Literary Devices Ch. 02

I hid my face in the collar of my turtleneck, unable to look at him. I'd never come face to face with a fan of mine before, and I hadn't realized until now how terrifying that would be for me. It certainly didn't help that the fan in question was an absolute hunk with a face card that would never--ever--get declined. It was all the more surprising to me because I'd assumed most of my readers would be young women like myself, since I mostly write these stories, well, for me.

Turns out at least one of them was a man--or perhaps some sort of demigod, to be determined--and he happened to be sitting right in front of me.

"What are the odds!" he said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Shhh," I hissed, not wanting to draw too much attention to us.

He placed a hand over his mouth in mock shame, but I could see that he was still smiling. "Sorry," he whispered, looking around to see if anyone had turned to look our way.

I wasn't used to this kind of attention. Wasn't used to being seen like this.

I suddenly started feeling self-conscious of the way I looked. I hadn't put any make up on this morning. I probably looked like shit. My hair was definitely a mess. I wasn't wearing a bra--

A chill ran through my entire body.

God, I wasn't wearing a bra.

Hoping he wouldn't notice, I gingerly crossed my arms around my chest to not draw too much attention to it, fully aware that it would most likely have the exact opposite effect.

He leaned in conspiratorially and said "I just want to say, I'm a huge fan."

I knew that if I showed him my face, it would be bright red.

"This is so embarrassing," I mumbled through the collar of my turtleneck, my eyes on the table.

"Why would it be?" he said almost apologetically. "You're a terrific author! You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about."

"As if," I scoffed.

"I swear!" he insisted. "After I read 'XENUS EXPRESS', I immediately went back to the bookstore and bought your second book. Here, I only have a hundred pages or so left."

Was this really happening? What were the chances that this man, who happened to be a fan of my work, would randomly show up, not only in my hometown, but in my café, sit at my booth, and read the book to which I was currently writing the sequel?

That couldn't have been random. He must have found me. Followed me here.

Oh my god. Was he a stalker?

It had never occurred to me until now that some of my fans might be the kind of creeps who obsess over you.

What do I do? What do I do?

As I started looking for the nearest exit, he pointed at my laptop and furrowed his brow in a curiously inquisitive fashion. "Were you working on the sequel just now?"

"What? No," I said too quickly. "I mean, maybe."

"What does that mean?" he chuckled.

"Well..." I hesitated, but that all melted away the moment my eyes met his. "It's more like I was trying to write."

"Hit a bit of a bump in the road?"

"I don't know. It's more like I have no idea what I'm doing," I admitted, and immediately regretted it.

"Oh please," he snorted. "Like I'd believe that from the next New York Times bestselling author."

"It's true! It's this stupid scene. I can't... Urgh!" I sighed frustratingly. I couldn't believe I was telling him all this.

"Maybe I could help you," he offered.

"No, it's not--You wouldn't get it."

"Come on, try me," he said. "What's this scene about?"

I started sinking into the booth as the collar of my shirt was no longer sufficient to conceal my embarrassment. I wanted to crawl under the table and roll myself into a ball. My heart was about to burst out of my chest. I was getting so hot I thought I might sweat through my shirt, but I fought the urge to tear my turtleneck off right there.

"These two characters finally... get together."

"Get together?"

"You know."

"I don't."

"They..." Was I really about to say it? "They get intimate. They have sex."

"Ah, I see," he said, not even sounding surprised. "And what's the problem?"

I just blinked at him, not knowing what to say.

"Here, let me have a look."

"Wait--"

Before I could stop him, he spun my laptop around.

"Hey!" I shouted just a bit too loud. "You can't do that!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he laughed. "I'm sure it's not even that bad."

He started reading it.

Oh god oh god oh god. This is it. My life is over.

His expression quickly changed from curiosity to confusion. "Huh." He read the passage again, then looked back at me. "Her bowels turned watery? What does that even mean?"

"I don't know! I don't know!" I panicked. "I told you, I don't know what I'm doing!"

"You've never written a scene like this before?"

"What do you think?" I sighed heavily.

He just stared at me wordlessly for a while, as if the moment couldn't get any more awkward.

"But surely, you have some experience, right?"

I nearly choked on my own spit. "Of course!" Come on. Play it cool. "I've got pleeeenty of experience."

Okay, chill. You're overcompensating.

He gave me a pity smile. "That bad, eh?"

"I--I..." I felt like I was in high school all over again. I felt cornered, overwhelmed, horny, angry, ashamed. All these emotions swarming me all at once--

And then it just came out. "OKAY, FINE. I'M A VIRGIN." I didn't even care if other people had heard me. "There, you happy? And why is it so friggin' hot in here!"

I started peeling my turtleneck off as if it was a goddamned straightjacket. I had already made a fool out of myself, so at this point, I didn't care anymore if he saw me in my Jonas Brothers: Greetings from Your Hometown Tour t-shirt from back in 2025, my armpits absolutely soaked, and the girls hanging loose.

When I was finally free, I found him still sitting there, eyes wide. "You're kidding," is all he said.

"Go ahead, laugh all you want," I slammed my laptop shut.

"No. No!" he said. "It's not like that. I just find it hard to believe that someone as fucking gorgeous as you--respectfully--has never gotten laid."

"What?" I just said. Did I hear that right? I didn't know how to react.

He didn't laugh. He just smiled--that beautiful god damned smile. "I said," he leaned forward, "I can't believe no one has ever claimed you before."

His voice dropped by an octave when he said that last bit, and I felt it in my pants. I had to physically pick up my jaw from the floor.

Alarms started blaring in my head.

CRITICAL ERROR. ALL SYSTEMS SHUTTING DOWN.

I had to process about a million thoughts per second.

Holy shit. Was he flirting with me? Wait, that can't be. Why would he? He probably thinks I am a weirdo after making such a scene. I thought he was a creep. Oh my god, did he follow me? But wait, that's kind of hot. Fuck, am I falling for this guy? No, calm down. You just met him. You don't even know his name! Urgh, he probably thinks I'm a loser for being such a virg--

"You know, if that's what you're struggling with, I could actually help you."

My brain screeched to a halt.

"What are you--"

He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Yeah, I could help with your research. Help you gain some more hands-on experience."

My cheeks turned red-hot.

"I don't think--" I stammered. "I mean, I would. Or not. Maybe. Whatever. But I don't even know you. Wouldn't it be, like, inappropriate?"

He laughed.

"No, not like that," he clarified. "Maybe all you need is a few pointers from someone with a little more... experience."

"And that someone is you, I presume?"

"Sure, why not?"

"How noble of you," I sneered, rolling my eyes.

"Alright. Your loss."

He took another sip of his coffee and went back to reading.

That's it? Really? He's not going to insist more than that?

I stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to look up.

He didn't.

Fine. Whatever. I opened my laptop again and started typing.

I don't need him anyway.

I read the sentence.

Deleted it.

I glanced up at him.

Still reading.

God, what an asshole.

"Okay, fine," I said, defeated.

His lips curled into a grin, but he didn't look up.

"Did you hear me?" I asked.

"I did."

"So..."

"But you didn't ask me anything," he teased.

That sneaky little devil. Did he expect me to beg for his help or something?

I glanced to the side. My thighs rubbed together against my will. What am I doing right now? Why am I feeling this way? Why is he making me feel this way?

I opened my mouth to say it, but my throat was dry. The words felt wrong.

Was I scared? No. Of course not. Why would I be? I knew what I wanted. What I needed. But I didn't want to admit it. Not to myself. Not to him.

But what other choices did I have right now? It's not like that scene was magically going to write itself.

I had to face the truth: I needed help, and I had no one else to ask.

"Okay," I started, putting on a mask of confidence. "I'll bite."

His gaze finally rose to meet mine.

"What do you think makes you qualified enough to help me?" I asked.

He closed his book and straightened, all proud of himself. "Well, let's just say I know my way around a woman's body."

Typical men, I thought.

"Ah, so you're some sort of floozy," I mocked. "Is that right?"

"Of course not," he objected. "I don't just sleep around with anybody."

"Are you in a relationship, then?" I said, feigning nonchalance.

"Was..." he admitted.

Oh, good.

Not that I cared, though. Obviously. It just would have been weird if he had been and still wanted to help me.

That's all.

"How long were you together?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that relevant to the story you're writing?"

"Maybe," I said, trying to sound convincing. "I need to know who I'm dealing with."

"Is this a job interview or something?"

"Need I remind you that I'm something of a celebrity?" I joked. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"On BookTok."

"Does it matter?" I chided. "You said it yourself. I'm the next New York Times bestselling author, remember?"

That got a chuckle out of him.

He bit his lower lip, then considered me for a moment. "You're right," he said. His voice was low and gruff. "You're the boss."

I was suddenly reminded of how irritatingly attracted I was to him right now.

Fuck.

I crossed my legs under the table and cleared my throat. "So, if you want the job, you better not disappoint me."

He smiled. "Alright then," he said, playing along. He put his hand out. "I'm Joe. Nice to meet you."

Huh. Had I seriously not asked him his name?

"Laura." I shook his hand.

"I know," he said, holding my hand in his just a little longer than what would be appropriate for an interview.

His hand was big and warm around mine, and I hoped I wasn't too clammy.

I swallowed, and eventually pulled away.

I opened my computer again and randomly clicked around on my desktop, pretending to look through his résumé.

"Right. Uh-huh. I see." I raised my glasses and squinted at the screen. "It says here--and I quote--that you 'know your way around a woman's body.'" I took my glasses off and looked right at him. "What makes you so confident in your abilities?"

"Well, you see," he started, leaning back in his seat, "I'm something of a romantic. I like to take my time. I like to tease. To please."

My eyes widened. But he wasn't done.

"I tend to put my partner's enjoyment above my own. And I take pride in it. So, to make sure I make my woman cum--"

"OKAY!" I stopped him before he took it too far.

We were in public, for God's sake.

"Next question," I said, ignoring the all too familiar flutter in my stomach. "In this scene, the characters have been enemies for the longest time, and were forced to unite to face a common enemy."

He nodded along, that sly grin of his still stapled across his pretty face.

I tried looking elsewhere not to get distracted, but my gaze landed on his throat.

Nope.

His broad shoulders.

Nuh-uh!

The hair on his chest poking out of the open flannel.

Focus.

"These two characters," he said, finally distracting me from the rest of him. "What are they like?"

I paused for a moment, considering his question. "Well, the FMC is a proper lady. She's always done as expected of her. But there's this... urge, this longing, she's been suppressing all these years."

Joe was listening intently.

"She's always remained pure. Untouched," I continued, the line between fiction and reality blurring. "But whenever she's in his presence--"

"The MMC," Joe jumped in.

"They are like night and day," I explained, my hand absently drifting toward my midsection. "Polar opposites. While she's all soft curves and feminine grace, he's all sharp angles and hard muscles. He's an absolute rake. She hates his guts, but she can't get enough of him."

"Sounds vaguely familiar," he purred, and my breath caught.

I froze, my hand hovering just above the space between my thighs.

What was I doing? When did that happen?

"Keep going," Joe said.

He was standing up now, walked around the table, and settled next to me on the booth. I instinctively scooted to give him some space, but he inched closer to me, until his hips were against mine.

I hadn't realized how tall he was until he was sitting beside me. I craned my neck to briefly look up at him, and his eyes were on me.

I gave him a nervous smile and quickly looked away.

"Keep going," he insisted, his voice deeper this time.

I could feel his gaze on me. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell his cologne--something like leather and cedar--taking over my senses.

It was all too distracting.

"You know, you still haven't given me any advice," I pointed out, trying not to let my composure slip. "When are the lessons going to start?"

"They've already started," he teased. "And I get the feeling they're working."