Page 62 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

“Yeah, well, your ovaries are ripe. You would’ve fallen in love with his pet possum if he brought that along.

This was really just a perfect storm, babes,” Daphne says with a sad smile, squeezing my hands.

“You’re in love. The real, messy, terrifying kind.

Not the sanitized version romance novels sell. ”

A montage of shitty reviews runs through my mind. Not my lackluster reviews, but the ones that would come out if Forrest and I were a love story on page. He’s a cheater— one star. Reformed playboy, I hate that trope— one star. Naive, pick-me heroine —one star.

But then it hits me all at once…

I’d do for Forrest what I’m not allowed to do for my books.

I’d stand up, clap back, and fervently defend him.

I’d ask everyone who doesn’t understand or can’t relate to kindly sit down and shut up, because it doesn’t matter how they feel about my love story.

It matters how I feel. It matters what I want.

I’d rather live a life in denial, full of hope, than allow the critics of the world to drench my books with their cynicism.

My story. My life.

“I have to stop him,” I declare. I scramble for my phone on the coffee table.

“Thank fuck ,” Daphne exhales.

There’s a momentary gleam of hope as I dial, preparing a monologue in my mind about how I’m in this with him.

We’ll figure it out together. I might be able to cover a portion of Dakota’s tuition.

I’ll write more books. Hell, I’ll take a job in finance if I have to, and write on the side.

Whatever means necessary to keep our little odd ohana from being ripped apart.

Except his phone is off.

“Straight to voicemail,” I mutter, shocked, as if the phone grew hands and slapped me across the face. “And I have no idea where he is.”

“Glitch,” Daphne says, her voice suddenly authoritative. “Try again.”

And I do. Two more times for good measure. Each call goes straight to voicemail. Forrest shut his phone off…because he’s busy.

Daphne knows what images are going through my mind without me needing to paint a word picture. I slump back into the couch, defeated. “Shit,” I whisper. “What was I thinking?”

“You’ve survived one hundred percent of your bad days, babes. You’re going to survive this too,” Daph says, but the pained expression she’s wearing vehemently disagrees. It almost looks like her heart is breaking as well.

Outside, a light rain begins to fall, pattering against the windows like hesitant fingertips. The brownstone creaks and sighs, a living thing holding its secrets.

“Speaking of secrets,” I say, desperate to redirect the conversation away from the knot of pain in my chest, “when were you going to tell me about law school?”

Daphne’s eyes widen, her hand freezing halfway to her wineglass. “How did you?—”

“Forrest slipped. He begged me not to tell you. What happened to us never letting a man come between us?” I give her a gentle nudge, trying to inject some lightness into my voice.

“I didn’t mean to tell him. I hadn’t even decided?—”

“You’ve decided,” I interject. “And you made the right decision.”

She hangs her head. “It’s not Columbia Law. Can you imagine me in Lincoln, Nebraska? Cows, corn, and a whole lot of country boys.”

I shrug. “I’m partial to country boys now. And look, if it’s not the dream, then we change our dreams. Gut the vision board and rebuild it. I’m not a bestselling author. Doesn’t mean we keel over and die. Our job is to make it make sense.”

She looks down at her wineglass, tracing a finger around its rim. “Pep talks are my job.”

“They should be my job too.” Guilt washes over me, cold and harsh. “Is that why you didn’t tell me? Have I been that selfish? So caught up in my writing and my problems that I made no room for yours?”

“No,” she says firmly. “That’s not why I kept it to myself.”

“Then why?” I lift my gaze to meet hers.

“Because things are changing, Sora. For both of us. And that’s really scary.

” She tucks her legs underneath her, downing the rest of her glass and setting it down with a decisive clink.

“I can’t wait tables and bartend forever.

Law school was always the plan, you know that. Life just…got in the way for a while.”

“Life, or me?” I ask quietly.

Daphne shakes her head, her blond hair catching the glow of the fireplace. “Not you. My own fears, maybe. It was easier to help you chase your dreams than to face my own. Safer. But now it’s time to grow up and be brave.”

“Time to grow up,” I echo, letting the words sink in. “Is that what you think about my writing? That it’s like waiting tables or bartending—just a placeholder until I decide to grow up too?”

“Not a chance.” She squeezes my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “Growing up doesn’t mean giving up on your dreams. It means being brave enough to pursue them no matter what.”

“Like becoming a lawyer, even if it isn’t your first-choice school?”

“More like talking to Forrest about how you really feel, even though it terrifies you,” she counters.

I close my eyes, letting the truth of her words settle into my bones, uncomfortable but necessary. “I’m afraid if I tell him how I feel, I’ll lose him. And if I don’t tell him, I’ll lose myself.”

Daphne laughs softly, the sound warm in the quiet room.

“What?” I ask, a little surprised at her reaction to my profound admission.

“The irony. You know that’s a line right out of Lovely ?

You’ve written those exact words before, Sora.

I know because I specifically remember highlighting and tabbing that paragraph.

Now, you’re living out the words you wrote.

Sweet poetic justice. This was an experience you were always meant to have. ”

“When did you get so wise?” I ask, nudging her with my elbow.

“It’s the wine,” she replies with a wink. “The alcohol unlocks my powers.” She shrugs. “I’m not the coolest superhero in the world, but I’m useful at times.”

“Maybe if I had opted for wine instead of edibles that night, I would’ve made better decisions.” Stupid gummy bears . Those bitter little fruit bites are what got my heart all tangled up into this mess to begin with.

We both laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in my chest. For a moment, it feels like old times—just Daphne and me against the world, figuring it out as we go along.

“So, law school in Lincoln,” I say, genuinely proud. “When do you start?”

“Next semester. The accelerated program.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that betrays her nervousness despite her casual tone. “The workload is going to be a bitch.”

“Well, be a bitch right back,” I say, the reality of it sinking in. “Go conquer Nebraska as fast as you can, and then come back to me, okay? We have big plans for matching rocking chairs and bifocals right on that stoop.” I jut my thumb toward the front door. “Don’t you dare bail on me.”

“Never.” She smirks. “We’ve come a long way since NYU freshman year, huh?”

“Remember our pact?” I ask, nostalgia washing over me.

“That we’d both keep our ass out of trouble, graduate on time, not pregnant or in jail, and be disgustingly rich and successful by thirty?

You’d be a hotshot lawyer; I’d be a bestselling author?

We’d go to our college reunions dripping with condescension. ”

“I remember.” Daphne smiles softly. “We’ve still got time, Sora. I still believe in us.”

“Me too.”

A sudden knock at the door interrupts us, three sharp raps that echo through the brownstone. Daphne and I exchange a confused look.

“Forrest?” she asks, half-rising from the couch.

I shake my head. “Can’t be. He has a key.”

Legs asleep from sitting too long, I wobble to the door.

Through the peephole, I see the last person I expected—my father, shifting his weight from foot to foot, glancing nervously at his watch.

His breath forms small clouds in the chilly night air, and there’s something unusually vulnerable in his posture.

I open the door, my surprise evident. “Dad? What are you doing here?”

J.P. Cooper stands on my doorstep, looking oddly diminished in the soft glow of the porch light.

His usual commanding presence is muted, his shoulders slightly hunched against the November chill.

In one hand, he clutches a brown paper bag…

perhaps an apology present? Which is unnecessary, because this is all I ever really wanted from him. Show up.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls,” he says simply, his voice lacking its usual resonance. “And I need to talk to you.”

“It’s almost eleven at night,” I point out, crossing my arms against both the cold and my instinctive defensiveness.

“I know.” He nods, his gaze dropping momentarily to his shoes—expensive Italian leather now spotted with rain. “But it couldn’t wait.”

“It’s cold, come in.” I nod over my shoulder, deciding who will be less thrilled to see the other, Daphne or Dad. When he hesitates, I add, “Forrest isn’t here.”

“It’s not that. I’m not so great at this.” His leg bounces in place, proving his point. “Would you take a walk with me? Around the block, maybe? I can get the words out better if we’re moving.”

I pause, glancing back at Daphne, who’s now hovering in the hallway behind me, her expression curious.

“Go.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “I’ll stay with Dakota. She’s fast asleep anyway.”

“Let me check on her first,” I say, more to buy myself time than anything else. I leave Daphne and Dad to awkward small talk in the foyer as I dart upstairs.

Pushing the door open carefully, like it’s a sacred relic in an Indiana Jones film, I peek into Dakota’s room.

She’s sound asleep, one small arm flung above her head, Mr. Flops clutched tightly in the other.

Her breathing is deep and even, her face peaceful.

The sight of her calms something in me, centering me in a way I desperately need at the moment.