The Muse's Undoing

His hand moves lazily up and down my spine, tickling my neck and hairline at the top, but stopping well above my waistband at the bottom. It’s nice, though. Relaxing.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Matty.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Did you have a good night?”

I frown. “Yeah. Sure.”

“What was your favorite part?” he asks.

The moment his hands went up my shorts. “Watching you eat it on the rug.”

He snorts a laugh and snuggles closer, wrapping his arm over my chest and resting his nose against the nape of my neck. His breath blows down my spine. “I liked it when you called me princess.”

I smile. And then he does something he’s never done before, because all of this—while it doesn’t happen every time I sleep over—it’s happened. He presses his mouth to my skin and sighs. “You good?” he asks.

“Mmhmm.”

“Me too.”

Another erection lives and dies before I finally manage to drift off to sleep in his arms.

I wake to two recognizable voices, having not slept particularly well and newly desperate to get laid. But my morning wood lasts about two seconds when the sound of my mother’s laugh filters into the bedroom.

Shit.

How do I play this? How would Fischer want me to play this? Stay in bed? Lie low until they leave? Or do they already know I’m here? Because Fischer could have easily said something. It’s not that weird that I sometimes spend the night. I work here, and I don’t live close. He’s got a bigger bed now…

Deciding to play this cool, I get up, pull on my spare clothes—a t-shirt and joggers—and brush my teeth. Emerging from the bedroom, I say good morning as my parents stare open-mouthed at me from the dining room table.

“Matty!” My mother erupts in surprise.

“Hey, Mom.”

“They were in the neighborhood,” Fischer explains to me, and then to Dad he says, “We were out late last night.”

“Ah.” Dad nods in understanding, looking pleased.

Mom, meanwhile, is giving a pointed look at the couch, which is also big—more than large enough to accommodate me.

When she trains her uneasy gaze on me once again, I give her what I hope is a casual smile. “Hey. Do I get a hug?”

She dons an indulgent grin and walks over to me. I overcompensate, lifting her off the ground and causing her to giggle into my neck. I give her a big smack on the cheek. “You look thin,” she says, when I set her down. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

“I’m fine. You look good.”

“Thank you.” Mom keeps her hair dyed light brown in a curly bob. The skin on her face is smooth from cosmetic procedures, but her neck belies her age. Still, her eyes are bright and blue and full of life. She dresses like she runs a fashion magazine, today in a rust-colored pantsuit with a wide belt.

I turn to say hello to my father in his more tame khakis and cable knit sweater. He’s mostly bald with glasses and a few age spots on his paler skin. “Did you two mix up weekends?” I imagine they came hoping to steal Vaughn away for a few hours.

“No. We’re having lunch with Stuart’s family.”

Right, I actually think Maggie told me about that, but as with most information that doesn’t involve me directly, it went straight to the clutter pile in the back of my mind.