The Muse's Undoing

“You gonna answer the same question?”

“High,” I say. “Very high. Maybe pathologically high.”

He laughs. “Maybe I should sit somewhere else then.”

“Maybe you should.”

We catch gazes then, and he smiles, but it’s not as cocksure as his usual smiles for me. “Yeah, I’m not your type,” he says, breaking eye contact and grabbing another slice.

“Obviously I’m not yours, either. Wait—you never changed my diapers did you?” I ask suddenly.

“Jesus! No!”

I laugh, leaning back, and his arm tightens like a reflex around my bare shoulders. I run a hand down his thigh, not sexually or anything, just with the familiarity we share, which is more now than back when we were sharing a bed nightly. His quad is flexed, the muscle not what it used to be, but still firm. “Good,” I say, relaxing back with my fresh slice and leaving my hand on his leg.

“Anyway,” he continues, “My point was, if you had more spare time, maybe you could help keep me out of trouble.”

This is the second time he’s mentioned something similar. “But what about the trouble I like to get into? When would I have time for that?”

“I guess we need to mind our own business, then.”

Yeah…no. “I’m off Friday.”

“Wanna do something?” he asks. “You don’t have plans?”

“I wouldn’t mind going to this club with you.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Technically, we’re not exclusive. She works late. And I’d behave.”

He huffs.

“You think I can’t?”

“Not at this place.”

“Just because you can’t keep it in your pants…”

“Hey—be nice, or I won’t take you.”

“So you would?” I ask. “Take me?”

“I’ll think about it. But you need to think about it, too. Seriously. If you like this girl, you might want to steer clear.”

“That tempting, huh?”

Fischer’s eyes darken slightly, maybe reflecting my own. “Come see for yourself.”

11

FISCHER

My new sound system gets delivered Friday morning. Gavin arrives at ten, and I put him in charge of everything. Unlike the corset and lace panties he struts around in at Gibson’s club, when he’s working for me, Gavin wears striped button-downs, vests, skinny jeans, and colorful Doc Martens. He’s casually sexy, naturally submissive, and sharply clever. His texts throughout the day often make me chuckle. And I’m not easy to entertain.

Before I’ve left for work, he’s unboxing the Bose speakers. “I might have to call my lesbian to help me out with this. She’s better with wiring than I am,” Gavin tells me while I’m stirring creamer into a commuter mug. He’s on his knees in the middle of the living room surrounded by boxes and styrofoam peanuts.

“That’s fine.”