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I opened my door at the same time he opened his, then glanced back over the expensive-looking interior of the car.
“Didn’t know professors made enough to have cars this nice,” I told him before shutting the door.
Too bad. I should’ve shut my mouth instead.
He chuckled.
“It’s not the teaching that affords me things like this,” he told me, beeping the thing locked before motioning to the swinging doors of the bar.
“You have a side gig, then?” I asked as a joke. “Maybe do a little prostituting on the side?”
“To the chagrin of my ex-wife, no prostituting.”
The ex information was ripe and ready for the picking, but I clung to the other part instead.
“Why would that make her chagrined? You’d think a woman would appreciate a husband’s fidelity.”
“You,” he said with raised eyebrows that left no room to question, “don’t know my ex.”
I wondered what the heck kind of female could leave a man like Owen. He was beautiful, strikingly intelligent, and his mouth was sharp, but in a really incredible kind of way.
Was their issue in marriage a sex issue? Marriages ended for things like that all the time. Maybe the man was A-sexual.
Damn, what a waste.
“Well,” I tried as we sat at a table in the back, “not everyone finds pleasure that way. I mean, a mind can be attractive and fulfilling just as much as…other stuff.”
He blinked at me.
“Are you suggesting that I don’t like sex?” he asked, leaning forward as if he was incredibly invested in hearing my answer.
“Well, I mean, from what you said about your wife, I just assumed… Darn, I shouldn’t have assumed anything. I’m sorry about that.”
The man sat back slowly and tapped his glasses back up his nose before shoving his hand into his hair, eyes roving down me again.
“You’re a frustrating creature sometimes Mia Miller,” he told me, his attention finally coming back up to meet my eyes. “This is an incredibly inappropriate conversation to have with a student, but fuck it.”
He leaned forward again, one lock of his dark curls dropping onto his forehead all tasseled and gorgeous.
“I’m not A-sexual, but I am a sapiophile. My ex-wife was bitter about it because she lacked a few screws up top and it became more difficult to excuse the older we got. So yes, she would have taken a prostitute husband over a man who finds intelligence as the most attractive trait in a partner.”
My cheeks were blooming hot and red, and I must have looked pretty darn close to a tomato by that point.
“Most, but not only?” was the only thing that popped out of my mouth.
“I’m a sapiophile, not blind, Miss Miller,” he ground out before turning away and lifting the menu to dismiss the conversation. “Order whatever you’d like. It’s my treat.”
I lifted my own menu, blindly roving it while I absorbed the information he’d given me.
Usually, you don’t want to think of your teachers in a sexual sort of way, but it was hard when they were attractive, and God, my body reacted to him. My thighs were tingling and rubbing together under the table and I had to take a moment to breathe so some of that blood could rush back to my damn brain.
“What can I get ya,” our waiter asked, looking bored about life while he glanced between the two of us.
“Whatever you have on tap,” Owen told the guy. “Something dark and caramelly.”
The guy nodded, then turned at me.
“Same,” I agreed.
