Literary Devices Ch. 03

"That makes no sense at all," I just said. He hadn't said anything helpful. Like, at all.

"Okay then," Joe said. His hand reached for my thigh and my heart nearly stopped. "How does she feel when he's around her?"

"I don't know..." I said.

I honestly didn't. How was I supposed to know how she felt when I'd never been in her place?

And anyway, I was way too distracted by the man sitting next to me to even begin thinking about my book's main characters right now.

His hand squeezed me ever so gently, with just enough pressure to make me acutely aware of how big and strong he was, and how dangerously close he was to me. To my crotch, where my own hand had been just a moment ago.

I couldn't help but picture him leaning in close, sliding his fingers between my legs and rubbing my cunt through my jeans. The last sensible part of my brain had obviously left the building because I wasn't even thinking about the fact that we were in public anymore.

How crazy was it that I'd let this complete stranger get this close to me? How long had I been wanting--needing--this sort of attention that I'd let my guard down so easily?

Holy shit. I'd thrown all my inhibitions right out the window.

To be honest, he could have his way with me if he wanted. He could do whatever he wanted with my body, ask anything of me, and I know I'd just look up into his eyes and nod mindlessly.

He could grab my tits and I'd let him. He could tell me to get on my knees and be a good girl.

And I would.

God, what a strange feeling--

"Oh." The realization hit me all too suddenly.

I felt his grin widen.

This is it. This is what the character must be feeling. This is what I need to write.

I opened up the word document and hastily started typing, inspiration flooding back into me like a broken dam.

Finally.

Joe's hand slid off my leg and he stood.

"Where are you going?" I asked him, sounding just a bit too clingy.

He gave his cup a little shake. "I finished my coffee," he said. "The booth is yours, as promised."

"But wait, I--"

"Seems like you got your mojo back, so my teachings must have been useful after all."

I bit back a smile. "I guess so."

He grabbed his book and zipped up his puffer jacket. "Nice meeting you, Laura. Good luck with the book. Can't wait to read the sequel."

He gave me what felt like a soft, mournful smile, and turned to leave.

"Same time next week?" I found myself calling after him.

He stopped in his tracks and turned back to face me.

"I mean, I paid for these lessons after all," I teased. "I better get my money's worth, don't you think?"

He chuckled. He considered me for a moment, smiled, and eventually said, "Same time next week."

"Bye Joe," I whispered to myself as he left.

And I returned my attention to my computer screen.

~

This week passed by in a blur. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so motivated to wake up at 7 a. m. and get ready for work, but somehow, I'd managed to keep it up all week. I'd gone back to the café bright and early every day to keep writing since my chance encounter with Joe.

I'd even been making an actual effort to look presentable. This morning, I put on just enough makeup to nail that "no-makeup" look men seemed to love so much. I curled my hair, wore an actual bra, and of course, I put on a blouse that showed a tasteful amount of cleavage without being inappropriate for public settings.

Gotta show off what yo mama gave you!

That sounded better in my head... Note to self: never say that out loud.

I wouldn't admit this to him--or anyone for that matter--but I'd been holding out hope I might see him again before the weekend came around.

I didn't. I guess he had more important things to do during the week, like work at the business factory or whatever it is he did when he wasn't out stalking semi-famous authors and stealing their booths.

Huh. I realized I didn't know anything at all about this guy. Aside from his name, the fact he'd read my books, and that I would let him do anything he wanted to me--

Nope. Scratch that. Reverse.

I didn't know anything about this guy. I had been so consumed by my own problems last Saturday that I didn't even think about asking him the most basic stuff.

You know, normal human conversational skills?

I guess I'd never heard of those.

God, I felt so stupid looking back on that day. I bet he thought I was just some rude-prude-narcissist-psycho-B-word.

And yet, he'd said 'yes' when I asked him to meet again. That had to mean something, right?

I certainly chose to believe so.

I heard the familiar chime of bells as someone walked through the front doors of the café. I immediately looked up.

It wasn't him.

That's alright. It's still early. And it's not like we set a time for our date. Or workshop. Or lesson. Or however you want to label it.

You said date, not me.

Oh my god. Did we even settle on a day for our follow-up tutoring session? We'd agreed to meet again 'same time next week'. I figured that was clear enough, but who knows, maybe he wasn't as schedulely-inclined as me.

Shit, and I didn't even get his number either.

I tried looking him up on Instagram and Facebook this past week--not in a creepy way or anything, obviously--but there had been about a thousand Joes within a 5km radius, and unsurprisingly, most if not all of them seemed to exclusively wear flannels.

Another chime. Still not him.

Deep breaths. No need to panic.

Worst case, he doesn't show, and it just confirms what I'd been fearing the most deep down: either he was a figment of my imagination, or he simply hadn't felt the same way I did.

And that would be okay. After years of celibacy, I could definitely take care of myself. And I was more than capable of writing this story on my own.

Ignoring the fact that I found myself incapable of writing anything right now. Once again.

Frick.

To be honest, I'd been rather distracted all week. Especially when I'd get home in the afternoon and find myself alone with my thoughts. I kept seeing him whenever I closed my eyes. And not in a sleep-paralysis-demon kind of way. But rather, in an all-consuming I-can't-wait-to-see-him-again kind of way.

Every time I'd step into my kitchen, I half-expected to find him under the sink, fixing my pipes.

Beard neatly trimmed. Open shirt. Chest hair out for all to see. Sleeves rolled up. Thick forearms on display.

Damn. I'm no better than a man.

We'd only met once, but by now, I could probably draw the man from memory. He even became the object of more than one sleepless night. So much so that I had to take matters into my own hands.

Listen. I may be inexperienced and chronically single, but still.

A girl's got needs.

Someone knocked at the window and I literally jumped.

Who the hell--

It was Joe. He'd seen me through the window, sitting at my usual spot, and decided it would be a good idea to give me a heart attack. I couldn't hear him, but I could see him laughing. He walked through the door and came straight to me.

"You proud of yourself?" I asked, trying my darndest to look annoyed.

"Good morning to you too," he said with a sly grin.

"You could have killed me!"

"Me?" he gasped, putting a hand on his chest and pretending to be appalled. "I would never!"

I tried to keep a straight face, but my composure faltered.

God, was I glad to see him again.

"Get up," he ordered. "We're getting out of here."

"What?" I said, confused. "What about our workshop? I reworked that scene you read last time, and I was hoping--"

"Don't worry, you'll still get your money's worth." He offered me his hand.

I hesitated for the briefest moment, but the moment I looked into his eyes, my hand was already in his.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he helped me up.

"You'll see," was all he said.

That was probably how people ended up murdered in a dark alley. And yet, I grabbed my coat, packed my laptop, and blindly followed him anyway.

~

"It's freezing!" I complained, shivering.

"I find it quite nice, actually," Joe said, as if he'd spent many winters amongst the men of the Night's Watch.

"It's got to be at least -30°C," I insisted, tucking my hands beneath my arms for warmth. And rightfully so. Anyone who's had the pleasure of experiencing a Canadian November knows what I mean.

"It's really not that bad. Here." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me tight against him.

Warmth flooded me--not just because I was suddenly flustered, but because this man was literally a furnace. How was he so hot despite wearing only that sleeveless puffer jacket?

Whatever. I wasn't about to complain. Well, not anymore.

"So, are you going to tell me where we're going?" I asked, tilting my head to look up at him.

"We're here," he said, pointing ahead.

My eyes lit up at the sight of the cute little winter market. They had blocked off a whole street to set up a few temporary shops and food trucks, each connected by Christmas lights and adorned in various festive decorations.

Don't ask me why they had already decorated a massive Christmas tree when it wasn't even December yet. I guess it was just one of those things, like Spirit Halloweens popping up as early as July.

Joe squeezed me just a bit tighter. "Thought a change of scenery would be good," he said. "You know, to help with your creative process and all that."

"Uh-huh," I grunted, too distracted to question his explanation.

He followed me around as I ran from one shop to the next, gawking at all the little tchotchkes on display. This one lady was selling handmade jewelry that was absolutely adorable. I must have spent at least thirty minutes talking to her about how she made them. Joe was patient enough to sit there as I kept pointing out every other trinket to him. This one Snoopy and Woodstock earring set that was simply too cute to pass up, so I ended up buying it.

"I knew you'd pick those ones," he teased, as I hooked my arm in his.

I was about to make a joke about being predictable, but the thought died the moment I caught sight of the red food truck with a familiar plaid pattern across the street. "Ooh, there's beaver tails!" I cheered, pulling him like a dog who'd spotted a squirrel.

"It's almost lunch time," he said. "You don't want to eat an actual meal first?"

I gave him one of my famous lethal stares. "So what if I want to eat my dessert first. You got a problem with that?"

"Not at all," he laughed softly.

I ordered my usual--a chocolate hazelnut spread, peanut butter, and Reese's Pieces masterpiece of a pastry--while he ordered a poutine. I was about to pay but he tapped his card before I could even pull my wallet out of my bag.

"Hey, I was going to pay!" I protested.

"You snooze, you lose."

"Whatever. Next time, you better let me take care of it," I said, testing the waters.

"Sure." He smiled.

We picked out a table and waited for our order to be ready.

"So, you said you wanted my input on the scene you reworked?"

"Oh. Yes. Right," I said, having already forgotten all about the premise for our little workshop-date-thing. I took my laptop out and scrolled up to the passage that had been causing me trouble. "It's still a work in progress."

I turned the screen around and handed it to him.

It was still such an odd feeling. Sharing something so personal with someone evoked a similar feeling to walking around naked in Time Square.

Totally comparable.

I felt so vulnerable and self-conscious. Plenty of other people had read my work already, but it felt different with Joe. I didn't really care about what some TikTok influencer might think.

But I did care about his opinion. And that was a terrifying thing.

"One Triple Trip and a poutine for Joe?" shouted the guy from the food truck.

"I got it," I said, jumping up a little too eagerly. Anything to avoid sitting next to him as he read the scene I'd written for him--

For the book. The book.

I thanked the guy and took my sweet time to walk back to our seat. Joe's face was inches away from the screen, deeply invested in his alpha-reader / tutor duties.

Surely, Joe would be a Pack Alpha in one of those 'why choose' werewolf romances.

Filing that thought away for later use.

Eventually, I ran out of things to look at and had to sit back down. I immediately took a bite of my beaver tail.

Perfect every time.

I noticed that Joe's lips twitched a little, as if he was mouthing the words he was reading in his head. I felt the urge to make fun of it, but thought better of it. Honestly, it was kind of a cute little quirk.

Why was every single thing about him so damn charming?

As he finished reading, he made a slight nod. I couldn't gauge whether it was a 'not bad' kind of nod, or more of a 'could use some work' one.

"So," I said, totally cool and not anxious to get his feedback. "What'd you think?"

"I like it," he said, turning the laptop back toward me. His blue eyes were on me now. "It's much better than the version I read last week."

Hmm. I sensed there was a 'but' coming.

I waited, but he wouldn't say it.

"But..."

"But--" he said.

"I knew it."

Fuck my life.

"--I feel like it's still missing a little something," he continued. "The feelings are there and so are the physical details, but the dialogue feels... unnatural?"

"I'd like to remind you," I started, already on the defensive, "that the story is set in a high fantasy medieval setting, so I couldn't possibly use words like 'dick' and 'pussy'. It just wouldn't make sense for the time period. It's got to be 'cock' and 'cunt'!"

"I know, it's not even about that," he said, trying to be reassuring. "It just feels a bit performative. They're fictional characters, but their emotions and passion should still feel real. You know what I mean?"

"Way to sugarcoat it," I said dryly. I didn't want to sound bitter, but admittedly, I felt pretty fucking embarrassed. It was literally my job--my life's work--to write these stories, and I was getting coached by this sexy, lumberjack-looking-ass man.

He stood and came to sit down next to me. I just wanted to pack my things, leave, and eat my beaver tail alone. "It's really not like that," he said softly.

I took a mournful bite.

"Here, take the kissing scene for example," he said, scrolling back to the passage in question. "You've built up all this tension between them, all this lust, this longing. And the kiss lasts only a second."

"That's precisely why!" I shouted, cheeks full of peanut butter and chocolate. "They've waited so long for this moment, so they can't hold it in any longer. They can't keep their hands off each other anymore."

"I absolutely agree," he said, "but there's just something inexplicably liberating about kissing someone for the first time. It's like..." He paused, searching for the right words. "It's like finding the missing piece of a puzzle. Finding your person. When your lips finally touch, everything falls into place. You just melt into each other, and you want the moment to last forever."

I swallowed.

"Have you ever felt that way?" I asked.

"I have," he answered, a bit too quick for my liking. "Once."

He averted his gaze for a moment, but then asked the question I hoped he wouldn't. "Have you?"

I didn't know what to say. Probably because I'd never experienced that before. Because I'd never felt that way about anyone.

He either read my mind or saw it in my reaction, because he said, "Have you ever kissed somebody?"

"Okay, I might be a virgin," I said, "but I'm not a Mormon. I've kissed a boy before."

"A boy?" he pried.

"Well, a guy, I guess. Yeah," I stammered. "Not a man. That's for sure." I was digging myself into a hole I couldn't climb out of. "I was young. It was a dare. It didn't mean anything. So no, I guess I've never had the pleasure."

I laughed nervously, but it did nothing to conceal my embarrassment, so I just stuffed my mouth with my more beaver tail.

"Would you care to find out what it's like?"

My mouth fell open.

He closed the distance between us and looked deep into my eyes. He reached a hand to cup my cheek and wiped some chocolate and peanut butter from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

Heat rushed to my face and suddenly I felt like a fucking toddler with chocolate smeared across her face. But that feeling was gone the moment he brought his thumb to his lips and licked it clean.

"Mmm," he hummed, his gaze never leaving mine.

Oh fuck.

My heart started beating faster. My palms were getting sweaty. My entire body was overheating despite it being freezing outside.

I panicked. "Erm, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to kiss you," he said, leaning in closer. "Would that be alright?"

Holy shit. Was this really happening? My eyes flicked between his eyes and his lips, and they looked so damned kissable. I'd spent the better part of this last week picturing how it would feel--how he would taste in my mouth.

God knew how much I'd wanted this--needed this.

Wait. My breath probably smells like peanut butter. I'm not ready. I need to freshen up. Abort! Abort!

I just nodded wordlessly, my body ignoring the irrational part of my brain that was screaming at me not to fuck this up.

"Okay," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my lips. He placed a hand on my waist--not the one he'd used to clean my face, though at this point, I didn't care--and pulled me effortlessly closer.

I instinctively closed my eyes and braced myself, but when the kiss didn't come right away, I opened them up again. He was just hovering there, inches from my face, taking me in. All of me.

No one had ever looked at me like that.

I melted under his gaze. All the anxiety I'd been feeling was no more than an afterthought now. My chest was heaving against his, our breaths nearly in sync.

And then, he kissed me as if he could no longer hold back.

My lips parted as our mouths collided, and I tilted my head back to make up for our height difference. His grip tightened at my waist, almost possessively, while the other one reached for the back of my neck just above my scarf. His fingers curled into my hair, almost massaging my scalp. He moaned against my lips, sending a shiver through my entire body.

My hand reached for his face and found his cheek. The softness of his beard was almost surprising against his strong jaw.

His breaths grew more ragged as he kissed me deeper still. It was wet and hungry and desperate and I couldn't get enough of it--of him. He sucked on my bottom lip and almost startled me when he bit down ever so gently, but when he tried to pull away, I didn't let him.

I finally understood what he'd meant. I wanted to savour every second of this moment and hold him in my arms until dawn.

His hand drifted from my waist to my hips, and soon settled on my ass. He squeezed at the soft flesh through my pants and that got a groan out of me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, my breasts pressed against his chest, and I kissed him as if my life depended on it.

I wanted him to touch me more. To lift me up. Take me home. Tease me. Undress me. Eat me. Fuck me.

God I wanted him inside me.

And then he pulled away.

No. Just one more minute. Please.

I was left breathless, flushed, and wanting more, the taste of his lips still fresh on my tongue. Still not fully recovered, I opened my eyes again.

He let go of me, his gaze travelling slowly down my body. He bit his lower lip, then looked back up at me.

"Wow," I muttered, though I didn't mean to say that out loud.

He chuckled softly, his breath fogging in the cold air.

God I loved his laugh.

"So, how was my demonstration?" he asked with a smirk.

"Not bad I guess," I huffed, fully aware that my legs would fail me if I tried to stand up. "You've given me a lot to think about. For my book, of course."

"Mhmm," he hummed. "So, do you get what I meant now?"

"Starting to," I quipped. "But I feel like I might still need some more practice to really grasp the concept."

He raised his eyebrows. Even I was surprised at how confident that sounded.

"That could be arranged," he said, without a moment's hesitation.

My heart skipped a beat. I bit back a smile.

"But, my services do come at a steep price," he said playfully, taking a bite of his poutine that had surely turned cold a while ago.

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?"

"How about dinner?"