Finding Love in the District

Awkward Staring

His foot was tapping lightly against the leg of the metal barstool he rested upon. Black eyes stared intently at the screen in front of him, a fruit's logo illuminated from behind. Ear buds rested in his ears comfortably, the music emitting loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to disturb the neighboring patrons. At times, he inaudibly mouthed the lyrics of the several songs on his playlist as he typed, the left foot still tapping in rhythmic motions. At times, he would glance up from the tinted screen and peer through his black oblong frames, which his friends deemed "Hipster Glasses." However, he had claimed that he had these frames "before they were cool." This, of course, only forced the label onto him more.

He stared at nothing in particular, as it was more so a way to give his weary eyes a rest from the pixelated screen he focused on for several hours. A draft of a manuscript was due within 4 hours and his editor was not in the forgiving mood for him to submit it late. This would be the 12th chapter of his upcoming novel, which he still failed to give a decent title for the publishing company. He never thought that writing erotic fiction would be so demanding. However, in a way, it was a nice source of secondary income and helped him pay off years of student debt. He could thank the sudden rise of popularity from that wannabe BDSM book that ladies ranted and praised about in reviews. It was even becoming a movie, to his surprise. Who knew a little bit of awkward bondage play would spark a genre that was once underground.

Granted, even his form of writing was still underground. Homoerotic fiction was something saved for the depths of the Internet. Yet, over time, he imagined it would emerge from the darkness into the light of the publishing world. His collection of short fiction and novellas had a decent fan base, enough to land him a spot with an independent publishing firm that specialized in finding authors who didn't consider it a career goal to become famous, but enough to garner attention for them in the publication sphere. His editor practically bribed her boss into signing him on, stating his work, "had me swimming in my panties from how aroused it got me!" Lewd, it was. Nevertheless, it was convincing enough.

This was just a side job that he maintained alongside his full-time job. Since he wrote under a pseudonym, no one of major importance was aware of his explicit literature. He would rather it remain a private past time that allowed him to let his creative and erogenous imagination run rampant.

A notification appeared on his screen, catching his attention and causing his eyes to avert downward.

Message from Alyssa Graham: So, how is that draft coming along? Think you'll have that chapter done before midnight?

A slight roll of his eyes was the response it received. Clicking on the notification, he brought up the message box to fully reply.

Skye Shou: I don't know. Are you going to keep hounding me about it? It is distracting me from writing my arousing story.

A smirk crawled onto his lips as he leaned back into his seat, extending his arms upward to stretch as a soft grunt escaped. He grabbed his café cup filled with a lukewarm latte and took a sip, eyeing the monitor of the laptop as he waited for her reply. He once again glanced upwards from the screen to get a look at his surroundings. The café had slowly filled with customers, the once dusk sky having surrendered to nighttime. The traffic piled as usual on the busy streets outside as strangers walked in droves past the thick, paned windows. For a typical Thursday night, it was surprisingly eventful. He released a small yawn once he placed his cup back down onto the wooden, hightop table that he shared with other guests on either side.

Alyssa Graham: As long as it's filled with a dirty, graphic as hell sex scene this time. The last chapter was rather lackluster.

A small snort came from him as he read the message, not helping to comply immediately.