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

wouldn’t fly off on a tangent that got me blocked on Twitter by Tamra. Or outed to all my other fans. With enough preparation, I could fake the suave skills that came naturally to the heroes I wrote. It was a reasonable strategy, though my mom would disagree. Hard. And give me some bullshit about being myself.

It took about two hours of typing and revisions to get a script I was happy with. By then my stomach was growling, so I took a brief lunch break before emailing Tamra.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: Labor & Delivery Questions

Hey Tamra,

Thanks again for taking the time to help me! I’d love to meet you for coffee as a thank-you and ask a few follow up questions. Would you have time to meet with me next week? Let me know a good day and time for you, and I’ll make it work.

Also, please note that Virginia Rothman is my pen name, and I am male. I hope that doesn’t put you off talking with me. I’m trusting you’ll keep my real identity confidential.

Thanks again,

V AKA Chase Hoffman

I breathed a sigh. Decision made and email sent. As a nurse, Tamra was used to maintaining confidentiality. She’d demonstrated a sense of humor and good taste in books, so that boded well for her trustworthiness. Hopefully, she was the forgiving type. I’d practice my prepared conversation topics as much as possible before we met and hope for the best. Focusing on that was the only way to distract my brain from disaster.

I reluctantly pushed away from my desk and got into workout gear to meet Jimmy. With luck, I wouldn’t run into the blond officer at the gym again. I couldn’t afford any new confidence-sapping screw ups. It was going to take all my energy to engage in a normal conversation with Tamra. If she agreed.

Chapter 10 - Tamra

My pulse raced when I saw Virginia’s reply asking me to coffee, but my stomach dropped when I reached the last few lines. Virginia Rothman was a man? Of course. Should have seen that coming. My one new friend—not to mention my favorite author—turned out to be a fake.

I pushed off the couch and paced, ignoring the twinge in the soles of my feet from being on them all day. I was used to picturing Virginia a certain way in my head. She was wise. Funny. Maybe a little bit naughty. Her writing was tender and romantic with core stories about embracing imperfections and learning to love yourself and your partner. It was hard to reconcile all that with a penis.

Sexist. I didn’t want to apply the label to myself, but there it was. Men could write romance. Despite the multitude of breasted-boobily excerpts posted online dedicated to the contrary, they could write women. Chase was proof that some could even do it well. I’d never have guessed. Maybe there was a Mrs. Rothman inspiring his work.

I shook my hands out and threw myself back down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My life had been as blank as that ceiling. Interacting with Virginia had helped change that—I’d won the birthday lottery when she started responding. I should have suspected that my lucky streak wouldn’t last.

So far, all my birthday wishes had turned out better than the year I’d gotten a Barbie DreamHouse. I loved my dance classes. I *may* have practiced my slow walk down the hall at the hospital during my last shift. Luckily, there had been no one up at that hour to see me sashay along the antiseptic corridor, but it gave me a little extra confidence boost. Until I remembered the security monitoring. Some guard in a back office probably laughed their ass off, but I’d still enjoyed myself. However, I wouldn’t be making eye contact with the hospital security personnel anytime soon.

Virginia’s revelation that her real name was Chase left me feeling like the changes I made were as real as that doll mansion. Made of cardboard and plastic, not bricks and mortar. Sized for play, not capable of supporting the weight of real expectations. Superficial. His email drove home that what I had come to view as a blossoming friendship wasn’t real. Not yet.

A text message from Vanessa interrupted my contemplation. Okay, okay, moping. Not that either was a stellar use of my time, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Chase.

Vanessa: Did you find a date for Nick’s wedding yet?

Ugh. No.

Tamra: Not yet.

Vanessa: Get on it, Sis.

Get on it. That’s what she said. I groaned. Maybe I’d go three for three on my birthday goals and ask the writer formerly known as Virginia if he could set me up with someone for Nick’s wedding.

Tamra: Working on it.

Could Chase help? I tried to imagine what he looked like but failed. The illusion of a blossoming friendship was shattered by finding out he was a fake. Virginia wasn’t real. My pen pal was as authentic as my return letters from Santa as a kid.

I snorted. Santa Claus. Chase was my grown-up Santa disillusionment. An imposter in a cheap costume. Once I associated the mysterious Chase with a white beard and jelly belly, it was hard to stop. The real Santa could use his magic to help me with my dilemma. Finding a date was on my wish list, but I didn’t have time to wait for Christmas. But maybe I could turn Chase’s revelation in my favor. He might have a friend’s son, or even a friend who owed him a solid and might be willing to gift me a wedding date. Helping him with his book had to put me on the ‘nice’ list.

All I needed was a companion to help me dodge uncomfortable situations. A distraction to forestall any comments about my singlehood. Part of me felt lame for thinking that showing up with arm candy would fix that. But: Showing up with arm candy would absolutely fix that. Or maybe not remedy it entirely, but subdue the thinly veiled comments long enough for