Page 23

"What type of romance do you write?" asks Ethan, cutting his noodles into small bites with a knife and fork instead of using the chopsticks.

The others all look at him in surprise. I'm not sure if it's because of the question itself, or because he asks it so nonchalantly.

He looks up from his food and shrugs. "I have two sisters. They're always talking about the book club they're in, and apparently it's a smutty one."

"Our Clarissa writes sweet, heart-warming love stories that involve a lot of feelings and emotions," says Dad.

I nearly choke on my tofu. "How do you—have you, uh, have you read them?"

Please, please, please say no. I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye ever again. Even though the ones that have already been published don't have an ounce of spice.

"Uh, no." Dad's cheeks redden a bit. "I read the reviews."

"Oh, okay." I didn't want him to say he had read them, but at the same time, I'm disappointed that he hasn't. I'm not sure if it's because he didn't read my books to support me, or because if he read my reviews, he probably knows how few of them there are.

A tiny part of me debates telling them my next book will be straight up smutty, but I shove that though as far down as it will go. I'm not remotely ready to open that can of worms. Especially in public when we're trying to have a nice lunch.

At least if we're talking about my writing, there's a lot less chance of someone slipping up and clueing my parents in to what the guys and I have been getting up to around the house.

"Even if it's not smutty, you'll have to tell me the name later so I can recommend it to my sisters," says Ethan. "They'd love to read it. Even more so since I know the author."

All I can do is sit here in shock, fighting back the tingle of tears.

I barely know these men. I've all but lied to them about what I do for a living and I'm using them to further my career without their knowledge, yet Ethan is being casually supportive as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"That's very kind," I manage to squeak out, dropping my eyes to my plate to pretend that didn't just happen. If I can ignore it, I won't have to unpack the swirl of emotions I'm feeling at this unexpected act of kindness and can focus on surviving this lunch.

Everyone is silent for a few awkward beats, until Helix launches into a story about how once when he was a kid, he'd found a romance novel his mom had left in the living room and he'd been traumatized.

The others tease him about maybe having read it in private at some point, alluding to him masturbating to the story, but Helix vehemently denies this, aghast at the thought.

"My mom read that book," he reminds them. "And probably enjoyed it. Even back then, I knew what a lot of romance novels have in them. No way was I opening it up. I don't need to know what sorts of stuff my mom was reading in there." He shivers, accenting his disgust at the suggestion.

It's not the story I would have chosen for Helix to tell in front of my parents, but at least it carries us through to the end of the meal when we can finally leave. Next time my parents visit, I'm setting multiple alarms so there is absolutely no way I'm not the first one to the door.

Dad signals for the check, and the waiter comes over to inform him that the bill has already been taken care of. His eyebrows lift in surprise, and he looks to Mom, silently asking if she'd already paid. She looks just as confused as he does.

My roommates aren't surprised at all though, and are standing to leave. They've got a schedule to stick to not only for their gaming, but for their fans too. All two million of them. Including me now.

"Thank you for lunch," I tell them, because if my parents didn't pay the bill, and it wasn't me, it has to have been them.

"Yes, that was very kind of you," says Mom, clearly skeptical about how they can afford it.

"You let us pick the place, so treating was the least we could do," says Quintin.

"Besides," Lionel says, looking at me. "We're just glad we were able to all meet."

Well, they definitely know I'd been trying to avoid them meeting my parents today.

As soon as we get home, they'll say something about it, and it'll be a whole thing.

I'm not even sure why they wanted to be here, since they're missing out on time they could be working, and it's not like we're actually in a relationship.

They're not really my boyfriends. More like my bosses, and roommates.

"Us too," says Dad. "It's good to know who Clarissa is living with since we just want to make sure our little girl is safe, and happy."

"Next time we go out, it can be our treat," suggests Mom.

I doubt she actually wants to have lunch with my roommates again, but her Midwest compass is strong. Besides, she probably thinks they're like me, young adults struggling to get by in jobs they love and are passionate about, but aren't necessarily big money makers.

How wrong she is.

We return to the house and I pay special attention to my parents the whole way, avoiding the upcoming difficult and awkward conversation with my roommates and ensuring my parents' feathers aren't too ruffled from all the talk about romance books at lunch.

They've always had a strong sense of propriety and what is and isn't appropriate conversation, especially in public and in front of strangers.

Besides, I need distance from my boyfriends right now because their automatically paying for our lunch is unsettling, and my thoughts about it are all over the place.

It makes sense, since they can afford it while my parents would have blown their whole monthly budget to pay for all of us to eat at that restaurant.

But was it more than that? Were they trying to make a good impression on my parents?

Or is it because they're just nice guys?

I had intended to keep things strictly business between us so I can easily move out once I'm earning enough money to afford my own place.

Even if that business includes getting fucked frequently and in all sorts of ways.

Outside our house, the gamers lead the way up the steps to unlock the front door. I have a key, but they're always home so I never use it.

"Do you want to come inside for coffee?" asks Ethan, making no move to approach the door.

My other roommates pause on the stairs, and I groan internally. It's sweet of Ethan to offer, and he's definitely impressing my parents with his manners, but there is no way in hell that I'm letting him drag this out any longer.

Mom and Dad are probably more impressed than me because they're not also juxtaposing this kind thoughtfulness with the way he fucked me against Lionel's chest the other night in the front hallway.

"Thank you," says Mom hesitantly, glancing at Dad. "But we can't."

"Traffic, you know," says Dad, jumping in to help Mom. "We don't want to get caught in any rush hour traffic on our way home."

"Of course," says Ethan, as if he ever even leaves the house, let alone drives.

Every single one of my roommates jogs back down the stairs and shakes hands with both of my parents, murmuring that it was nice to meet them before heading inside.

Left alone with my parents on the sidewalk, I'm intensely aware of all the unsaid things between us.

I'd like to ask what they think of my roommates, but that might give away that there's more between us than just platonically living together.

They can't find out they're my boyfriends.

Especially if Dad is reading the reviews of all my books.

"Well, we have to head out, but it was good to see you," says Dad, pulling me in for a bear hug goodbye.

"Just consider Jodie's offer." Mom leans in to give me the quickest of hugs and a kiss on the cheek. "It'd give you a chance to move back home and be among family again."

"Thanks, but I'm happy here." When her face falls a little, I rush to add, "But if that changes, I'll be sure to let you know."

She nods and takes my dad's hand. I watch as they walk over to their car, their shoulders brushing gently until Dad opens the car door and helps her inside.

It's always been that way, his acting like a gentleman.

He's part of the reason I started writing sweet romance.

So I could show people the true love I witnessed every day growing up.

But that's not what sells, and it's not what everyone gets in real life. So as soon as they pull into traffic, I head up the stairs to my own much more precarious and naughty reality.

I'd expected to find my boyfriends waiting in the hallway, determined to have a postmortem of our lunch.

They probably have more invasive questions about my romance writing that they didn't want to bring up in front of my parents.

Not to mention, I owe them a thank you for being on such good behavior, and they will probably want a reward.

Honestly, after how sweet they were and having seen them looking … well, not dressed up, exactly, but maybe more presentable, in jeans, I'm not opposed to giving them all some sort of treat. I could use an orgasm or two myself to relieve the tension from all the stilted conversation.

But the front hall is empty, and they're not in the computer room or kitchen, either. Very weird. They're almost always in one of those two places, and now I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.

Work, I guess. Work is always the answer in the face of uncertainty.

Besides I'm not caught up on my notes about my last encounter, with Helix.

Then there's turning those notes into actual chapters.

In fact, they've been giving me so much material, I'll have enough to either write multiple books, or—and the idea makes my thighs clench—I could release some erotica shorts.

I've heard of other authors doing that under other pen names, just dirty scenes with little to no plot.