Page 6 of Loved Out Loud
“How did the interview go yesterday?” he asks.
I was irritated when I walked into his apartment last night to find him still half-drunk from the faculty mixer he went to afterignoring me all day. But then his heated gaze locked on me, and I let myself get carried away right into his bed again. We’re not together, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my mentor. My friend.
Who I fuck.
It’s complicated. My grams loathes him. Mom used to like him when he was just a professor, but I think she’s slowly started to distrust him.
But I know he’s a good guy. He just has a bit of Peter Pan syndrome. He wouldn’t spend so much time helping me, invest so much in my success, if he didn’t care about me. Which is why I keep circling right back.
I do wish he would have asked me about the interview before jumping my bones, though.
“You didn’t watch it?”
“You know I don’t watch television.” His tone is dismissive. “Your perspective is more important regardless.”
I scoot back and prop myself on my elbow. “It was fine, I guess. Kind of what I expected but then also so different. Mark O’Malley was a complete dick, though.”
“How so?” His brow furrows.
“He was just so dismissive of the book. Like it was beneath him to be included in the segment or something.”
Greg’s forehead smooths. “He is a highly decorated journalist, Hazel. I’m sure talking about a romance book isn’t at the top of the list of things he finds most important to discuss.”
“I guess. He didn’t have to be a misogynistic asshole about it, though.”
Greg hits me with his unamused look, the one he always gives me when I resort to swearing. I ignore it because fuck Mark O’Malley.
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. You have to grow thicker skin when it comes to criticism, not everyone is going to love your work.”
“I don’t expect them to. I just would expect a modicum of respect when I’m being interviewed on national television.” I scoot away, irritated by him. “I’m not the only one who thought he was a jerk, by the way.”
“I’m sure Sierra was feeding into your feelings.” He rolls his eyes.
“Stone Tyler actually stormed across the studio and interrupted the interview.”
Greg quirks a brow. “Stone Tyler?”
“Lead singer and guitarist for Blue Sunday.”
He gives me a blank stare.
“Their music is literally all over the radio and television. One single was even the theme song for a movie recently.”
“Okay. Glad he was there to save you.” He tosses the covers back and stands.
The sight of his completely naked body serves as enough of a distraction that I stop arguing. He might be nearly twenty years older than me, but his body is a work of art. Lines of muscle and corded tendons are wrapped in smooth, slightly freckled skin. The first time I had him as a professor, I’d find myself drifting off during his lectures, wondering what he looked like beneath his button up shirts and crisply pressed pants. The reality was better than anything I imagined.
Sometimes I wonder why he wants me.
I’m not ugly, I know that. My face is attractive enough, with good bone structure and big, unique eyes. I’m probably considered fat for New York City standards, but I’m just a bit bigger than average, occasionally shopping in the plus size section but still mostly straight sizes. If I were to describe myself in the pages of a book, I’d write that I was plump and soft. But I’m also strong, with years of Pilates honing the muscles beneath my skin. My insecurities run deep, but my appearance isn’t a contributing factor to them.
I stand up on the other side of the bed and pull my underwear on while he grabs clothes from his dresser.
“What are you doing today?” I ask.
“I have some papers to grade and then I was thinking about picking my book back up and working through a few of the chapters.”
He’s been working on querying his book for several years with no luck. If I were to be completely honest with myself, I’d admit that he resents my sudden and intense success. Especially with it being derived from a fan fic I wrote as an undergrad that gained a cult following. And I get it. There’s no author alive who doesn’t want to see their work on store shelves, to walk into a cafe or park and see someone flipping through the pages. It’s why we do what we do.
