Because Jacob looks at me in a way no one has ever looked at me before.
Jacob looks at me like he truly seesme.
And that’s more terrifying than any fabrication of the truth.
“What do you do, Jake?” Johnson asks, breaking the awkward tension, or rather, the tension that’s swelling between my date and I.
“He’s a writer,” I chime in, finding my voice. “Romance.” I look at him with a grin. “Contemporarygay romance.”
I don’t miss the faint pull of his lips as he smiles softly. Johnson nods approvingly as my dad watches us both intently. I feel hot, wondering if he suspects something’s up. Shit.
My mother squeals, “Oh, how fascinating! Have you written any books I would know?”
Jacob tenses beside me, and I slide my arm around his waist and squeeze.
“Not yet. He’s in the process of writing his debut novel.”
My father narrows his gaze. “Gay romance? People read that?”
Jacob nods. “Oh, absolutely. It’s quite a… lucrative genre.”
I look at him curiously.Is that true?
“I prefer to read books with actual depth,” my father gripes. “And plot.”
Jacob’s lips twist into a grin and he gets a sparkle in his eye. His entire demeanor shifts.
“Romance is the top selling genre for a reason,” he says smoothly. “Some of the most gut-wrenching books I’ve read have been romance novels. Stories of resilience and overcoming insurmountable obstacles? Books that make you question your choices in life? Feel for those struggling through darkness?”
He holds his hand over his heart, and I can’t help but be awed by the way he speaks so passionately. I know it’s an act, but…
It feels like there’s a grain of truth in his lie. I believe every word he says.
Fuck, he’s good.
This guy needs a bloody Oscar.
“And what is deeper and more profound than a story of love? Love transcends all obstacles. How many classics do you know, Mr. Everett, that are tales of love?”
My mother grins. “I can think of a few.” Jacob smiles as she says, “Well, the first that comes to mind is Austen, of course.”
Johnson raises his glass. “Shakespeare was a writer of love.”
“Shakespeare was super gay, too,” I say with a grin.
My father groans and Jacob laughs, shoving me in my side.
“Not helping,” he stage-whispers. My mother giggles.
“Bronte,” Jacob says wistfully. I look at him curiously.
He breaks my gaze boldly, his smirk etching its way onto my face.
“Hans Christian Anderson,” my mother says, and I have to admit I’m surprised at her enthusiasm. She’s never shown this much interest in any of my actual boyfriends.
“Also super gay,” Jacob says with a laugh, and my mother and Johnson join in, too.
Jacob looks at my dad, holding his gaze. My father remains expressionless but sips his drink and nods.
