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

Vicki appeared affronted on my behalf. “Has he lied to you?”

I bit my lip. He hadn’t. He’d gone out of his way to abandon his pen name before we met. Even at the risk of me exposing him. He’d trusted me. Taken a leap of faith. So why was I stumbling on mine?

“Vicki. He’s lied to everybody. He’s not a woman. I don’t know if there will be backlash in Romancelandia if that comes out or not. As a fan, it doesn’t feel great to be lied to.”

“But has he been personally dishonest with you?” she asked. “Or did he choose an online identity that would protect his privacy? A lot of people in different careers choose to do the same. It doesn’t make them bad people, just private.”

My stomach settled as her words sank in.

I struggled to find the right words to express my discomfort. “Part of me feels complicit. I know the truth. I’m part of the lie now.”

Finally putting the feeling into words was freeing.

“I’m not going to tell you how you feel, but I’d encourage you to listen to your heart and get to know him better before you write off the possibility of a relationship. Keeping a friend’s confidence and privacy isn’t the same as being responsible for their choices.”

I nodded. Chase’s deception hadn’t been directed at me. He didn’t make any attempts to maintain it in real life. Gamers used avatars instead of sharing their real identities, and after reading some of the comments on various author’s social media posts, part of me could understand the desire for anonymity. It probably only took one viral post claiming an author was a harpy or trollop for writing about sex to rethink sharing your real identity on social media.

I fell into bed exhausted that night, but my mind was still spinning thinking about Chase. Having Chase with me at Nick’s wedding would make the day more tolerable. But I still wasn’t sure how I felt about him beyond friendship. Liar. Thoughts of dancing for Chase, feeling his hot gaze on me as I rolled my hips, seducing him, had kept my muscles liquid and warm long after our cooldown in class. I wanted to help him do all kinds of “research.”

More than the raw attraction I worried was one-sided, I liked Chase’s sense of humor. It was easy to forget we hadn’t known each other for long, because no subject felt taboo when we talked. He didn’t judge. Just listened. Focused on me. Surely the novelty of that would wear off, but for now I was basking in his attention.

Did Chase just feel friendship for me or something more? I had time to figure that out. See if he wanted more than awkward hugs and dirty jokes. I couldn’t exactly ask if he fantasized about me the way I thought about him when I was dancing. My dirty daydreams, at least for now, had to remain a secret.

We were trading favors. Not fantasies.

Chapter 17 - Chase

In the week leading up to my dinner plans with Tamra, I couldn’t resist texting her a few times to get an idea of what I needed for the wedding.

Chase:  What’s the dress code for this wedding? Do I need a tux?

Tamra: Um. YES! If you’re offering, that is. To be perfectly honest, the only people in tuxes will probably be in the wedding party. You’d be fine in slacks and a shirt. BUT I always wanted to go out with James Bond.

I huffed out a laugh. James Bond. I wish. There’s a fantasy I’ve had a time or ten. Totally worth the tux rental if she’d call me 007 for the evening. I didn’t even care that I’d stick out like a wedding party wannabe.

Chase: Wow. You know how to stroke a guy’s ego. I will gladly be your Bond. What are you wearing?

I bit my lip at the cheesy line, but I figured it was at least mildly appropriate for the situation. I hadn’t crossed over into creeper territory. Yet.

Tamra: Something with fabric. Not exactly sure yet, I haven’t found anything.

My fingers flew furiously as I typed my response. She could have her Bond fantasies and hopefully she’d let me rock my own My Fair Lady fantasies in return.

Chase: Might I suggest a shopping trip? I hear they do wonders for the dressless state. I’d be willing to go with you. Mr. Higgins style. Or a la Tan. But let’s be honest, my verbal discourse is more reminiscent of Jonathan; sadly, I know nada about hair.

Tamra: Um. What?

I smiled at her response. The disbelief was clear, and I could understand. Jimmy’s frequent complaint was that there was no oxygen in malls, yet I was volunteering for asphyxiation. It was a Dude Code failure, but I couldn’t resist the lure of spending more time with Tamra. In a mall, in the hall, I’d be at her beck and call. There was a dirty Dr. Seuss rhyme in there somewhere. I resisted the temptation to text her my verse. I doubt she’d consider the blood rushing to my groin at the thought of watching her dress up for me personal growth.

Rocking my hermit writer lifestyle meant I didn’t spend much time shopping. I didn’t have any sisters, so I’d never been dress shopping. I had plotted a scene that involved a girls’ shopping trip for my upcoming manuscript, but the closest I’d ever come in real life was watching Clueless. My very own changing room montage with Tamra would be worth my skin turning blue if the air got a little thin. What I lacked in clocked mall hours, I more than made up for with my Netflix subscription and obsession with Queer Eye.

Chase: There are all kinds of things you can make me do in the name of book research. Also, I’ve binged all of the Queer Eye episodes. I would love to go shopping with a real, live woman as research for