Me & My Favorite Author

Chapter 1

R o e m y (Roe-me)

I’d been sitting on the couch staring at Regis for a solid ten minutes.

I was just watching him play Call of Duty while yelling shit into his headset like he was really going to war.

I started thinking that I couldn’t remember the last time he’d made me feel anything.

He didn’t make me feel excited, angry or irritated. Just nothing.

He looked up and caught me watching. “What’s up, boo?” he asked, pulling his headset off one of his ears.

“Nothing,” I said, because what was I supposed to say? That I was sitting here wondering how the hell I was going to kick him out without causing an argument? That I just wanted to be alone tonight?

Three years earlier, we’d met at a red light of all places.

I was headed home from the gym when I looked over and found a fine ass Morris Chestnut back in the day looking man grinning at me from the passenger seat of a black SUV.

By the time the light changed, he’d somehow convinced me to roll my window down.

By the next red light, we were exchanging numbers.

Regis had always known how to talk a good game.

That was probably his greatest gift. He was funny in the beginning, making me laugh all the time.

After years of disastrous relationships and dates that made me want to delete every dating app known to mankind, he felt somewhat refreshing.

He felt easy. The first few dates were actually fun.

We went to dinner, played mini golf, went to the movies, and played pool. Then, reality started showing up.

The sex was mediocre and the chemistry wasn’t what I wanted it to be.

The “relationship” never developed into anything deeper.

We would get close, and he’d pull apart, disappear for weeks just to come ringing my bell a few weeks later.

It had been three years trapped in that off-and-on cycle of… nothingness.

If I were being honest, I think I continued with it because Regis was familiar.

He showed up after a period of my life when dating felt like punishment.

Compared to the men who came before him, Regis felt safe and comfortable when we got together.

Unfortunately, comfortable and happy weren’t the same thing.

And lately, that difference had become impossible to ignore.

He smiled that dimpled, easy smile that used to make me feel butterflies and now just made me feel trapped. “You good? You been quiet all day.”

“I’m fine. Just thinking about the conference.”

“Oh yeah, that’s this weekend, right?” He nodded. “That’s cool. You’ll kill it with your speech.”

That was it. He didn’t ask any follow-up questions or ask what I was nervous about or excited for.

Just a generic ass response before he went back to playing the damn game.

I got up from the couch and headed to the bedroom.

I had packing to do anyway, and sitting there watching him exist was making my ass itch.

My suitcase was already open on the bed, half-filled with the outfits I’d been planning all week.

Four days at the biggest Black erotica and romance conference in the country, and I was determined to look the part. I’d worked too damn hard to get here to show up looking basic. I pulled open my dresser drawer and started folding clothes, my mind wandering back to how this whole thing started.

I’d been writing since college, scribbling down freaky stories in notebooks during lectures I should’ve been paying attention to. Back then, it was just for me, just a way to explore all the fantasies I had running through my head. I never thought it’d turn into anything real.

But then I’d posted a few chapters online, just testing the waters, and people went crazy for it.

The comments and messages started rolling in.

People told me they’d never read Black characters having the kind of raw, honest, and sexy experiences I was writing about. They wanted more, so I gave them more.

By the time I graduated, I had a literary agent and a book deal.

By twenty-six, I had three bestsellers under my belt.

By twenty-eight, I was getting invited to book conferences like this one.

The irony wasn’t lost on me at thirty-two years old.

I wrote about passion, desire so intense it made people lose their minds, and sex that left characters trembling and changed.

And here I was dealing with sometimey energy from a man who thought missionary with the lights off after Netflix and chill was adventurous.

I folded another dress and laid it in the suitcase. It was a red bodycon dress that would hug my five-foot-nine, two-hundred-and-sixty-pound figure perfectly. I started packing jewelry just as my phone rang on the nightstand. I grabbed it and saw my cousin’s name flashing across the screen.

“Please tell me you done already packed,” Shamari said before I could even say hello. “‘Cause if you even think about flaking at the last minute, I swear to God, Roe…”

I laughed. “Girl, relax. I’m packing right now.”

“Good ‘cause I been looking forward to this shit for weeks. Three days of fine ass authors, drinks, and no working for the man? We deserve this.”

“We really do,” I said, and I meant it.

Shamari was the only person who really understood how exhausting it was to be me sometimes. She’d been there through all of it: childhood, my parents’ deaths, dropping out of high school because I couldn’t deal with the grief, and helping me get my GED.

She’d been there through the doubt I experienced in college, the late nights writing, and the rejections before the acceptances.

The horrible dates, fake friendships, the book deal, the glow-up, and the interviews.

She’d also been there through the slow drying up of my pussy from dealing with Regis.

“So what time we leaving tomorrow?” Shamari asked, and I could hear the ratchet show Bad B’s playing in the background on the TV.

“Flight’s at noon. I’ll pick you up in an Uber around ten.”

“Bet. And girl, I saw the lineup for this conference. It’s insane. Everybody who’s anybody is gonna be there.”

“I know. I’m nervous as hell about the keynote.”

“Please. You’re gonna kill it.” Shamari paused. “Plus, didn’t I see your favorite author, Case Wilson, is gonna be there?”

My stomach did a somersault at the mention of his name. “Really? Where’d you see that?”

“Social media. He posted about it earlier today and said he’s looking forward to connecting with readers and writers. I just know he’s big fine in person. Mmm! His pictures probably don’t hold a candle to real life.”

I tried to play it cool, even though the back of my neck just got hot. “I mean, I’m sure he’s just there to network like everybody else.”

“Mhm. Network. Is that why your voice just went up half an octave?”

“Shut up!”

Shamari laughed. “I’m just saying. You been reading his books for years. Now you’re gonna be at the same conference as him. Anything could happen.”

“I’m in a whole… situation, Shamari.”

“Girl, bye,” she said, and the truth of it hit harder than I expected. “Look, I’m not saying you need to do anything. I’m just saying it’s gonna be a fun weekend. Let loose a little. You been stressed as fuck lately.”

She wasn’t wrong. I had been stressed about a lot, including this keynote speech, my next book deadline, and the fact that I was living a life that looked perfect on paper and social media but felt empty as hell in practice. “I’ll try,” I softly replied.

“That’s my girl. Now finish packing so you’re not scrambling tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I hung up, tossed my phone back on the bed, then picked it back up. I couldn’t help myself. I opened my social media app and I immediately saw Case’s post. My God, he looked so damn fine and I had no business staring hard at.

The comments were flooded with people losing their damn minds. Heart emojis. Fire emojis. People saying they couldn’t wait to meet him. I scrolled through them, feeling anticipation and excitement building in my chest.

I’d been reading Case’s erotica books since he first got published almost four years ago.

I knew he’d written his first novel while he was locked up, and when it finally got into the right hands, it blew up.

People couldn’t believe a man could write women the way he did.

He understood pleasure and desire. He wrote sex scenes that felt real, raw, and so damn intense that I’d had to put the book down more than once just to catch my breath.

I set my phone down and finished packing, my mind already somewhere that wasn’t this bedroom.

By the time I was done, it was after nine o’clock.

I headed to the bathroom for a shower to wash this day off and reset.

The water was hot just the way I liked it.

Standing under the spray, I let it run over my skin.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander.

I thought about Case’s books and the way he wrote about women coming undone in the bedroom. The way he described touch, taste, and the buildup before the climax. Mmm. He didn’t write sex like it was just bodies moving. He wrote it as if it were everything that could change you.

My hand moved without me really thinking about it.

I slid it down my stomach, between my thighs, and I let myself imagine what it’d be like to be touched by someone who understood.

Someone who knew how to make a woman feel worshipped.

I thought about Case’s strong, tattooed hands and the way they’d look in all his pictures and videos.

I thought about his deep voice and what he’d say to me when we met.

My breath hitched as the water kept falling and my fingers moved in slow circles on my clit.

Soon, I felt that familiar tension building low in my belly.

Shit, it’d been so long since I’d felt this.

I was so close to cumming and I needed it.

My other hand braced against the tile wall, and I bit my lip to keep quiet. Then I heard the bathroom door open.

“Babe, you good?” I froze, hand stilled, and the moment shattered like glass. Regis’s voice came through the shower curtain, casual and oblivious. “I’m about to head to the bar with Jared for a few. Just wanted to check on you.”

I pulled my hand away and cleared my throat. “Yeah, I’m good. Be safe.”

“Of course.”

The door closed, and I stood there under the water, feeling the frustration settle heavy in my chest. Of course, he’d interrupt. That was the story of my life lately. Always interrupted. Always left wanting more. I was so annoyed I didn’t even want to finish.

I cleansed and rinsed off, then dried with a plush towel and moisturized.

In the bedroom, I threw on panties and an oversized T-shirt.

I climbed into bed and put something random on TV, sighing heavily.

Tomorrow would be different. I’d be at that book conference, surrounded by people who understood what I did, who lived and breathed the same stories I did.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d remember what it felt like to be inspired again.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached over and picked it up, smiling when I saw Monisa’s name flash across the screen.

I laughed softly as I texted her back.

For a second, I stared at the message. Monisa wasn’t just my agent and one of the most popular one’s in the industry. She’d been one of my biggest supporters since the beginning. Monisa and Shamari were right. Maybe this weekend was exactly what I needed.