Page 37 of Bro Amazing

"What type of romance do you write?" asks Ethan, cutting his noodles into small bites with a knife and fork instead of using the chopsticks.

The others all look at him in surprise. I'm not sure if it's because of the question itself, or because he asks it so nonchalantly.

He looks up from his food and shrugs. "I have two sisters. They're always talking about the book club they're in, and apparently it's a smutty one."

"Our Clarissa writes sweet, heart-warming love stories that involve a lot of feelings and emotions," says Dad.

I nearly choke on my tofu. "How do you—have you, uh, have you read them?"

Please, please, please say no.I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye ever again. Even though the ones that have already been published don't have an ounce of spice.

"Uh, no." Dad's cheeks redden a bit. "I read the reviews."

"Oh, okay." I didn't want him to say he had read them, but at the same time, I'm disappointed that he hasn't. I'm not sure if it's because he didn't read my books to support me, or because if he read my reviews, he probably knows how few of them there are.

A tiny part of me debates telling them my next book will be straight up smutty, but I shove that though as far down as it will go. I'm not remotely ready to open that can of worms. Especially in public when we're trying to have a nice lunch.

At least if we're talking about my writing, there's a lot less chance of someone slipping up and clueing my parents in to what the guys and I have been getting up to around the house.

"Even if it's not smutty, you'll have to tell me the name later so I can recommend it to my sisters," says Ethan. "They'd love to read it. Even more so since I know the author."

All I can do is sit here in shock, fighting back the tingle of tears. I barely know these men. I've all but lied to them aboutwhat I do for a living and I'm using them to further my career without their knowledge, yet Ethan is being casually supportive as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"That's very kind," I manage to squeak out, dropping my eyes to my plate to pretend that didn't just happen. If I can ignore it, I won't have to unpack the swirl of emotions I'm feeling at this unexpected act of kindness and can focus on surviving this lunch.

Everyone is silent for a few awkward beats, until Helix launches into a story about how once when he was a kid, he'd found a romance novel his mom had left in the living room and he'd been traumatized. The others tease him about maybe having read it in private at some point, alluding to him masturbating to the story, but Helix vehemently denies this, aghast at the thought.

"Mymomread that book," he reminds them. "And probably enjoyed it. Even back then, I knew what a lot of romance novels have in them. No way was I opening it up. I don't need to know what sorts of stuff my mom was reading in there." He shivers, accenting his disgust at the suggestion.

It's not the story I would have chosen for Helix to tell in front of my parents, but at least it carries us through to the end of the meal when we can finally leave. Next time my parents visit, I'm setting multiple alarms so there is absolutely no way I'm not the first one to the door.

Dad signals for the check, and the waiter comes over to inform him that the bill has already been taken care of. His eyebrows lift in surprise, and he looks to Mom, silently asking if she'd already paid. She looks just as confused as he does.

My roommates aren't surprised at all though, and are standing to leave. They've got a schedule to stick to not only for their gaming, but for their fans too. All two million of them. Including me now.

"Thank you for lunch," I tell them, because if my parents didn't pay the bill, and it wasn't me, it has to have been them.

"Yes, that was very kind of you," says Mom, clearly skeptical about how they can afford it.

"You let us pick the place, so treating was the least we could do," says Quintin.

"Besides," Lionel says, looking at me. "We're just glad we were able to all meet."

Well, they definitely know I'd been trying to avoid them meeting my parents today. As soon as we get home, they'll say something about it, and it'll be a whole thing. I'm not even sure why they wanted to be here, since they're missing out on time they could be working, and it's not like we're actually in a relationship. They're not really my boyfriends. More like my bosses, and roommates.

"Us too," says Dad. "It's good to know who Clarissa is living with since we just want to make sure our little girl is safe, and happy."

"Next time we go out, it can be our treat," suggests Mom.

I doubt she actually wants to have lunch with my roommates again, but her Midwest compass is strong. Besides, she probably thinks they're like me, young adults struggling to get by in jobs they love and are passionate about, but aren't necessarily big money makers.

How wrong she is.

We return to the house and I pay special attention to my parents the whole way, avoiding the upcoming difficult and awkward conversation with my roommates and ensuring my parents' feathers aren't too ruffled from all the talk about romance books at lunch. They've always had a strong sense of propriety and what is and isn't appropriate conversation, especially in public and in front of strangers.

Besides, I need distance from my boyfriends right now because their automatically paying for our lunch is unsettling, and my thoughts about it are all over the place. It makes sense, since they can afford it while my parents would have blown their whole monthly budget to pay for all of us to eat at that restaurant. But was it more than that? Were they trying to make a good impression on my parents? Or is it because they're just nice guys? I had intended to keep things strictly business between us so I can easily move out once I'm earning enough money to afford my own place.

Even if that business includes getting fucked frequently and in all sorts of ways.

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