“Right,” I say caustically. “Like the Fifty Shades readers are going to purchase my fantasy afterward.”
“They might. Let’s say three per cent pick it up out of curiosity, or maybe there are open-minded readers who like a bit of smut to get off to, a fun way to pass the time, while they also read memoirs and history books and fantasy and who else knows what. You don’t know. People have different tastes and like a range of different things and having those three per cent because of our smut is better than having zero, don’t you think?”
He has a point but he doesn’t need to know that. “You really think a publisher will want my book after I’ve written erotica? There’s a stigma, in case you haven’t noticed. Just ask your dad.”
His eyes shoot to the ceiling. “Believe me, I know about the stigma. That’s why we write under a pen name. Hell, look at everyone in the Top 100 on Amazon and I bet every dirty book is either ghostwritten, written by a duo or maybe even an established author looking to game the system. No one is who their names says they are. There are no rules here, we can do whatever we want. Put out a book a month, split the profits. By end of the year, we’ll be rolling in it.”
“But what’s in it for me?” I tell him.
He gives me a puzzled look. “Well. The money I just mentioned.” He pauses, nods slowly. “Right. You don’t need the money.”
“It’s not that I don’t,” I tell him quickly. “But I’m still in school and I have a student loan and my parents to support me until I graduate. I need money…I just don’t need it badly enough to write erotica with you.”
“You make it sound like a horrible idea,” he says.
“It is a horrible idea,” I tell him, letting a laugh slip. “Look, Blake…I agree that we work well together but I just don’t think this is the logical next step.”
“But don’t you want success?” he says, his voice lower as he leans in across the table. “Don’t you want to prove to people that writing can make money? Don’t you want to feel like you’ve proved them all wrong?”
I rub my lips together, unable to look away from his eyes that won’t stop piercing into me. “Not by writing erotica,” I say softly. “I want that on my own terms.”
His eyes briefly drop to my mouth. “And this will be on your own terms and everything you’ve ever wanted will be that much easier to get. Just…tell me you’ll consider it.”
I break away from his stare and busy myself with a drink. I hate that there is some part of me that is considering it and for all the wrong reasons. It’s considering it partly because if I don’t say yes to this, I won’t have excuse to see him all the time, or even see him at all. I don’t want to be with Blake but I at least want to be around him.
“Let’s just try it,” he goes on. “One book. Same length as The Heart Thief. We’ll come up with a pen name, a cover and we’ll write the fuck out of it. The premise needs to be ridiculous but the writing doesn’t have to be. It’s practice.”
“For a career in the adult entertainment industry?” I say, my eyes focused on his hands as they grip his beer.
“For both our writing careers. We have nothing to lose right now. Nothing at all. And I’ll front the money for the cover designer, for the editor, for the formatter, for Facebook ads.”
Holy hell. He really has done his research.
He continues. “Honestly, we just need to write the dirtiest, sexiest short story ever and I promise you if you want to quit after that we can, but I bet you won’t want to.”
“You’re awfully confident,” I muse.
He flashes me that grin. “Of course I am. Because I’m right. Do this with me.”
I fold my arms across my chest and sit up straighter. “Why do you want me to do this with you? You could do it yourself and not split the profits. It sounds like you already know exactly what you need to do.”
The waitress comes by at that moment and asks if we want more drinks. Blake orders more for us before I can say anything.
“It’s on me,” he tells me.
“Not necessary,” I remind him. “Now, tell me. Why me?”
He chews on his lip, his eyes lazily raking over me and I would give anything to know exactly what he’s thinking, what he sees.
“You can keep a secret,” he says after what seems like forever. “You’re ambitious. You’re talented. And, well, I need your heart.”
I blink at him, trying to process it all. “You need…my heart.”
“You can’t have the sex without the love.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh man, what planet are you from and what have you done with the real Blake Crawford?”
“I’m not saying it’s true in real life but I’ve done my research and when it comes to romance novels, it’s needed. No matter how dirty or nasty it gets, if it’s a stepbrother screwing his stepsister,” I wrinkle my nose at that, “or a teacher finger banging his student during class, there has to be love or it doesn’t work. If you don’t deliver the happily ever after it doesn’t matter how many holes she gets filled or how many orgasms she has.”
“And you’re saying you need me to write the romantic cheesy shit?”
“Fuck knows I can’t do it.”
“Well I can’t do it either!”