The Muse's Undoing

“Good. Now what the hell have you been up to that’s kept you so busy you couldn’t make time for me?”

If he’s gonna be fucking his downstairs neighbor, I can be honest about how I spend my spare time. “I finished the piece. Broke things off with Val, and basically I’ve been acting like The Plaza whore because I don’t know what to do with myself between projects.”

“Jesus.”

“You asked.”

“The Plaza?”

“It’s high class whoring.”

“Do you take money?”

“No. I’m not looking to change my career here, I’ve just been trying to…get inspired,” I lie.

“Right.”

Our gazes lock, and I get lost in how casually sexy he is. I knew I shouldn’t look up. Knew it’d be hard to look away again.

“I don’t know about you, but it’s probably about time I connect with a therapist,” he says.

“What do you want to talk to a therapist about?”

“The panic attack for one thing, and the fact that I have zero impulse control.”

“Tell me about the panic attack,” I offer.

“It felt like it came out of nowhere. I was making Vaughn’s bed, and I almost started crying. And I started thinking about how fucking lonely it is—having a kid here by myself because how fun can that possibly be for him? And that made me spiral into this whole deal about keeping him away from Dick and Donna, and how I basically did the same thing with myself, and my chest started to get tight, and I thought about that fucking DNA report and how I have this history of coronary disease in the bio family, and then I started thinking about dying alone, and that was it.”

“That’s a lot to unpack,” I say, smoothing a firm hand up his calf.

“Told you. I need a therapist.”

“First of all, Vaughn doesn’t seem unhappy. He seems like Vaughn. He’s all about himself. He’s not over there judging you. Or Nicole. And you’re not keeping him away from anyone. He sees his grandparents a normal amount. They got spoiled when you were overseas, and you need to stop letting Mom guilt trip you about it. You’re entitled to your time with him. They can FaceTime him whenever they want.”

Fischer sighs. “Yeah.” Then he rests his head back and closes his eyes. “That feels perfect.”

I watch his Adam’s apple bob, and it makes me have to swallow hard, too. I need to move this massage along. Lifting his leg, I move to sit next to him, slowly opening his arthritic hip and resting his thigh on top of mine. I work my hands into the muscle, starting at the top and working my way down. His usual mmms are having a radically different effect on me from the last time I did this a few weeks ago. He leans into me, going so far as to put an arm around me. I slide my hand into the crease of his groin and accidentally graze the edge of his dick. “Sorry,” I whisper.

This has happened before. And normally, he’ll adjust himself. But this time, he just says, “It’s fine.”

Maybe I need to skip the groin massage, but try telling my hand that. It keeps going back for more. He squirms and lets out another hum.

“Do you think they resent me? Dick and Donna?” he asks.

I blink rapidly, a haze of animal-like lust threatening to overtake me. “No. I think they wish you felt more comfortable having a relationship with them, but they’re your parents. They don’t resent you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s possible to love someone and understand that what they need isn’t what you need. They might be sad, they might miss you, but love and resentment don’t go together.”

“You’ve obviously never been in a long term relationship.”

“Do you want my advice or not?” I ask, stilling my hands.

He grins. “Don’t stop. Yes, keep talking.”

“Family is different.”