Page 173 of Role Play
“That’s sweet. You can help paint when it comes to that, but the country boy in me is not putting his girl to work during the hot summer. And plus, you’ve got a book to finish this summer, yeah? Your agent’s waiting on you. How’s progress going?” He winks.
I duck my head, blushing slightly. “I’m taking my time with this one. Enjoying the ride. Don’t rush me.”
“Not rushing…inspiringyou to get your tush to work.”
“Save it, cowboy. These next few months are going to be all about building and bonding. I’ll write when I can, but I’m soaking up every second of the Wyoming summer. I’ve got a stick shift to learn to drive, a horse to learn to ride, and your dad told me someone dropped a red heeler puppy on his doorstep and it won’t leave. We have a cattle dog to train.”
“Oh, you and Boone making big plans, hm?”
“That’s right.”
“Will I get to see you at all this summer?” Forrest asks teasingly.
“Perhaps if you play your cards right.” I beam at him, picturing the endless movie nights in his truck, stars overhead, Forrest owning my body in the cloak of twilight.
Forrest’s phone chimes with a reminder—Dakota’s school pickup in forty-five minutes. I shove another big bite of cookie in my mouth, and chew rapidly. “We still have time,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “Plenty of time.”
His expression is carefully neutral, but I’ve learned to read the tiny tells—the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tap a soft rhythm against the table.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “You’re acting weird.”
“Am I?” His smile is innocent, but his eyes give him away. “Just enjoying my cookie.”
I narrow my eyes suspiciously but let it drop. Whatever he’s planning, I’ll find out soon enough. Forrest has never been able to keep secrets from me for long.
“So, tell me more about your plans for the barn house,” I prompt, breaking off another piece of my cookie. “Are you still planning on building a deck off the master bedroom?”
He shakes his head. “I’m reconfiguring the floor plan a little. The master is going to the other side, and I’m going to make that room into your office. I’ll still build the deck, but it’ll be outside of your space. West-facing, so you can watch the sunsets while you write.”
The thought of writing in Wyoming, surrounded by vast, open spaces and clear air, stirs something in me. I wonder what I’ll think of there, under the big sky, inspired by the beautiful Wild West.
“That sounds perfect,” I tell him. “I might actually get some writing done with a view like that.”
“Speaking of your writing…” Forrest reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out two thin stacks of paper, each folded neatly in thirds. My heart skips a beat as he places them on the table between us.
“What are those?” I ask, though I have a suspicion.
“Contracts,” he says simply, his eyes watching my reaction carefully. “Offers for the duet. I’m struggling with them, to be honest.”
My jaw gapes at the way he drops this bomb with such nonchalance. I’m over here choking on my cookie. “What offers? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, did I not tell you?” He smirks, and I resist the urge to snatch them off the table.
When Forrest agreed to become my agent—in addition to being my boyfriend and now my live-in partner—I was skeptical. Not because I doubted his abilities or his connections, but because I worried that mixing our personal and professional lives might strain our relationship. But he’s proven me wrong. As my agent, Forrest is shrewd, professional, and relentless. He read every draft of my manuscript, offered thoughtful critique, and then championed it to publishers with the same passion he brings to everything he does.
“I’ve been in negotiations with both publishers for a couple of weeks,” Forrest explains, his agent voice mixing with his boyfriend tone. “One is offering a bigger advance. It’s a Big Five publisher.” He points to the contract on his right. “The other is from a smaller press. They’re offering a much smaller advance—all they can afford, really—but a higher royalty rate.”
I stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “And you’re struggling with this why? The Big Five is obviously the way to go.”
My mind is racing with possibilities. A Big Five publisher. The kind of legitimacy I’ve been chasing for years. The kind of validation that might finally make Mom understand why I’ve chosen this difficult path. The kind that might silence the voice in my head that sometimes, late at night, whispers that I’m not good enough.
“That’s what I thought at first,” Forrest says. “But after talking to both editorial teams, I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
He leans forward, his expression serious. “The smaller publisher is passionate about your work, Sora. The editor read your manuscript twice in one long weekend because she couldn’t get enough. She has marketing plans, creative ideas for reaching readers. She’s in love with your story.”
“And the Big Five?”
