton his shirt, and indicated the bed. “Get in and close your eyes.”

  It was hard to keep a straight face as she waited for Jas under the duvet. The bed depressed next to her, and then his naked legs were tangled up in hers, the crinkly hair scraping her skin. She kept her eyes shut as his hand moved down her stomach, until he got to her sex. His fingers slid under her panties and combed through the hair there, and then he pushed them inside, moving slowly. “So wet,” he murmured.

  She let out a sigh when his thumb found her clit and he rubbed it in tight circles. He kissed his way down her neck, and over the curve of her breast through her nightshirt. Her breath came faster, though his strokes remained steady and controlled.

  He left her for a second, but only to tug off her nightshirt and panties. He lifted her breasts and licked each nipple, holding her steady for his mouth. He alternated licks and sucks, each caress tightening the knot in her belly, until she only wanted to do something.

  So tell him. “Fuck me,” she whispered, and he stiffened.

  For a second, she thought he might be scandalized by the words coming out of her mouth, but then he rose up on his knees, and the dark need in his gaze told her he was into it. He grabbed a foil square from where he must have stashed the supplies on the nightstand.

  Putting the condom on took a second, and she wished there was more light in the room so she could see, but then he was back over her. The head of his erection pressed against her thigh. She only had a fleeting moment to worry he was too large, and then a tight, burning sensation came as he entered. He stopped immediately when she winced.

  “It’s okay,” she said, and pressed her palms on his shoulders. “It’s been so long.”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “It absolutely is not okay. Hang on.” He pulled away and reached over to the nightstand again, this time retrieving a small bottle.

  Katrina gave a helpless laugh. “Wow, you really came prepared, huh?”

  “I wasn’t taking any chances.” He poured the clear liquid on his hand, then stroked it over his cock. He drizzled more on his fingers and pressed them inside her, chuckling when she jumped. “Like that,” he murmured. “Let me make you nice and slick for me.”

  She softened and grew more wet. Yes, she was slick. For him.

  This was right.

  She lifted her arms and he slipped into her embrace and her. This time when he thrust inside her, it was easy, natural. Their bodies moved together, her legs and arms wrapping around him. There was a spot deep inside he kept rubbing against . . . right there. Her eyes rolled back as he tapped it again and again, taking cues from her body.

  It was perfection. It was glorious. It was everything she could have dreamed of.

  She cupped his face above her. His eyes were hard and focused, brow furrowed. When she clenched down on him in a shivering climax he let himself go, fucking her in short rapid strokes. His groan echoed hers through the silent room.

  He straightened up on his arms to take his weight off her, his big chest rising and falling. “Sorry that was so quick.”

  That was quick? “I enjoyed it,” she said. What an understatement.

  Jas kissed her deeply, then got up. “Be right back.” He went into the bathroom. She lay there and thought about how her body felt. Different, yet the same. Satisfied. For now.

  Katrina made a happy noise when he got into bed and lay down next to her.

  He kissed her nose. “It’s toast, by the way.”

  “What?”

  “I love toast. It’s my favorite breakfast food.”

  She laughed, surprised. “That’s . . . such a simple thing. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “When
I was young, my grandma used to bake bread, and she’d let me have the first slice in the morning, slathered with hot butter.” His smile was fond. “I love toast.”

  “I will make sure you get toast. You do have to eat breakfast in the kitchen from now on. With me. That’s the difference between a boyfriend and an employee.”

  His smile took her by surprise. “This is probably a good time to tell you I’m quitting.”

  “Please, let me fire you. You could collect unemployment,” she teased.

  He sobered and played with her fingers. “Samson’s friend, he said I should consult for their organization that they’re a part of. The CTE one? They want to expand to vets.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Before we left. I went out with them. But I think instead of consulting . . . I’ll ask him for some resources.” He grimaced. “McGuire is getting pardoned tomorrow, and Lorne said she would handle the media by herself, but I know it’ll stir things up. I think I’ll take some time to decide what I want to do with myself. I’ll probably stay in cybersecurity but I need a minute to get some help and sort stuff out.”

  “Oh.” There went her heart, soaring. “I think that’s smart.”

  He pulled her close. “You were right. I do need to ask for what I want more. I’ve been thinking about it since I left you, and every time I’ve done it lately, asked for what I needed, I’ve been happy after.”

  He sounded so mystified by the concept of feeling good because someone saw to his needs. She cuddled closer to him and slung her arm over his chest. His delicious, beautiful chest. Focus. “Yes. Makes sense.”

  “I’ll keep building my support network while we build something together.”

  “I like that.” She rose up on her elbow. “There’s something I’ve been dying to do to you,” she said, with great bashfulness.

  “Oh yeah? Go for it.”

  She stretched up, and placed a delicate kiss on each of his perfect eyebrows. Then she smoothed them with her fingers.

  With a satisfied sigh, she rested her head on his chest. “Thank you.”

  “That was a very weird thing to do, but you’re welcome.”

  Could she time her pulse to his? “I’d also like to big-spoon you eventually.”

  Jas’s chest rumbled under her ear. “You’d be more like a backpack, wouldn’t you?”

  “It would suffice.” She interlaced her fingers with his. “You feel that? Those zings?”

  “Zings, huh?” He kissed her fingers. “Okay. Let’s call them that.”

  “Yes.” She pressed a kiss on his pec. They were silent for a long time, their breathing in sync.

  Katrina tried to close her eyes, but she was so happy and excited and hopeful, they kept popping open. She readjusted herself and gazed at the dark ceiling. “Jas?”

  His voice was sleepy, but he answered. She knew he’d answer. “Yes?”

  Her heart was aglow, and she needed to share it. Radically happy. “I’ve always thought it would be romantic to have a meet-cute with someone, but I think actually we’re in a perpetual meet-cute, you know? Like it’s never-ending, us finding each other.”

  His response to her mushiness was as perfect as his eyebrows. “Works for me.” He rolled over, pulling her under him. He captured her mouth, then whispered into it, “It’s always a pleasure to meet you.”

  P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*

  About the Author

  * * *

  Meet Alisha Rai

  About the Book

  * * *

  A Letter from the Author

  Reading Group Guide

  About the Author

  Meet Alisha Rai

  ALISHA RAI pens award-winning contemporary romances. Her novels have been named Best Books of the Year by the Washington Post, NPR, Amazon, Entertainment Weekly, Kirkus, and Cosmopolitan magazine. When she’s not writing, Alisha is traveling or tweeting. To find out more about her books or to sign up for her newsletter, visit alisharai.com.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  About the Book

  A Letter from the Author

  Dear Reader,

  I’m often asked where the inspiration for my books comes from, and I’m never quite sure what to say. It’s basically a mishmash of things I’ve seen and heard and learned, combined with pen ink and a pinch of pepper. Girl Gone Viral is unique, though, because I can trace the inspiration for its setting to a single source, one you may have caught in the text.

  The roti quesadilla.

  (Did a heavenly light just fall upon this text? Normal.)

  This delight was described in the Eater feature I found during a late-night hungry internet binge as “melted cheese, onions, and shredded beef sandwiched inside a paratha . . . served with a curry chicken dipping sauce.” I feverishly searched for where to find the goods, only to discover that Rasul’s El Ranchero, the small family-owned restaurant that had created it, had closed in 1993 after a run that spanned almost forty years, beginning in 1954.

  After I grieved that I would never taste this delicacy for myself, I went back to the article. It was the dates that caught my attention, as well as the location, a small city in Northern California. Mexican/Indian fusion fits right into our trendy global foodie scene today, but it must have surely been unusual a half century ago, yes? Especially in relatively small agricultural Yuba City, the seat of Sutter County.

  Except this dish wasn’t a trend. It was representative of a whole community.

  As Jas’s grandfather noted, thanks to a rising tide of anti-Asian sentiment, South Asian immigration was effectively halted in 1917. The borders weren’t fully open again until 1965. I know about the immigrants who came after: my parents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles and cousins. I knew much less about the ones who came before and paved the way for the millions who came after. Like most early immigrants, they struggled against the odds to carve out a home for themselves and their families. Like most immigrants, they are a vital part of American history.

  In the early 1900s, thousands of South Asians, mostly men, predominantly Sikhs, from the Punjab province in India came to America to work on the railroads and in agriculture. Places like Yuba City, with its rich farmland, became home to Punjabi settlements. Many pressing problems faced the farmers, not the least of which was a dangerous level of racism and hostility, but two major legal stumbling blocks directly challenged their dreams of becoming Americans.

  First, a Supreme Court case, United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind, held that South Asians were ineligible for citizenship. (For context, Thind worked his way through Berkeley and served as a sergeant in the U.S. Army during World War I. He was granted citizenship after the war, but the Bureau of Naturalization appealed it.) Under California’s Alien Land Law, only citizens could own property. South Asian immigrants, some of whom had been naturalized and then retroactively stripped of their citizenship following the case, could not legally own the land they were pouring their sweat and blood into.

  Second, the combination of a scarcity of South Asian women, the closed borders, and California’s anti-miscegenation laws, which prohibited people from marrying outside their race, made growing a community seem almost impossible.

  In theory. In reality, the court clerk signing marriage licenses often didn’t look very far past skin color. One source estimates that around four hundred marriages between Punjabi men and Mexican women took place between 1910 and 1940. These unions resulted in children who were automatically American citizens by birth and could hold title to their parents’ property. A hybrid Punjabi-Mexican community emerged—and with it, establishments like Rasul’s El Ranchero.

  The culture thrived for at least a generation, but as laws around immigration and citizenship changed, and the children of these unions grew up and moved and had families, so did the makeup of the community. Once the borders opened, South Asians naturally gravitated to places like Sutter County, where they had friends and family. To
day, Yuba City is reportedly home to one of the largest populations of Punjabis outside of Punjab. The Yuba City Annual Sikh Parade and Festival draws over a hundred thousand visitors from all over the world every November.

  I visited Yuba City on a summer day when the temperatures soared so high my car overheated. I parked it in the shadiest spot I could find and explored. I walked through peach orchards where farmers picked fruit; was warmly welcomed at the three local Gurdwaras; toured the Becoming American Museum, dedicated to Punjabi American history; gorged myself on a $7.99 buffet I would easily make an eight-hour drive for again (shout-out to Star of India, the saag was truly divine); and sampled tacos and snacks at roadside stands. This is the American heartland, I thought. A rich and beautiful tapestry of faces and languages and food.

  If you’d like to learn more about this volume of American history, I’d recommend starting with the Becoming American Museum’s digital exhibits and archives, W. Kamau Bell’s Emmy Award–winning United Shades of America episode “Sikhs in America,” and Making Ethnic Choices: California’s Punjabi Mexican Americans by Karen Leonard. Please excuse any liberties I may have taken with the city in this book. All errors are entirely my own.

  Psst. If anyone can recreate that legendary roti quesadilla? I’m still hungry.

  Best,

  Alisha

  Reading Group Guide

  Katrina goes viral because of a voyeur eavesdropping and embellishing her conversation. In a society where anyone and everyone has a camera or recording device in their pocket, do we have any expectation of a right to privacy outside of our own home?

  Ross really ran with his fifteen minutes of #CafeBae fame—making the talk-show rounds and creating a false social media impression detailing his “relationship” with #CuteCafeGirl. What do you imagine the fallout in his own life might be when the truth of the situation finally comes to light? How will he be affected—if at all—on social platforms and in his daily life?