Page 6 of Entity

“Um, the deal is I’m not a scientist,” I answer, feeling both flattered and incredibly embarrassed. “I’m sure you’ve seen that none of my pieces are peer-reviewed. I mean, I love what I write, I believe in it, but it’s frankly kind of insane. Like… science fiction shit.”

“Fuck that,” Ian says, waving a hand. “Peer-reviewed my ass. That’s the establishment. Society wants to keep us in a cage, Kit. My ideas were science fiction once, too. Do you see me in a goddamn cage?”

A little thrill rolls through me. “No.”

“Because I didn’t let them convince me I was crazy. Because I’m not. I’m a fucking genius. And so are you, okay? I’ve read your whole blog. It’s groundbreaking. Really cool shit. And I want you to put it in the book. Incorporate it. Eros, consciousness, multiverse theory, wormholes, lizardmen, whatever. All of it.”

“I never wrote about lizard—”

“I’m trying to make a point, Kit. This book won’t just change your life. It’ll make you famous. It’ll make you rich. And it’ll also change the world. All you need is a legitimate platform. I’m your platform.”

I down half my drink, skin tingling with anticipation and a sense of unreality. Ian De Leon read my entire blog. He took it seriously. He takesmeseriously. I knew there was a reason he reached out to me to write his book. I knew it logically, but… it hadn’t quite hit home until now.

The realization alone is enough to make me feel drunk. Or maybe it’s the two Sazeracs doing their work. I inch closer to Ian, holding his gaze. “When do I get to see the Eros model?” The question comes out before I have a chance to stop myself. I had been trying to be patient, to not act like some kind of weird groupie. But Ian sees me as an intellectual equal, and I’m hungry to see Ian’s incredible invention.

“Call him Eros,” Ian says. “Not amodel. That makes him sound like a product.”

“He is.”

“He’s more than that.” Ian holds my gaze with his sharp one. “You know that. Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not—”

He leans toward me almost intimately, and my words fall away. “I want you to write this book because you’re special,” Ian says. “Your ideas are special. But you can’t meet Eros tonight.”

I’m disappointed, but not as much as I should be. I’m finding myself increasingly distracted by Ian’s closeness, the smell of him, how unexpectedly hot he is. “Why not?”

The corner of Ian’s mouth quirks. “I want you sober when you meet him. Tonight’s for fun. You want another drink?”

I can’t imagine why I need to be sober when I meet Eros. Probably so I can fully appreciate the engineering miracle that he is, though I’m sure I’d appreciate that at any state of inebriation. “Yes, please.”

Ian smiles. “Coming right up.”

3

By the timewe’re finishing our third round, Ian has covered all the small talk basics. Veering suddenly away from the book and Eros, he started asking aboutme. Where I’m from, what I studied, if I have any pets, my parents’ names, and — he wheedled it out of me — my actual bar order.

I’m no longer nervous or stilted. This feels like a night in with a friend. Ian is weird, but charming when he wants to be, and I don’t mind looking at him. I don’t mind the way his eyes follow my movements, the way his gaze lingers on my mouth. And I feelinteresting, for the first time in a long time. Maybe for the first time in my life. I feel seen by Ian. Understood in a way I’ve never been understood. He’s asking me questions my ex didn’t think to ask until we’d been dating for months. And on top of all that, he even loves my blog.

And the excitement of tomorrow, the knowledge that I’ll be meeting Eros,speakingto him, buzzes in my skull like a heady drug.

“Tequila shot?” Ian asks, rising from the couch, half-smiling. I can’t tell if he’s joking. He’s just as perfectly groomed as he was before we started drinking with only a hint of dishevelment: one dark curl falling loose over his forehead.

If I’m being honest with myself, I want another. I want to sink into the softly-lit haze of drunkenness. I want to immerse myself in this indulgence, this validation I’ve been waiting my whole life to receive. But I’m also well aware that I’m here for work, and another drink will send me right over the edge. “I’m okay, thanks though.”

Ian smiles conspiratorially. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“We should get an early start tomorrow.”

“We’ll be fine.” He holds out his hand for my glass.

A self-loathing laugh threatens to bubble up my throat. I know what’s going to happen next. I know who I am. I know what I’m like.

“C’mon,” Ian urges. “C’mon.” He smiles wide, and I can’t help the way my skin tingles at the sight. He’s magnificently hot.

Fuck it. I hand over my glass.

While Ian is at the bar, I stand and go to the floor-to-ceiling window. I drift closer to the glass. I’ve never been this high up before. Rain still pounds the glass, but I bet you could see the ocean from here on a clear day. I wonder if Ian ever stands here and gazes out over the west side of the city, searching for inspiration.

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