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“So, were there no Prince Charmings at the dance? Nomessy-haired cinnamon rolls? No growly alphas looking at you intensely?” my mom asks, talking to me in romance lingo.

“Not even close,” I say, shaking my head, trying to remove all thoughts of the limo ride from hell.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time,” my dad says. “Still, you look beautiful. Those high school boys don’t know a good thing when they see it. Don’t worry, once you get to Brighton, there will be plenty of smart and ambitious young college men standing in line to get your attention.”

Dad, talking about Brighton like it’s the best place on Earth again.

“And you look like a princess,” Eugene says.

“I can’t believe you went to prom without a date,” Cybil adds. “Anyways, as I was saying before Irene got home, I need the car tomorrow for my casting—the Mercedes, not the Honda.”

“Eugene has a tournament tomorrow and we have all his gear. We’ll need the bigger car,” my dad explains.

“Mom, I can’t show up to the casting in a Honda,” Cybil whines.

I stand up and grab my bowl of ice cream. Guess my three minutes of being the center of attention have ended. Now on to yet another family discussion I’m not involved or interested in. “I’m gonna go upstairs and change,” I say.

The argument over transportation continues without aword in response to me. Per usual.

I head up to my room and close the door behind me, blocking out the sound of my family. Silence. Bliss. I put the bowl down on my desk and fire up my laptop.

I pull off my very uncomfortable prom dress and trade it for a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and my favorite oversize sweatshirt that says “Never f*ck with Nora, Debra” on the front. My battle armor, if you will. The signal that I forever stand with my queen, Nora Roberts, on any and all issues.

I bet Nora could’ve come up with an eviscerating one-liner for everyone in the limo.

I plop down in my desk chair, pulling one knee up to my chest and resting the foot on the seat while the other leg dangles. I interlace my fingers and pull, cracking my knuckles.

And I get to work.

I open up the seven platforms I use most frequently for posting my book reviews, either via text or video. And for the first time all night, I let my shoulders relax and exhale a soothing breath.

This is where I come to life: in my online circles, with my followers, my fellow romance readers.

Some people are studied in the arts or sciences. Some have bodies that can be used to create magic in dance or sports. Some have faces that look good in pictures (yay, you, Cybil). But me? My brain was meant for romance novels.

And from the first time I received a DM from a followertelling me I was the one who got them into reading romance and to keep up the good work, I knew: This is my calling.

I will fight for the HEA till my last breath.

I will discuss the nuances of romance tropes until my voice is gone.

I will read young adult, small-town, romantasy, dark, monster, mafia, hockey, and everything in between.

When I’m finished, I put my heart into reviewing them. And after posting all my reviews, I go back and respond to every comment, answer every question, and make recommendations for books as requested. I’m good at this. Maybeonlythis.

I scroll through my feed, saving some new trending sounds for future posts. I like and comment on a few posts by other reviewers. I download some book covers to use as thumbnails on my next monthly reading wrap-up.

Then, finally, I look at the response to my latest review, posted earlier today.

I had specifically worn a pink top to convey a carefree, unintimidating vibe for the video. I also made sure to smile from the very first moment I pressed record. I find this helps instill trust in my viewers about the content. I knew this debut author’s virgin romance might not hit for everyone who reads it. But I wanted to make it clear why I loved it.

I think this review is a winner. The view count is growing,though not quite as quickly as I had hoped, and for the most part, the comments are kind, agreeable.

But then I see it.

The name.

@aidentheguyreadsromance