no name

"Why would i promise you a song? That's crazy…i don't think i'd ever do that because i'd be too ashamed to actually sing in front of you…that's some intense pressure"

no response.

"Is it the song thing? because it'll just be a discordant version of the happy birthday song…or a weird cover of Doug Funny's song to Patty Mayonnaise…sexy, sexy Patty Mayonnaise"

her eyes break from the tablet screen momentarily and lock with his; they're dark  and small, but the way they catch and devour the light makes them seem larger than they actually are. her glare with  pursed lips tells him he should be quiet, but when has he ever listened to the tingling in the back of his neck. his chest squeezes, there isn't enough room for the heart and its beating. maybe he can talk away the anxiousness

"I like your eyes…" real original Stephen; steal a line from a romance novel with Fabio on the cover…wait why were you reading Running From The Wind again? That seems a trite experimental sexually, what's next? Scented lotions? Slippery slope there buddy, slippery slope.

"You used my real name on your blog." the first thing she said and it was an accusation, she flips the device around to face him. there's her name as clear as he had typed it. "No wonder your friend looked at me all…weird when you introduced me…i'm the crazy girl in your fantasy world that you've got all your friends reading. i can't…."

Would she notice if he magicked half a slice of Dutch Chocolate Cake from behind his back, if only he had paid more attention in magic class, if only Dutch Chocolate Cake existed; don't look at her boobs…eyes up!

"I'm sorry?"

"…no its…i just feel…its weird having people know all about you when you've just met them and…"

buxom, bosomy, ample, stacked, built, a petite Rubenesque…and he's lost track as to what she's saying… his eyes move up her clavicle, clinical word for something far more sensual…focusing on her eyes he suddenly became obsessed with convincing both himself and her of the lie that he was not a man; he was a writer.

head nod, head nod, apologize for being so brazen? and brash? Would he tell her his regret for committing the obvious to the infinite paper that is the internet?

"I'm sorry, i won't ever tell anyone your name again?"

"…that's not what i…"

"burn the manuscripts; delete the blog?"

"No!" almost immediately…almost.

her hand is cold. he wondered if her ears were cold; they looked flushed; ruby tinted half moons that cupped her faced perfectly.

oh filthy terribly promiscuous things he wished to do to her and her ears, like take a hot water bottle  to her and bed time story. evidently his definition of the word promiscuity was the only thing risqué, floating around his head…as long as he kept his eyes on her angry eyes that were now back on her tablet. Not because they were the pouting petulant gaze of a spoilt child, but because she was an intense reader and dedicated to the brutal and vicious requirements of being an RSS subscriber to his blog.

"you hate it?"

"i hate being naked!"

"so i'm imagining that you have on clothes? Stupid brain." was that too much, she already is kinda upset about a sudden unexpected reveal that has left her exposed and now he completes the metaphor by conjuring the image of her form nude and draped in an innocent powder blue cloth that hid everything but the intellectual parts
"…i'm sorry i could have come up with a better punch line; then showers at your house must be an efficient endeavor, you can get your washing done the same time…" 

she hated the jokes and the thin facade of cocky cynicism, sometimes it came off as mean but it muted the terribly vulnerable things that made him seem like he was in grade 3 again when his best friend Anthony told Stacey that he liked her and she asked him if it was true and the pressure of a beating heart was so sharp and constant he could do nothing, say nothing just pretend he hadn't heard her and focus on the hand drawn i's on the chart about Mid-Atlantic Slave Trade.

"I'm sorry…I…i don't intend to make you uncomfortable, i'm just a bit of a jerk"

"you're not"

"well that means that one of us is lying and…"

the phone rings. she nods permission for him to answer, but that is seen after he has already made his decision. nothing worse than persons texting and checking their phones while mid conversation but anything to escape the beating in his own chest.

"hello. yes. i'm busy right now. what am i doing?" he looks at her, this is the moment when he says the exact right thing…will he?

"i'm hanging out with Philip. Of course you never heard of Philip before, i've only just invented him Jasper, byeeee." hangs up on the extended "e" she's smiling a bit.

"I think your sister knows who i am"

"Does she?"

"Philip? That's my spy like code name?"

"I think you're an attractive Philip, much sexier than any of the Philip's I've ever met."

"So there are others?" her gaze is relentless.

"Yes, but i've never wanted to kiss a Philip this bad that it took all my self control…"

"but you have wanted to kiss a Philip?" she's still smiling, the grin has gotten wider and more toothy

"yes this Philip…with her naked lips and curt tongue"

"#Pause Stephen; my tongue is not short and aggressive and maybe i should grow a mustache to ward off attacks from wild writers?"

"Yes Philip…grow a long thick Freddie Mercury mustache and then we'll see…"

she pushes his face away, it's been creeping in, despite his promise to never lean in, even if his pen is on her lap he was not to lean in. its a playful shove and he welcomes the feel of her cold fingers on his burning face.

"you're blushing…and don't you owe me a song?"