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MidReal Story
The Boyfriend Clause
Scenario:An erotica between a woman named Jules and a man named Mason.
1. romance
2. excitement
3. 10,000 words
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Jules
She is a woman who has given up on love after a string of failed relationships. She is cynical,independent,and selfcritical. Jules works at a bookstore and meets Mason,a man who challenges her perspectives and reignites her desire for romance. Despite her initial reluctance,Jules finds herself drawn to Mason's charming and caring nature,leading to a passionate encounter that leaves her yearning for more.
Mason
He is an athlete with a kind heart and a penchant for literature. He is charming,thoughtful,and romantic. Mason meets Jules at a bookstore where they bond over shared love of books and literature. His gentle yet assertive approach in their relationship challenges Jules' preconceived notions about men and love. As they explore their attraction and intimacy,Mason strives to make Jules feel valued and cherished,transforming her skepticism into belief in the possibility of true connection.
"Jules, I’m gonna need you to work this Saturday," my boss informed me as she scribbled something down in her planner.
I groaned audibly.
I wasn’t scheduled to work this weekend, and I’d been looking forward to having off.
"Is it absolutely necessary? I don’t recall being on the schedule."
"I can move Sandy to another store if you’re available to work. It’s just that the football team is having their annual fundraiser at the store this weekend, and I need someone with a brain to be working. You know how those things go down."
She winked at me.
Sadly, she was right.
Athletes + charity event = a hot mess waiting to happen.
I’d worked at the bookstore for three years and had learned a thing or two about how certain events went down.
When there were drugs and alcohol involved, things got crazy.
When things got crazy, men got crazy.
When men got crazy, women got hurt.
I slumped against the counter, mentally rearranging my weekend plans while my boss continued to update the schedule.
The quiet afternoon lull in the bookstore made my decision feel even more frustrating.
A few customers browsed the aisles, their footsteps echoing through the space.
I pulled out my phone and shot a quick text to Amy, canceling our Saturday brunch plans.
She responded with a sad emoji that perfectly matched my mood.
My boss slid the updated schedule across the counter, and I signed my initials next to the new Saturday shift.
Eight hours of managing drunk athletes and their groupies - exactly how I didn’t want to spend my weekend.
I walked through the aisles, methodically arranging the displays and creating clear pathways between the shelves.
Each book needed to be perfectly aligned, spines facing out, to withstand the inevitable jostling from crowds.
I set up a separate table near the entrance for team merchandise and donation boxes, hoping to contain the chaos to one area.
The store's usual peaceful atmosphere felt temporary as I placed "Please Handle with Care" signs on our rare book cases.
My hands trembled slightly while taping down loose carpet corners - a trip hazard I couldn’t risk with drunk customers.
While double-checking the display table's stability, I noticed a tall figure approaching from my peripheral vision.
Before I could recite my rehearsed greeting, he spoke first.
"Excuse me, do you need some help with that corner? It looks a bit wobbly."
I turned to face him, expecting the typical cocky grin of an athlete.
Instead, his genuine smile caught me off guard.
"I’m fine, thank you," I replied, my tone a bit sharper than intended.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"No problem. I just came early to help set up for the event. I’m Mason."
I hesitated, my usual distrust of customer assistance warring with the practical need for an extra pair of hands.
Before I could respond, the table's corner dipped precariously.
"Whoa, careful there," Mason said, quickly steadying the table with one hand.
"Thanks," I muttered, trying to hide my embarrassment.
"Looks like you could use a hand after all," he chuckled, his eyes meeting mine with a sincerity that made me pause.
I watched as he knelt beside the table, his strong hands carefully wrapping the tape around the loose leg.
His methodical approach surprised me - most guys would just slap the tape on haphazardly.
Instead, he tested the stability after each wrap, making sure it was secure before moving on to the next one.
When our fingers brushed as I passed him the scissors, a jolt of electricity ran through me.
He looked up at me with those sincere eyes again, and I found myself explaining about the fundraiser preparations.
"The team is hosting a charity event here tomorrow night," I said, gesturing to the displays.
"We’re raising money for a local literacy program."
Mason nodded thoughtfully.
"That sounds like a great cause. I’m happy to help out."
I felt myself rambling more than usual, caught up in his focused attention.
"Hopefully, it won’t get too chaotic. We have some rare books on display, and I don’t want them getting damaged."
He smiled reassuringly.
"Don’t worry, we’ll make sure everything stays safe."
I hesitated, then asked, "Are you part of the team, or just volunteering?"
Mason chuckled softly, "Actually, I'm the team captain, but I prefer helping out where I can."
Surprised, I replied, "Well, it's nice to see a captain who's willing to get his hands dirty."
I handed him the tape while he worked on reinforcing the table's final corner.
His fingers brushed mine again, sending another wave of warmth through my body.
We fell into an easy rhythm - him measuring and securing the tape while I held the table steady.
The physical closness made my heart race, but I tried to focus on the task at hand.
Mason told me about his favorite books between adjustments, and I found myself sharing recommendations.
When he tested the table's stability one last time, his shoulder pressed against mine.
The contact lingered longer than necessary, but I didn't pull away.
As the last piece of tape was secured, I realized the store felt different with him there.
I freeze at the sound, my body tensing as Mason's hand instinctively grips my shoulder.
The crash came from our storage area where we keep overstock and returns.
I step away from the table, my heart pounding as I imagine toppled shelves and scattered books.
Mason follows close behind as I walk toward the back room.
The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting strange shadows through the glass door.
I reach for the handle, hesitating for a moment.
"Do you think someone broke in?" Mason whispered, his voice low and steady.
I shook my head, trying to mask my own uncertainty.
"Probably just a stack that wasn't balanced properly, but let's check it out together."
I push the door open slowly, my hand trembling slightly against the cold metal handle.
The fluorescent light buzzes above us, casting an artificial glow over the scattered mess inside.
Books lie in disarray across the floor, some still clutched in their fallen stacks.
Mason's warm presence behind me steadies my nerves as we step into the room.
"Looks like we have some cleaning up to do," he says softly, his voice a gentle contrast to the chaos before us.
I kneel down, my knees touching the cool floor as I begin to gather the books.
Paperbacks and hardcovers mix together, some with covers bent from their fall.
I recognize a few of them as titles from the poetry section I'd reorganized earlier that morning.
Mason crouches beside me, his knee brushing against mine as we both reach for a book at the same time.
The shelf above us stands bare, except for a few precariously balanced volumes that seem to lean toward us in warning. "It looks like they were stacked too high," Mason observes, his eyes tracing the empty shelf space above us.
I nod, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment.
"I might have been a bit rushed this morning when I put those away."
As I reach for another book, my fingers brush against something familiar - a worn leather cover that holds a treasured collection of Walt Whitman's works.
It lies on its side, as if it had been carefully placed there by an unseen hand.
Mason notices it too and reaches for it at the same time as me.
