The Muse's Undoing

“Sorry,” is my honest response.

He lifts the pressure to examine the cut again, and I notice his blown pupils.

“Still bleeding?” I ask.

“No. It’s tiny. You just nicked it.”

“You don’t think I need stitches?”

“Nah.”

He lowers both his hands and presses them to the rug. We stare at each other. “Do you think something’s going on here?” he asks.

“You’re asking me that now? I thought you said I could have a concussion.”

“What would Gavin think?”

I grin. “Maybe I should go to bed before I get myself in trouble.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to sleep after a head injury.”

“We should Google that,” I say. “I think it’s an old wives’ tale.”

“Well, you would know,” he says.

“Why would I know?”

“Because of all the reading you do.”

“Nerdy reading?”

“Super nerdy,” he says, voice soft, gaze falling to my mouth again.

My stomach does the clench thing. My hands want to scrape their way down his thighs. I wonder wildly if I used to be gay, hit my head when the bomb went off, turned straight, and now I’ve gone and reversed it. But it’s far more likely I have a concussion, and I’m not thinking clearly.

In which case, I need to back out of this. I do like to fuck with Matthew, but I don’t want to yank his chain. Not when he’s once again managed to become the most important person in my life.

14

MATTHEW

Two hours later, I can still feel Fischer’s hands on my legs. To be clear, they aren’t there anymore. I’m lying behind him in bed resisting the urge to spoon him. I have my hand on the middle of his back, making sure his breaths are even. I draw tiny, invisible sketches with my fingertip between his shoulder blades, erasing one after another.

Valentine texted wanting to know if I was home, but for the first time since we met, I ignored her text. Maybe it’s time to move on. As difficult as it was not to kiss Fischer earlier while he was bleeding from the skull, it’s a sure sign of my obsession shifting away from her and onto him. This is kind of how it goes for me, but I wish like hell it didn’t have to be Fischer again. He already broke me once.

Ugh, I need to stop obsessing. I flip over to face the wall and try to sort through the night. The leg touching, the fall, the struggle to act normal around him in the elevator after I got off from watching him jerk his cock… oh and then there’s the small matter of Ravenna wanting to date him.

The idea of that makes me sick for reasons I don’t need to examine.

It was bad enough when he up and decided to get married—when I found out he was having a kid. I remember being so terrified he’d settle back down in the city for good, and I’d be forced to watch from the sidelines as their happy little blond family continued to grow and multiply. I was shocked when he left for the Middle East again. And also, it felt disgustingly validating. Like it wasn’t me he was leaving eight years ago. If he could leave his own kid, he could leave anyone.

But I see now that leaving Vaughn wore on him in every way I would have expected. His guilt is a massive weight that no shoulder rub can relieve. Now that I know about the club, I have a feeling the divorce broke him, too. I’m not trying to say I have a healthy, normal sex life. Without someone new waiting in the wings, if I end things with Val, I’ll be all over the place, literally. Knowing Fischer is as loose with his affections as I can be is a strange thing to have in common with someone. It’s also…I don’t know…stirring. As in, it stirs something up in me that I’d rather keep under wraps.

We’re finally in a groove. I have an important place in his life. He’s such a good friend and brother to me now—treating me with respect and even admiration. Gratitude and appreciation. I can’t handle fucking that up for something as stupid as an inappropriate crush.

But if he starts dating Ravenna, there won’t be nights like this anymore, and I don’t even mean the weird society sex club. I mean him casually resting his head on my lap with his glasses on while I curl his waves around my fingers and rub his scalp. While I’m watching a show, and he’s reading articles on his phone but pretending to pay attention to the TV. I definitely wouldn’t get to sleep over when I’m too tired to go home to the Bronx.

I have to take his word for it that he’s not ready for a girlfriend. However, if I’ve learned anything about myself tonight it’s that I’m overdue for a man.