Page 32 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

Sora

“When you invited me out for a drink, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

I look up from my boba tea to find Forrest eyeing his own cup with amused suspicion.

We’re seated at a tiny table by the window of Lucky Moon, my favorite twenty-four-hour boba shop in Brooklyn, just a few blocks from where the book signing was held.

The place is cramped but cozy, with paper lanterns casting a warm glow over the mismatched furniture.

“You don’t like it?” I ask, taking another satisfying sip through my jumbo straw.

Forrest prods at a tapioca pearl with his straw like it might suddenly spring to life. “I was picturing whiskey or bourbon, not a children’s drink with weird booger things in it.”

I laugh, nearly choking on my taro milk tea. “You’re a grown-ass man. How have you never had boba tea?”

“Because these little balls look nuclear,” he chides, uncloaked skepticism painting his whole face.

“They’re tapioca pearls. And this is a legitimate beverage choice for an adult.”

“If you say so.” He takes a tentative sip, his eyes widening slightly when a tapioca pearl shoots up his straw. He chews thoughtfully, his expression morphing from skepticism to reluctant approval. “Huh. Chewy. Not terrible.”

“High praise indeed.” I roll my eyes, though I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Sorry, I’m not a big drinker. I’m not against it, but I don’t often partake.”

“I gathered that from your gummy bear adventure.”

Heat creeps up my neck at the memory. “Yeah, well, I’m not big on a lot of things, honestly. Mostly just work and…more work.”

“I find that hard to believe. You must have hobbies.”

I shrug, avoiding his gaze. “Writing is my hobby. And my job. And pretty much my entire personality at this point.”

“What about friends? You have Daphne.”

I smile, thinking of my best friend’s excitement as we packed up after the signing.

“Yeah, she’s great. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

She’s literally my only friend. Twenty-seven years old and my social circle consists of one person…

well, two if you include my mom.” I bury my head in my hand when I hear the words out loud that make me sound like a forty-year-old virgin. “Damn, I’m pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Forrest says, his voice gentle. “You’re focused.”

“That’s a nice way of saying I have no life.” I attempt a self-deprecating smile, but it feels brittle on my face.

The truth is, I’ve always hidden behind my work. It’s safer to live in fictional worlds where I control the outcomes than to risk the messy unpredictability of real relationships. The irony of writing romance while avoiding meaningful connections isn’t lost on me.

“Dakota might like this stuff,” Forrest muses, poking at another tapioca pearl. “She’s got a sweet tooth.”

“My kind of girl. We should bring her sometime,” I suggest before I can think better of it. “Most kids like the strawberry or melon flavors.”

Forrest looks up, surprise evident in his expression. “You’d want to hang out with me and my kid?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Most women find that…off-putting. Especially women without kids of their own.”

I shake my head, smiling. “I love kids, actually.” I hesitate, then add, “My mom regularly reminds me that my biological clock is ticking. She sends me links to articles about egg-freezing and fertility declining after thirty. She’s a lot of things…subtle isn’t one of them.”

“She wants grandchildren?” Forrest guesses.

“Oh yes. And I’m an only child, so the poor lady has one single pony in this race.

Her dream is for me to put the books down, find a nice Korean boy, settle down, and start producing babies immediately.

Except the closest I’ve gotten to a long-term relationship is Daphne.

” I teeter my head side to side in contemplation.

“At this point, Mom’s so desperate, she might actually warm up to the idea of me and Daph adopting together.

Whatever puts a baby in Halmoni’s arms.”

“What did you just say? Hal-mornie?” Forrest asks, face screwed up in determination, but still butchering the pronunciation.

“Hal-moh-knee,” I sound out for him. “Means ‘grandma’ in Korean.”

“Ah, I see. And is that what you want?”

“A lesbian relationship with Daphne?” I tease.

“A kid, Sora.” A smile tugs at his lips. Perv. I bet he’s picturing it.

“I do want kids, eventually. When I figure out…everything else.”

“Everything else being your career?”

“My life,” I correct. “My purpose. Me.” I trace a pattern in the condensation on my cup. “I feel like I’m still trying to figure out who I am apart from everyone else’s expectations. Does that make sense?”

Forrest nods, his expression thoughtful. “More than you know.”

“What about you? Did you always want kids?”

“Not particularly,” he admits. “But then Dakota happened, and now I can’t imagine a time when I didn’t want her.”

“I like the name Dakota. How did you land on that?”

He smiles, a softness entering his expression that I’m learning is reserved exclusively for discussions about his daughter. “Hannah let me choose it. I just liked how it sounded.”

“Bravo,” I say before taking a short swig from my straw. “You did much better than my dad. He accidentally named me after a conch shell,” I blurt out, the randomness of the confession surprising even me.

Forrest’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“My mom wanted a Korean name for me, but she was so exhausted after labor that she told my dad to fill out the birth certificate. The dodo googled ‘Asian girl names’ and picked Sora, thinking it meant sky. As a fantasy writer who crafts dragons and faeries, I think it spoke to him.”

“That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“Except he didn’t bother checking what it means in Korean ,” I continue. “In Japanese, Sora means ‘sky.’ But in Korean, it means ‘conch shell.’”

Forrest’s eyes widen with delight. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. There are a couple of variations in translation. According to some, my dad accidentally loosely named me after a snail.” I point at my chest with a self-mocking smile. “Which, considering the pace of my career, might be shockingly apt.”

He laughs, his entire face lighting up with genuine amusement. “My little conch shell, inching her way to a bestseller. There’s nothing wrong with slow and steady, Sora.”

The casual endearment sends a warm flutter through my chest, which I immediately try to suppress. Getting attached to Forrest is a monumentally bad idea.

“So, the signing was amazing in the end,” I say, desperate to change the subject. “I’ve never been to an event that big. And most certainly have never sold out of books before.”

“Your work deserves recognition,” Forrest says with a sincerity that makes my stomach swoop. “I saw how those readers responded to you.”

“To your abs, you mean.”

“To your stories,” he corrects firmly. “The abs got their attention. After that, they were intrigued by your books.”

I fiddle with my straw, not sure how to respond to such unwavering support from someone who’s barely more than an acquaintance. “I still can’t believe how well it worked.”

“Daphne’s quick thinking saved the day,” Forrest agrees. “She’s quite the strategist. No surprise she got into law school.”

“ What ?” I gape. “What law school?”

Forrest’s expression shifts, realization dawning. “Shit. That’s right…she didn’t tell you, yet.” He hangs his head, a little color flooding his cheeks. “Any chance you can forget you heard that?”

“Let me check…” Still as a statute, I pin my eyes dangerously at him. “Nope. Now, tell me what the heck you’re talking about.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “She mentioned today she got accepted to a program in Lincoln, Nebraska. Starting next semester.”

The news hits me like a physical blow. Daphne’s leaving? And she didn’t tell me?

“That can’t be right.” I shake my head. “She would have told me something that important.”

Forrest’s grimace tells me I’m dead wrong. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Wasn’t my place.”

My chest restricts, a familiar panic beginning to set in. Daphne is my only friend, my support system, the person who believes in me when I don’t believe in myself. And she’s leaving? I mean, of course I’m happy for her, but…this wasn’t the plan.

Columbia Law was the plan. Here… with me , was the plan.

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” I whisper, more to myself than to Forrest. “Does she think I wouldn’t be supportive?”

“Maybe she was worried about how you’d take it,” he suggests gently. “Maybe she was thinking more about you than herself.”

The thought stings. Am I so fragile that my best friend feels she needs to shield me from her own good news?

“I can’t stop thinking about what you said earlier,” I admit.

“I said a lot of things earlier.” Forrest stabs at his tapioca balls beneath his orange smoothie, but keeps missing the boba. Frustration consuming him, he rips off the plastic seal and starts stabbing the little balls with the point of his straw, popping them into his mouth one by one.

“Growing on you, are they?” I smirk.

He releases a small chuckle. “What did I say earlier that’s on your mind?”

“You called me out. You asked if I was writing because I love it, or to be loved.”

He stops spearfishing his tapioca balls, and pushes his drink aside. Crossing his arms, he leans back in his chair. “Did you figure out an answer?”

I stare at him, amazed at his nonchalance while he zeroes in, precisely I might add, on the core of my anxiety.

“I don’t think it’s about love per se. Respect, maybe…from my dad.”

“What do you mean?” Forrest asks. He’s still like a chameleon trying to blend in with his surroundings, as if any sudden movement might scare away my confession.