Page 50 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

Sora

“To Sora!” Taio raises his beer high. “The stealthiest double agent in paintball history!”

“ To Sora !” Saylor and Forrest echo, clinking their glasses against mine.

An hour after our paintball victory, we’re seated in a corner booth at McGinty’s, the local pub near the paintball facility.

The Slaughterhouse Four occupy a table across the space, looking markedly less cheerful as they nurse the beers we bought them out of pity.

We spared them from buying our drinks but still forced them into the reluctant video testimonial, declaring us “the superior paintball team in every way, now and forever.”

I’m still riding the high of our victory, my body humming with leftover adrenaline and the pleasant buzz of the hard cider Saylor insisted I try.

My hair is damp from the shower I took at the facility, and my skin still bears faint marks—almost hickeys—where Forrest sucked on my skin in the equipment shed.

“I still can’t believe you took out all three of them,” Saylor says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

“Beginner’s luck,” I say with a pop of my shoulders.

“Bullshit,” Taio counters with a knowing smirk. “You’re a natural-born killer.”

“Hardly.” I laugh. “But I did grow up playing a lot of arcade games with my dad when he was actually around. When I was little, he used to take me to Pewter’s, which is like a Dave & Busters. We liked that hunting game.”

“Your dad playing Big Buck Hunter,” Forrest muses, taking a swig of his beer. “Now there’s an image.”

“He was terrible at it,” I admit. “But he tried. It was one of the few childhood memories I have of us together.”

An awkward silence falls over the table at the mention of my father, and I mentally kick myself for bringing down the mood. I’ve noticed both Taio and Saylor are careful to avoid the subject of Forrest’s escort work, and in return, I should probably be more careful about my own familial baggage.

“So,” I say, eager to change the subject, “how’s Dakota doing at her grandparents’? Have you heard from her?” I direct the question at Forrest, who’s been checking his phone periodically throughout the evening.

His expression softens at the mention of his daughter. “She’s good. Hannah’s mom sent me a photo of Koda in her new princess floaties.”

“That’s sweet of her.”

He must sense the curiosity in my tone, because he elaborates. “Hannah’s parents have always been good to me. They weren’t thrilled when we split, but they’ve made an effort to stay in Dakota’s life—and by extension, mine.”

“Unlike Hannah herself,” Taio mutters under his breath, earning a warning look from Forrest.

“Speaking of family,” Saylor interjects smoothly, “Forrest tells us you’re a hotshot romance writer. We were at Turn The Page the other day looking for your books.”

“Yeah…my books aren’t there,” I say, forcing a small smile. “I’m an indie romance author.”

“It’s an independent bookstore,” Taio adds.

“Yeah, well, I inquired a few times. Never heard back. They don’t like to stock inventory they don’t think they can sell.

” I feel my face flush. “I’ll never be a big-name author like my dad or anything, I’m just trying to keep my head above water.

” My default is to humbly accept defeat, but the words taste bad as I say them.

Not because they’re self-deprecating, but because they are the truth.

I’m chasing a dream I know I’ll never have.

“Hey, chin up, damsel,” Taio perks up. “You just started, right? You have time to make your name.”

“Four years, twelve books.” I sigh. “Not one has ever turned a decent profit.”

Here’s something interesting about escorts, or at least these escorts, they are emotionally intuitive. They all exchange small, piteous glances.

“Real talk—do you suck at it, love?” Saylor asks right before he catches Forrest’s balled-up fist right in the sternum.

He’s still wheezing when Forrest cuts in. “Don’t be an ass. She’s phenomenal. But the book industry is a lot like Hollywood. It’s luck, lottery, and all about who you know.”

“Doesn’t she have connections though? Forrest told us your dad is?—”

“J.P. Cooper, yes,” I confirm. “Wow, Forrest.” I flash him a look. “How many of my secrets have you shared with your little cohort, hm?”

“Just your nicknames, your deep insecurities as an author, your strained relationship with your dad, and all the wild monkey sex you two have,” Taio helpfully supplies.

I widen my eyes at Forrest. “So, just surface-level stuff, then.”

Forrest hangs his head in shame. “I’m sorry. I only shared our situation so they could help. They were supposed to be helping me plot book-themed dates”—he glares at Saylor, then Taio—“not opening their fucking mouths and swallowing their feet whole.”

“Sora, ignore his temper tantrum,” Taio says, taking another big swig of his lager. “Consider us your support crew. I don’t care if we have to strap your books around our chest and step out on Broadway, naked. We’re all here to help you. If Forrest has a mission, that means we do too.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. You guys are good friends.” I nudge Forrest’s stiff shoulder. He’s still staring maniacally at Saylor.

“So what’s your next book about? The upcoming release—second part of the duet, right?”

I flash Forrest another look. “ Jesus. Do they know my bra size as well?” He stays silent, avoiding my gaze.

“It’s…” I hesitate, suddenly self-conscious.

“It’s a second-chance romance about high school sweethearts who reconnect at their ten-year reunion.

The first book was from her perspective.

They broke up because of circumstances at the end of book one, and now book two is from his perspective and how he wins her back.

I don’t think it’s going to do well. I thought it was clever—something out of the norm to write an entire romance book from the hero’s POV, but I’m convinced it’s going to be yet another flop. ”

“Nah, that’s kind of cool. Good representation. I’ll read it. Every single page.” Taio nods approvingly. “Does it have the big grovel?”

“The what?” Forrest asks.

“The grovel,” Taio explains with the patience of a professor. “When the hero has to beg for forgiveness, usually in some grand, public gesture that proves he’s grown and changed.”

I stare at him, momentarily speechless. “You really do read romance.”

Taio shrugs. “I contain multitudes.”

“He’s also surprisingly good at braiding hair,” Saylor adds. “Does a mean French braid for Koda when he’s not being a complete tool.”

“Hidden depths,” I murmur, glancing at Forrest, who’s watching our exchange with an unreadable expression. “Always a good quality in a hero.”

After another round of drinks, I check my watch and realize how late it’s gotten. “I should probably get going. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll grab the tab and call a ride,” Forrest says, his hand finding mine under the table.

“No, stay,” I insist. “I’ve already hijacked enough of your boys’ day. You deserve some time with your friends.”

“I’m sick of these fools. I’d rather be with you,” Forrest says playfully. Then with his voice low enough that only I can hear, “We have some unfinished business, yeah?” The heat in his gaze is palpable, memories of the shed still vivid in my mind.

“Is that so?” I lean closer.

“Absolutely.”

“Special plans?” I tease.

Forrest shoots me a wink. “Let me take you to dinner.”

“A dinner date isn’t particularly tropey,” I muse. “What would we be researching?”

“No, just dinner. No research tonight. Just me and you, breaking bread. Anywhere you want.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. This isn’t Forrest the escort, fulfilling a contract. This is just…Forrest. Asking me out. Like a normal guy.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he says. “We practically live together, but we’ve never been on a proper date. I want to fix that.”

My heart does a little flip. “Well, in that case, I know just the place.”

After saying our goodbyes to Taio and Saylor, Forrest and I head out into the crisp pre-evening air.

“So, where are we going?” he asks as we walk to the cab. “Gotta let the driver know.”

“Anywhere I want?”

He nods.

“Galbi Grill,” I tell him. “Best Korean BBQ in the city. My mom practically raised me on their food.”

“Perfect.” He opens the passenger door for me. “I’ve been craving Korean.”

I chuckle at the obvious innuendo.

An hour later, after a flirty cab ride, we enter one of my favorite places on earth. The restaurant is bustling, filled with the sizzle of meat on hot plates and the rich aroma of garlic and ginger.

“This place looks…intimidating,” Forrest observes, his eyes darting left and right.

“Two, please,” I say to the hostess. “In a tatami room. Is that okay?” I ask Forrest.

“Sure? What does that mean?”

“Traditional Korean dining. It’s a low table and we sit on the floor on big cushions. But they have regular tables if you prefer.”

“No, tatami it is,” Forrest says eagerly, a wide smile on his face. “Whatever makes you happy.”

The hostess checks her seating map, and beams. “It looks like we have space in Seoul.” She looks at Forrest to clarify, recognizing him as a first-timer.

“All the tatami rooms are named after major South Korean cities—Seoul, Busan, Daegu, Incheon. Everything is full with reservations tonight, but there’s only one other couple dining in Seoul, we just seated them. We have another barbeque table open.”

“Great,” he answers, still looking a touch overwhelmed.

The hostess fetches two large menus and leads us to the back of the restaurant. She slides open the partition to the private room, and apologizes to the couple already seated for disrupting them.

My heart sinks when I see who we’re dining with tonight.

“Soraya?” my mom asks, saying my name Korean-style, the accent she normally suppresses barreling through. Her eyes pop in surprise, then latch on to my hand which is weaved in Forrest’s.

Shit, that would’ve been uncomfortable enough, but then the gentleman she’s with turns his head, and my heart falls right out of my ass.

“Dad?” I ask in shock.

“Your dad,” Forrest echoes, nearly choking on the words. “Well,” he murmurs under his breath, “this should be interesting.”