Page 131 of Smut

“I don’t…” He blinks dumbly.

“Our pen name is Blake Lovecox.”

His head jerks back. “That’s a terrible name.”

“And we write smut.”

Now he’s speechless. “What?” he growls.

“We write smut,” I say with a helpless shrug. “Erotica. We’ve released two books already and we’re working on our third. The reviews are great. The money is better.”

He’s slowly shaking his head and I can practically see the steam escaping from his ears. “This better be a joke.” His voice is practically choking with anger.

“No joke,” I tell him, pulling out my phone and showing him. “These are our books.”

He takes a quick glance. “That’s disgusting,” he seethes.

“Yeah, sometimes it is. But I didn’t want it to be a secret anymore. I’m not ashamed.”

“Well you damn well should be!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not real writing. It’s not literature. It’s garbage.”

“That’s what people said about Shakespeare back in the day. His plays were just entertainment. But what’s wrong with that?”

“That’s what movies are for.”

“That’s what all art is for. Your creations can become anything to anyone. I’ve realized there’s nothing wrong with letting people escape for a few hours. Plus, you should hear about all the sex lives I’m saving.”

“Other than your own?”

“Dad, I know how you feel about the genre and that’s fine. But really, if you want to save the store, the first thing you need to do is start carrying smut. Or at least romance.”

“I would never,” he grumbles, his face growing red. “And I would never carry that junk of yours.”

I knew he would be like this. I don’t even bother taking it personally.

“Dad,” I tell him, pulling up the calculator and entering a few numbers. “I get my first check from Amazon very soon.” I place the numbers in front of his face. “This is how much I’m giving to the store. The rest is going into savings.”

He stands there, stunned.

“And that’s from one month of sales from one book.” I enter more numbers.

He’s speechless. He licks his lips, eyes darting to me.

“Are you serious?’

I nod.

He clears his throat. “Well then. Congratulations on your new career.”

He pats me on the back, and I watch nearly all his worries lift away.

I wish I could say the same about mine.

CHAPTER 22

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