Page 52 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

“It’s fine. I like spicy food, I just eat it sparingly,” I lie with conviction, reaching for exactly what she warned against. “I’d love to try it.

” I take a generous bite, and immediately feel like I’ve swallowed molten lava.

My eyes water, my sinuses clear instantly, and I’m fairly certain my tongue is filing for divorce from the rest of my body.

For some stupid reason, I take another bite.

“Mmm,” I manage, giving a thumbs-up as tears stream down my face.

Ms. Cho looks impressed. “See? Good, right? Eat up, honey. We can order more.”

Sora looks horrified. “Are you dying?” she whispers.

“I’m fine,” I croak, reaching for water, which only spreads the fire.

J.P. smirks. “The soju helps,” he suggests, filling my shot glass again.

I gulp it down gratefully, the relief immediate, as the taste of sweet apple replaces the burning flames.

“So, Ms. Cho,” I say once I can speak again, “Sora’s dad mentioned you also work in finance?”

“Jennifer, please,” she insists. My country-boy heart struggles with this. I’ll call them what they prefer but it’s painful not to address my girlfriend’s parents as anything other than Mr. and Ms.

“Thank you, Ms. Jennifer,” I respond, finding a happy compromise.

“Such a gentleman,” she coos. “And yes, I work in wealth management for a private bank. Nothing as riveting as what you probably do. I’m assuming your clients are more invested in stocks? Personal wealth? We work more with venture capitalists.”

“Spot-on,” I say flatly, not knowing if that’s true.

“Now what’s the likelihood of you getting Sora a job?”

“Sora has a job,” I respond, a little sharper than I intend.

“Mom thinks writing romance novels is ridiculous,” Sora explains, a trace of old hurt in her voice.

“I said frivolous, not ridiculous,” Jennifer protests. “I said it’s difficult to make a living at it. There’s a difference. How many writers do you know can feed their families off their income?”

“Besides Dad?” There’s challenge in Sora’s eyes, addressing the obvious truth we’re all privy to. J.P. Cooper is a do-as-I-say, not-as-I-do kind of father.

The table falls silent. Even the sizzling grill seems to quiet.

“For clarity, I’m also an author, Forrest,” J.P. echoes.

“Oh, I know. You’re a legend, sir. And it’s nice to see that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I wrap my arm around Sora’s shoulders, giving her a little squeeze. “If we ever have children, I hope they are creative and brave enough to follow in your guys’ footsteps.”

J.P.’s jaw hardens, and his eyes go flat. “I’ve been trying to kick the apple clear off the orchard for years now. But Sora’s a stubborn one.”

“Lovely, Dad, thanks,” Sora grumbles, further deflating.

“I think it’s admirable.” I place a hand on Sora’s knee and squeeze, like I’m trying to hold her together. “Following your passion takes courage.”

“It takes something,” J.P. mutters. “Not sure it’s courage.”

“J.P.,” Jennifer warns quietly.

“What? We’re all adults here.” He fixes Sora with a penetrating stare. “How much was your last royalty check? Enough to cover rent? Groceries?”

“Dad—”

“Because if not, you’re not following your passion. You’re indulging a hobby at the expense of a real career.”

Sora’s shoulders slump, and something coiled up in me finally unravels, then snaps.

“With all due respect, sir,” I say, my voice calm but firm, “your daughter is incredibly talented. And resilient. She works harder than anyone I know.”

J.P.’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.” I meet his gaze. “Not everyone’s path to success looks the same. And not everyone measures success by the size of their bank account.”

“Easy to say when you have one,” J.P. counters.

“I know struggle,” I reply, thinking of the endless days and nights of my childhood on the ranch, working to make ends meet.

How my dad got up every day, not knowing if the lights would stay on, but he laced up his boots and put on his hat just the same.

“And I know what it takes to keep going when the odds are stacked against you.”

I look over at Sora, her eyes wide with surprise.

“You know what I hope? I hope that one day Dakota grows up to be as brave and determined as you. I hope she finds something she loves as much as you love writing. And I can promise you this—no matter what her passion is, I’ll be cheering her on every step of the way, not trying to snuff out her dream. ”

J.P.’s face darkens. “That’s because you’re still a young father. You don’t understand your purpose yet.”

“My purpose?” I ask, turning back to his stoic expression.

“Mothers nurture. They care for their children, build them up.” He gestures to Jennifer. “A father’s job is to teach their children not to need them. We prepare them for the real world.”

“By crushing their spirits?” I challenge.

“By being honest.” J.P. leans forward. “The way Sora’s going, the only way she keeps her head above water is because of constant money transfers, gifted housing, and the princess lifestyle I’ve provided.

No way she could fend for herself in New York City without my help.

Now, I’m not saying my daughter is greedy.

She’s a lovely girl with a beautiful heart, all thanks to her mother, but with the way she’s making life decisions, she might as well be Eloise at The Plaza.

Living in the clouds, never afraid of falling because Daddy’s wallet will always be her safety net. ”

Sora flinches like she’s been slapped.

“If I’m bitter,” the man continues, “it’s because I’m mad at myself.

I’ve failed as a father. My daughter is twenty-seven years old and still can’t take care of herself like an adult because she’s busy chasing something that is almost guaranteed not to work out.

” He looks at Sora, his expression softening slightly.

“It’s a tough realization, but it’s true. ”

Sora’s eyes fill with tears. She places her napkin on the table with wobbly hands. “Excuse me,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I need the restroom.”

She rises and hurries out of the private dining room, shoulders hunched against the weight of her father’s words.

Jennifer turns to her ex-husband, fury in her normally gentle eyes. “Did you have to do that? Today of all days?”

“It’s out of love,” J.P. insists, though he has the decency to look uncomfortable. “We’ve coddled her for so long. She needs to hear the truth.”

“Your version of the truth,” Jennifer corrects sharply. “You’re so determined to protect her from failure that you won’t even let her try.”

“I thought we were in agreement it’s time for her to grow up?”

“When she’s ready. She’s still a baby !”

“She is not , Jennifer. When we were her age?—”

“Oh, what do you remember about when we were her age? Hm?” Jennifer taps her temple furiously. “You were there, but you weren’t there , J.P.”

They continue to argue as if I’ve disappeared into the background.

I hate the way they’re talking about Sora.

Their narrative leaves out the most crucial parts of her story.

A princess? Please. I’ve never met anyone more humble than Sora.

Head in the clouds? Every day I have to help Sora fight the urge to quit amidst the tough reality of her stalled career.

I’m here to remind my cookie girl that she’s good enough, more than good enough—she’s worthy.

As for all the financial help J.P.’s giving her—which Sora wasn’t exactly forthcoming about—who the fuck cares?

Sora clearly only takes what she absolutely needs.

The only designer thing I’ve ever seen her with is that dress, which let’s be honest, she’s probably had since high school.

We’re all just trying to survive. He should be thrilled his wealth can serve a noble purpose like giving his child a beautiful life.

I can’t take this shit anymore.

I reach into my pocket, pull out several hundred-dollar bills, and place them on the table.

“Dinner’s on me,” I say, interrupting their conversation.

J.P. looks up, surprised. “That’s not necessary?—”

“I think it is.” I meet his gaze once more. “You know, Mr. Cooper, I’m starting to understand why there’s so much turmoil between you and Sora. You might be speaking what you believe is truth, but your delivery…it needs work.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know what Sora’s biggest dream is? It’s not to be a famous author with her name in lights. It’s just for you to be proud of her.” I stand up slowly. “So yeah, I guess you’re right. She is doomed to fail at her dreams.”

J.P. stares at me, eyes narrow, his expression warring between anger and shock.

“It was nice meeting you, Ms. Jennifer,” I say, nodding respectfully to Sora’s mom. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Jennifer gives me a small smile. “I’m sorry, Forrest. We’re not usually this…animated.”

Bullshit , I think to myself.

I head toward the restrooms, leaving J.P. to absorb my words. In the corridor, I nearly collide with Sora, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. She’s pulled herself together, preparing to return to the table with her dignity intact.

“Hey,” I say softly, taking her hands in mine. “You okay?”

She nods stiffly. “I’m fine. I’m so sorry I ditched you. I’m ready to go back?—”

“No.” I squeeze her hands. “Let’s go home.”

“But my parents?—”

“Will understand.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “Or they won’t. Either way, you don’t need to sit through more of that tonight.”

“He’s right, though,” she whimpers, looking down. “I’m not making it on my own. I’m failing. But I promise you, I’m not some rich, irresponsible, spoiled brat. Yes, my dad has helped me through some?—”

“Sora, I am tired of your dad for the evening. And I don’t give a fuck if you sucked his bank account dry.

It doesn’t change what I know about you and your heart.

” I tilt her chin up, so she meets my gaze.

“Listen to me. Even if I’m the last man standing, I will always be in your corner.

Always supporting you. Always cheering you on. ”

Her eyes search mine, looking for the truth.

“No matter what happens,” I continue, “you better not give up. Not on your writing, not on yourself.”

Something shifts in her expression—a flicker of hope rekindling. “We should go back to the table,” she says, but there’s no conviction in her tone.

“Or I could take you home,” I suggest quietly. “Our home.”

The word hangs between us, weighted with meaning. For a moment, we’re not pretending. Not playing roles. Just two people, standing in the dim corridor of a Korean restaurant, holding on to each other like lifelines.

“Our home,” she repeats, and there’s a smile in her voice even as fresh tears shine in her eyes. “Yes. Let’s go there.”

I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. We don’t look back at the tatami room where her parents sit. Tonight isn’t about them. It’s about Sora reclaiming her worth, her dignity—and me, realizing just how far I’ve fallen.

As we step outside into the cool evening air, Sora leans into me, her body warm against mine despite the chill. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer.

She giggles softly out of the blue.

“What?” I ask.

“You always say daddy issues are your bread and butter.” She smiles up at me. “Now you see mine clear as crystal. I’m so glad Dakota will never, ever feel like this, Forrest. You’re a really good dad. The times you doubt yourself, don’t forget that. You’re great at the thing that matters most.”

The simple statement hits me like a punch to the chest—unexpected and powerful. Before I can respond, she rises on her tiptoes and presses a gentle kiss to my jaw.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For defending me.”

“Always,” I promise, as serious as a vow.

Our rideshare pulls up to the curb, and as we slide into the back seat, I can’t help but think about how quickly this arrangement has become something real. Something I don’t want to lose.

Sora settles against my shoulder, her familiar scent—peaches and vanilla—filling my senses. Her fingers find mine in the darkness, intertwining with a certainty that belies her father’s doubts.

And as Sora’s breathing steadies against me, I make a silent promise. Even if we can’t last, even if this is just a story, for her sake, I’m going to make damn sure it has a happy ending.