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“I don’t tell many people, but yes, I write some fiction, too. As Lloyd Alexander said, ‘Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It's a way of understanding it.’ I find that I agree with him on that. Being an artist is its own special kind of hell, but the highs can be…monumental.”
“What do you write, Professor Harlo?”
“Owen,” he reminded me again, “and like I said, I write many things. I’m currently working on a space opera style sci-fi.”
My jaw dropped.
“What? That’s amazing! Do you write under another name? I haven’t found another book other than the one I saw under your name.”
“Of course I write under a pseudonym. I’ve got a reputation to uphold as a teacher and instructor,” he said as if it were obvious. “Who wants to hear some small-time fiction author telling you what to do?”
“Oh, Owen, I have to know! What’s the name?”
For the first time in probably ever, his smile wasn’t a smirk or amused. No, it was full and brilliant and pure, sexy delight.
“And what will you give me if I tell you?” he asked, sipping his beer.
It came away, leaving a streak of foam on his lip.
I grinned, then bit my own bottom lip as I wiped the foam away.
His smile melted as he sat there, stock still until he was cleaned up.
“There,” I said, sounding way breathier than I meant to. “Now your reputation is saved because I saved you from a beer mustache. You’re welcome.”
Oh God, my hands were shaking so bad I had to hide them beneath the table.
“Well, I should be ever grateful to you, I suppose,” he countered, his head tilting a little to the side as he seemed to assess me all over again. “Willie P. Ness.”
I jarred for a moment, then realized that was it. His writer’s name.
“Are you kidding me?” I finally squealed, hiding the flush bursting over my cheeks.
Chapter 4
-Owen-
I threw my head back and laughed.
God it felt good to laugh again.
Watching Mia’s cheeks turn cherry red had become a new pastime for me. It was so satisfying, but I just couldn’t decide why I loved it so much.
She hid her embarrassed face behind her glass, slurping some more beer like her life depended on it. In reality, she probably just needed some liquid courage because she’d put me on some kind of stupid pedestal and I made her fucking nervous all the time.
“That’s the kind of reaction I’d hoped for when I settled on the name,” I admitted to her, which made her choke on the drink.
“You want people to think…that when they see your name?”
I was going to hell for sure, but I couldn’t stop bringing up sex with the girl. Watching her bloom beet red was just too delicious.
“Hey, you’re not the only one who likes to write about fucking.”
I listened to her mutter ‘oh God’ under her breath as she guzzled more of her drink.
“Besides, most people don’t get it. Only those of us with minds perpetually in the gutter can put together the meaning.”
“I don’t understand you,” she said finally, dropping the beer glass to the table with a clink before she retrieved her cell phone from her pocket. “Alright. Let’s look up this Willie P. Ness character, shall we?”
