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

of my time with him and his sister in the summers. We’d run around the neighborhood, getting into trouble.”

She’d arched a blond brow at me. “No? Jimmy in trouble? What kind?”

Uh-oh. I’d forgotten that the gym was rife with his potential co-workers. I didn’t need to give them any ammunition to hassle him. “Umm ...” I stalled while frantically trying to come up with details that weren’t incriminating or embarrassing for him. “It was really his sister that I hung out with. She was the ringleader. Jimmy was usually keeping us out of trouble.”

I could tell she smelled a story; the curious police officer decided to apply her investigation skills to my nervous ass. “Really? I’ve met Andi. That surprises me. What kind of trouble did you guys get into?” she pressed.

Damn. I needed to come up with something specific enough to snip this thread of questioning. She was attractive, and it was easy to get distracted by the muscles in her biceps working smoothly as she executed the lift, instead of thinking up a good story.

“Oh, yeah. Andi was quite the wild card when she was younger. But it was mostly kid stuff, you know? We got ahold of some fireworks once. It wasn’t exactly the Fourth of July, but we didn’t know they weren’t legal. We took them behind an abandoned warehouse one night and lit them. Only we got more than we bargained for.”

“How so?” she asked.

I sighed and helped set the bar back on the rest as she completed her set and sat up to look me in the eye. Her face was impassive, but the intensity of her eye contact was intimidating. Expertly wielding her calm authority like a weapon to get me to talk.

“I’m not a pyro or anything, but the fire department got involved,” I admitted sheepishly. Also, the paramedics, but I was trying to avoid that tidbit. My eyebrows eventually grew back. But as the remembered explosion scrolled through my memory, I couldn’t bring myself to meet her gaze. I’d spilled too much, like the weak link I was. I quickly made up an excuse and got the hell out of there before I could incriminate myself further.

I shuddered thinking about it. She probably hadn’t thought it had been that bad, but I didn’t want Jimmy’s firefighter and cop friends teasing me or him. They probably took a dim view of juveniles starting reckless fires. I struggled with normal conversation topics at the best of times, and their inside jokes threw me.

After my shower, I sat down at my laptop to work with my coffee and a bagel. When I saw the email from Tamra in my inbox, I threw up my arms in a V. She’d answered my questions. The new book was tentatively titled Nursing Shots and partnered a nurse with a bar owner in a friends-to-lovers plot, but I had approximately a billion hours of work before it would be ready for anyone’s eyes but mine.

Her response set me straight on a few things, but I still had a lot of questions given the direction I wanted to take my book’s plot. Her email was too calm. Almost dispassionate, but with hints of the humor I’d sensed in her other messages. I needed the emotion behind it to tap into my character.

Was it time to give up my anonymity in the name of research? Tamra and I had developed a rapport through our Twitter messaging, but would it carry into real life? Even talking over the phone would reveal my identity. Did she love my books enough to excuse the deception, if the person behind the words wasn’t exactly who she thought? Maybe she’d forgive me for hiding behind the persona of Virginia Rothman? I could hope.

Based on the last few interactions I’d had with women in real life—unlikely. That was my first problem. Reality. Communicating via the written word wasn’t my issue. In person interactions were where I was total rubbish. I could hear the words coming out of my mouth, but my brain had no foreknowledge or time to consider and manage my message. Some deep, dark part of my brain thought it, and it came right out of my mouth hole. Half the time I swore I was speaking out the other end.

I thought about sending a friend in my place to meet Tamra but discarded that idea almost immediately. That reeked of dishonesty, and I didn’t want to do that to her. There was also the practical consideration. I didn’t have any friends who would agree to deceiving another woman. Andi would never go for it, and she was about the only female friend I could ask. We’d come a long way since our childhood shenanigans—well, at least she liked to pretend we’d matured.

I was out of alternatives. I could try to develop another nursing contact under my real identity but given that so many labor and delivery nurses were female: see my first problem. Pure rubbish with the mouth hole. No edit button. No mute button. Just pure, unfiltered Chase nonsense.

It was time to suck it up and suffer for research. Asking for a non-disclosure agreement would ease some of my anxiety but asking for one felt like over-the-top diva territory. It wouldn’t be a hardship to meet Tamra in person. She seemed nice, liked my writing, and was cute in the picture I’d seen. As someone who read my books, I was counting on the fact that she already liked a version of me. If only blowing it weren’t my brand. I could picture her face crumpling in confusion as she met me for the first time, and I said something appalling, like, “You look like a dark-haired Ronald McDonald. But with longer hair.” Explaining about my middle school McDonald’s fanfic probably wouldn’t make me seem any less odd.

Maybe I could script myself through it? If I thought through all of the permutations of our discussion, carefully selected my responses, and practiced those, I