Good Roast Lines Novels & Stories

Finding the hallway clear, I pulled her out of the office and led her up to a secluded corner of the rooftop. The moment we arrived, she violently yanked her hand out of my grip. "You dragged me all the way up here, so you better have something incredibly meaningful to say," she fired at me, her eyes blazing. "Because I am in a shitty mood right now." I licked my lower lip and adjusted the lapels of my jacket, trying to channel my usual on-camera confidence. "Well, my name is Russell. Russell Miller. You've probably heard of me, but I'll keep this brief—"

Margaret instructed gently. They all joined hands around the table. Ethan hesitated for a split second before reaching out, his left hand slipping into Marcus’s large, warm palm. Marcus’s grip was firm, his skin slightly rough against Ethan’s. Margaret said a quick, beautiful prayer, thanking God for the food and the team's safety, and the moment she said “Amen,” the boys noisily dug into the food, passing platters back and forth with loud laughs. Ethan, however, ate incredibly stiffly, cutting his chicken with rigid movements.

He just looked straight at me, his jaw tightening slightly before he took a slow sip of his black coffee. "Good morning, Ivy," Leo said, his voice deep, raspy, and low. "Good morning, Leo," I replied softly, keeping my voice completely steady as I picked up my silver napkin and laid it across my lap. "Did you finish the whole regional grant folder?" "Most of it," Leo said, his eyes still holding mine. "The financial charts for the second section were completely messed up by the board. I had to fix the numbers myself so the application wouldn't get thrown out."

I mutter, hatred still flowing through my veins instead of blood. I wrap the garrotte wire tighter across my hands, getting into stance as my eyes follow a subtle movement from the bushes. The signal is a howl from Ryker. Ragnar has us all briefed. My hands are covered in a pair of knuckle dusters. I had my leather jacket over my gear, which was actually a crop top and slick black pants that allowed me to move around, a utility belt with a series of knives strapped to it, and military boots. A howl sounds some distance in the front, just at the same time a group of rogues leap out of the bushes.

Emma stared at her laptop screen, cursor blinking at the top of a blank document titled "Heat Between the Lines - COMPLETE REWRITE." Three days had passed since Jake's devastating critique and his ultimatum about rewriting her entire romantic arc with authentic emotion. Three days of false starts, deleted paragraphs, and the growing certainty that she had no idea how to write the kind of vulnerable, honest romance Jake was demanding.