The Muse's Undoing

“Were you?”

“Maybe I’m needy,” he says. “I don’t feel like I see you enough.”

“How often do you want to see me?” I ask, curious.

“I’ll put it this way—idle hands are the devil’s playground.”

I pause, my crust halfway to my mouth. “Are you gonna tell me what you’ve been doing with your hands?”

He gives me a look like he’s trying to decide whether he can trust me. He must decide he can, because he follows up with, “You know about Raven, but did I ever tell you about the club?”

I look at him as he studies my expression. “No.”

“There’s an exclusive club up the block. A friend of mine runs it. I spend some of my spare time there…”

“Doing what?”

“Do I need to draw you a picture?”

I raise my eyebrows, interest piqued. “Can I go to this club?”

“You could probably work there, but I’m not sure you could afford the dues.”

“You’re not allowed to bring guests?” I ask.

“There’s a vetting process.”

My eyes widen.

“What?” he asks, defensive. “I’m single. It’s safe.” He shrugs. “I’m not ashamed.”

“I’m not saying you should be ashamed. I just didn’t realize…”

“Realize what?” he asks.

“That you’d be into sex clubs.”

“It’s one club, and why, because I’m old?”

“You’re not that old.”

“Well, the cane adds twenty years,” he says, self-deprecating. “Where did you think I was going at night?”

I frown, giving that question some thought. “I thought you were doing the whole Tinder thing.”

“Not completely off base, but the club skips a few steps. Mainly dinner and a show.”

Interesting.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” It just occurred to me, and I have almost no filter.

“Sure.”

“I sort of assumed the older you got—and with the one nut and everything—you’d have a lower drive.”

“It’s maybe fifteen, twenty percent less than it was in my twenties, but I was a fucking animal back then, pun intended, so…I’d say it’s above average to high.”

“Huh.”