Juliette

“It’s just sex, Jules. You write about murders, severed heads, but a story about a one night stand is what makes you break into a cold sweat?”

“It’s different!” I say, half-laughing, half-panicking.

Chloe raises a single brow, twirling a curly strand of her hair around her finger like she’s just dared me to lick a live wire. Which honestly feels safer than this conversation.

I pull my cardigan tighter around me, trying not to look like a woman unraveling on her fourth glass of wine.

“I don’t write sex, Chloe. I write romance without all the detailed intimacy, I write about repressed trauma, losing a loved one, mystery,...