Page 34 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

“So, what I really need is a temporary living situation.” Forrest leans forward, his muscular forearms sweeping the uneven table, causing it to teeter between us. “Perhaps a vacant, uninhabited brownstone that happens to be a ten-minute walk from her school.”

Maybe I was too distracted, mesmerized by his razor-sharp jawline and the gentle wafts of his sexy cologne.

His eyes held mine with an intensity that stole my breath.

I was so consumed by the electricity between us, I didn’t realize where this was headed until he spelled it out in braille, so even a blind man could read his intentions clearly.

“You want me to give you my brownstone?” I balk.

“I want to make another deal with you.”

I cackle shrilly, half out of shock, half denial. “Forrest, no offense but no way you’re that good in bed. I’m not giving you a house worth at least eight million on the market right now. I didn’t even get a happy ending from the first dumbass deal I made with you. No. ”

It’s weird how patient he is through my outburst, his expression even-keeled with just a hint of enjoyment. “First off, I don’t want you to give me your brownstone. I’m asking if I can borrow it.”

“In exchange for what?”

“I think I can help you, Sora. With your books.”

“Help me how?”

“The signing went well because we tapped into something readers respond to—the book-boyfriend experience.” He wets his lips, holding my gaze.

“What if we expanded on that? What if I helped you explore different romance tropes firsthand so you could dive into the emotions your readers are looking for? I’ll be your source of inspiration. ”

I blink at him, not quite following. “What are you suggesting exactly?”

“We role-play.” He holds up a hand when my eyebrows create liftoff.

“Not just in the bedroom sense. I mean, we create scenarios based on popular romance tropes. I play the part of different hero archetypes. You immerse yourself in those experiences and then write about them with authentic emotion. The magic touch your future bestseller needs.”

That’s ridiculous. Unhinged. Laughable… But wait. Is it? Daphne mentioned something about me writing about love, even though I’ve never really been in love. Is this…a solution?

“Like method acting for authors,” I say slowly.

“Exactly. You said yourself you’re torn between writing what you love and writing what readers want. Maybe this is a way to bridge that gap—to find inspiration that’s both commercially viable and personally meaningful.”

It’s rapidly turning into an intriguing idea, I have to admit. And not entirely different from what I sometimes do already—putting myself in my characters’ shoes, imagining how they would feel and react.

“And in exchange, I give you my new house and stay in my shitty apartment for how long?” I ask.

“It has plenty of bedrooms and four floors, Sora. Move in if you want. Koda and I only need two rooms. We’ll clean up after ourselves, and do our best to stay out of your way.”

I fiddle with my straw, weighing the proposal. On one hand, it makes a certain kind of sense. The brownstone is sitting empty, practically begging for a family. And I do need inspiration for my next book.

On the other hand…

“I don’t know, Forrest.” I rummage my brain for a plausible objection that isn’t the truth—that I’m afraid of getting too attached to a man who makes his living by making women feel special.

That I’m even more afraid of latching on to someone I can’t keep now that I know Daphne is leaving. “There’s a flaw in your plan.”

“Which is?”

“It wouldn’t be authentic.” I swallow hard, the lie feeling bitter on my tongue. “I mean, for this to work, there would need to be actual chemistry between us. And I’m just not… I don’t think you’re my type.”

It’s possibly the least convincing lie I’ve ever told. Judging by the slow smile spreading across Forrest’s face, he knows it too.

“Is that so?” he asks, his voice dropping to a register that sends a shiver up my spine.

“Yes,” I insist, my cheeks igniting. “I mean, you’re objectively attractive, to other women I suppose. But I’m not personally attracted to you.”

“Objectively attractive,” he repeats, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Your flattery knows no bounds.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” I cross my arms defensively, aware that I’m digging myself deeper with every word.

“I’m simply saying, for your role-play idea to work, we’d need to simulate real feelings to spark creative inspiration.

And not to mention, I don’t want to get slapped with an invoice every time we kiss. ”

“Receipts,” he teases. “You’ve already prepaid for quite a few kisses.”

“That you still haven’t delivered on,” I quip back. “Can we circle back to you returning my money?”

“Nope. But I suppose we should test your theory,” he says, his tone silky smooth. “To see if it could work.”

Before I can process what’s happening, Forrest stands, leans across our tiny table, and cups my face in his hands. His touch is gentle but firm, his eyes questioning, his pupils bouncing back and forth between mine. He’s giving me a chance to pull away.

I don’t take it. Mostly because I’m completely frozen in a frosty mix of intense nervousness and excitement. My heart hammers almost painfully against my lungs as he closes the remaining distance between us.

The first touch of his lips against mine is soft, tentative—a question rather than a demand.

Then, as I respond with a small, involuntary gasp, his tongue slips into my mouth, deepening our kiss.

His hands slide into my hair, cradling my head as he angles his lips over mine with devastating precision.

This is not the kiss of a man going through the motions. This is not a performance.

Forrest kisses like he’s discovering a secret, something he’s been desperately searching for.

His mouth is warm and insistent against mine, coaxing me to relax into him, yet there’s an underlying grisly hunger that makes my toes curl in my boots as his hand powerfully holds my cheek, preventing my head from falling right off.

I’ve written dozens of first kisses in my books. None of them prepared me for this reality—the heat pooling low in my belly, the way time seems to stretch and compress simultaneously, the soft groan that escapes him when my tongue meets his.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing heavily. The Lucky Moon café has gone utterly silent, every patron staring at our display with varying degrees of shock and appreciation. The teenage barista behind the counter gives Forrest an approving thumbs-up.

“Well,” Forrest says, his voice rougher than before as he sits back down, “you’re right, that was awful.” At first I’m shocked until his smug, playful smile takes the stage and he continues. “Clunky, way too wet, and kind of gross. You kiss like a fish, Sora.”

I blink at him, still dazed. “You jerk. You’re unbelievable.”

“ Thank you ,” he teases. “And don’t worry, we’ll get you there. A few dates with me and we’ll have you kissing like a pro.” His eyes gleam with satisfaction. “So, do we have a deal?”

I should say no. I should absolutely, definitely say no. This man is an escort who seduces women for a living. This arrangement has “disaster” written all over it.

But my lips are still tingling from his kiss, and the memory of his hands in my hair sends another shiver through me. More than that, the promise of finding new inspiration for my writing—maybe salvaging my career—is too tempting to resist.

“Fine.” I try and fail to sound reluctant. “We have a deal.”

His answering grin is equal parts triumph and genuine pleasure. “You won’t regret it.”

I already suspect that’s not true, but I’m too far gone to care.

“But I think we need some ground rules. This is strictly professional, right?”

“Of course.” He nods assuredly.

“All right, so…just research. And kissing is fine, but as far as anything else…maybe we should leave that off the table.”

“That’s your call,” he answers with pursed lips. “My only rule is we shelter Dakota from the details of this arrangement. She can’t know what I do, or what we’re up to.”

“Agreed. Absolutely.”

See? He’s responsible. Considering his daughter. This is fine. This is actually a smart plan… Or maybe I’m just rationalizing a terrible decision because the man kisses like sin and looks at me like salvation.

“So, what now?” I ask. “When do we start?”

“If you want to take me back to your place and get naked, we can start research right now.” He pumps his brows and is met with my narrowed eyes.

“Try again.”

“Fine. How about we talk a little more about your books. What’s working, what’s not. We’re not going to look at those bullshit reviews online, but why don’t you tell me what you feel like your strengths and weaknesses are in your writing, and what we need to work on.”

I tilt my head to the side, examining his sincerity. “You’re genuinely trying to help me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Dammit. I could resist a hot asshole. But this? Forrest? I’m Little Red Riding Hood, willingly leaping into the wolf’s mouth.

“I’m going to need another boba tea, then.” I move for my purse hanging on the back of my chair, but Forrest whips out his debit card and shoves it in my hand.

“I get the feeling book boyfriends are supposed to exclusively pay on dates. So, that’s what we’re going to do moving forward.”

Date? Damn my stupid involuntary smile. “All right. Do you want anything?”

“I’ll take whatever you recommend, my little conch shell.” He sends me his signature wink before settling back into his chair.

My legs feel like jelly as I walk up to the counter to order another round of tea smoothies.

“Another taro boba for me, and a Thai tea boba for my…friend.” I look over my shoulder at Forrest, who latches on to my gaze, smiling at me like I’m walking sunshine on earth.

That settles it.

Forget playing with fire—I’m already walking through the dragon’s flames, and without a doubt, I am totally, epically, and completely screwed.