Mister Romance by Amelia Simone (the reading list .txt) 📕

a bit at the end and did my best to slither up slowly to a standing position. Not bad. I’d take it. Maybe I wasn’t a goddess yet, but I felt slightly less self-conscious.

Our instructor whooped and hollered for us, and my classmates beamed with a combination of sheepishness and pride. Satisfaction rushed through me. I wasn’t amazing, but it didn’t matter. No one was judging.

“What did you think?” Meghan asked, as I put on my shoes in the lobby after our cool down. Her smile was wide, and the glow of a good workout brightened her features.

I bit my tongue to avoid telling her how awkward I’d felt at first. She had eyes. There was no way she’d missed some of my stunted moves. My lips tilted up. “It was fun,” I admitted.

“There’s nothing like it, right? You looked great for your first class.”

My smile grew bigger. “Thanks, I’ll see you next time.”

Overcoming the anxiety of looking silly in front of strangers, of trying something awkward, had been hard at first. But Meghan and the other Athenas had been a welcoming audience. Not harsh or judgmental like I’d feared. The very definition of accepting. And the warm balm of their encouragement helped me build the confidence I’d been looking for. One small step in the studio, but one big step for me. A stride away from beige, and into living a full rainbow of color. What color would pole dancing be? Something bold, for sure.

THE LINGERING FLUSH of pride from following through on pole dance class helped dull the resulting aches and pains on Sunday. My inner thighs burned every time I sat down. My biceps felt tight just lifting my coffee mug. My knees were squawking about the abuse I’d put them through. I hadn’t anticipated so much floor work. Kneepads were going to be a must since I planned to continue dancing.

Virginia had direct messaged me yesterday while I was in class. For once, I had plans and didn’t see the message right away. It made me feel the littlest bit special connecting with someone who I thought of as famous.

VirginiaRothman: Hey Tamra. I’ve got questions. Can I beg for answers? Happy to compensate with a gift card for coffee.

I bit my lip, thinking about how to respond. I wasn’t sure where exactly Virginia lived, but a lot of her stories were set in the Pacific Northwest, so there was hope. Would it be too forward to see if she wanted to meet in person? Maybe get a few books signed? Gina would tell me to go for broke and ask for what I wanted.

TamraRN: Sure, send them my way. Unless you want to meet for coffee?

VirginiaRothman: Well, I do want to make good on my coffee offer. Where are you located?

TamraRN: Tacoma, Washington area.

VirginiaRothman: Another local! I’ll email you my questions, and maybe we can try to meet up?

An uncontrollable grin split my cheeks. I was going to meet one of my romance idols. Better still, she wanted to hear my oddball nursing stories. For once I wouldn’t have to worry about oversharing. I sent her my email address and tried not to geek out waiting for her list of questions. Helping with research was as close as I’d probably get to playing the part of a romance heroine. But for the moment, that was enough.

Chapter 7 - Chase

I didn’t usually dither, but I was stymied by Tamra’s messages. To reveal or not? So few people knew I was Virginia Rothman. I didn’t socialize in the industry, preferring to remain a lovable mystery instead of an awkward reality. My secret had been safe for years. Risking it for a stranger, even a funny and friendly one, put me on edge. My research would go much faster if I could ask my questions directly, and I did want to meet her, but if she revealed my identity online ... I shuddered.

I felt guilty about interacting with Tamra under false pretenses. She seemed so genuine. Most of my social media presence was just that: a presence. I didn’t interact much with fans or share details of my personal life, and I liked it that way. Sharing my heart through my work felt like enough personal revelation for one lifetime. Hiding had become a habit. A way to preserve some small corner of my life outside of writing. But something about Tamra left me wanting to get to know her better. Possibly the sorcery of her smile and that bottom lip.

Maybe it was old-fashioned or misguided of me to think I needed a feminine pen name to sell romance. However, I’d read that only sixteen percent of romance readers were guys. I grew up with a dad who was one of the sixteen percenters. I didn’t realize it was unusual for men to read romance until I was into my teens. I’d started reading Nora Roberts, Susan Elizabeth Phillips, and Jayne Ann Krentz from a young age because that’s what we had at home. New books passed from my mom to my dad. They read them first, then passed them on to me, and eventually we shared them with my grandma. We regularly loaded brown paper bags of used books in the car on the trip from our house in Tacoma to my grandmother’s in Enumclaw. It wasn’t until my copy of Midnight Jewels fell out of my bag at soccer practice that I realized how unusual my family’s reading habits were. Jason Michaels had called me out in front of the whole soccer team for being a “sissy who liked kissing books” and my nickname was born. From there on, I left my books at home, limiting myself to Sports Illustrated in my backpack.

I wish I could tell teen me not to be embarrassed by my reading choices, but at the time I panicked and told him I was only reading them for the sex scenes. Fifteen-year-old me found them incredibly hot, and I learned a