11. Fischer

11

FISCHER

M y 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."

"Your phone rang a couple of times when you were in the shower. I didn't know if you wanted me to answer, so I erred on the side of privacy."

I walk to the table and pick it up, frowning at the two missed calls from Ravenna. I scowl. She doesn't usually call. I tap out a quick text.

Sorry I missed your calls.

Raven

Hey! You busy tonight? I have tickets to Cabaret.

Jeez. This is awkward. I glance at Gavin.

"Is there a certain number of times you can sleep with someone before they start thinking you're dating?" I ask.

"It's like five," he says.

"Oh. Shit."

I have plans with my brother tonight. Sorry. Heard it's a great show.

Raven

No worries! Next time. And can I expect a text Sunday?

She adds an eggplant emoji. I find emojis concerning. Red flags in general.

Still, the sex is good. After two days of watching Disney movies, playing with trucks, and cleaning up after the tornado that is my son, she's a great place to spend my stress.

I respond.

Probably.

Let's be real. And it'll be a good opportunity to remind her that this arrangement is strictly casual. At least, if she's seeing a show tonight, she won't be at The Penthouse.

Tonight, I meet Matthew in front of the Eastmoor. He's waiting outside when the car drops me off from work. He greets me with the hug I've been waiting for all day. All week, if I'm honest with myself. I hold tight to him. If I were forced to hug twenty men of the same size, I would recognize him by feel.

His strong arms encircle my waist beneath my suit jacket, and he rests his head against mine. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," I tell him, not letting go yet. He smells warm and clean and slightly sweet. Whatever new cologne this is, it reminds me of pristine white sand on a turquoise sea, the sun beating down. A deserted island.

"You wanna go up and change?" he asks.

"No, it's late. And it's a short walk."

I ease up on my grip, and he lets me go. We take a step back from each other. I straighten his hair while he smooths my suit. "You look good," I tell him.

"Thanks, so do you."

I laugh. "Do I? I showered after I got off the air."

"It shows. You dry your hair, too?" he asks, reaching out to touch it.

"I have people for that," I tell him with a grin.

"Tell them I think they do great work."

Why do I feel like I'm blushing? "Would you stop looking at me like that? Let's go."

The walk is slow going for Matthew with his long legs and my three-legged limp, but he doesn't complain.

"I think I may have slept with Raven too many times." I tell him.

"Uh-oh. What happened?

"She asked me out for tonight."

"I mean, you could have canceled," he tells me. "I wouldn't have been—I would have understood."

"I'm not trying to date her."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes?"

"You two don't talk at all?" he asks.

"Not really. No."

"She doesn't hang out with Vaughn, does she?"

"No!" I'm surprised he even asked that.

Matthew holds up his hands defensively. "Just checking. I can't keep an eye on you all the time."

"I'm not getting involved with anyone right now. I've only been back a few months. I'm still trying to get my bearings."

"She seems…okay…"

"You don't like her."

"She's a socialite," he says with some disdain.

"She owns an art gallery," I argue.

"Does she? Or did her daddy buy her an art gallery?"

"Touché. Still, she doesn't sit around on her ass all day."

"So you do talk."

"Matthew…" I stop walking and turn to him. "What's your point?"

"It's okay if you want to date her?—"

"I don't. I don't want to date anybody."

"Why?" he asks.

"I just said." I gesture about ten feet back on the sidewalk.

"Because you're getting your bearings?"

"Exactly," I say.

"By going to sex clubs."

"It's a sex club, not multiple sex clubs. Are you judging me? You said you'd never judge me."

"I'm not. I'm pursuing a line of questioning."

"Have I answered all of them?"

"In your way, I guess."

"Good, then—shall we?"

He squints at me. The way the streetlight hits his face is striking. Young Brando. Except Matthew has a chin cleft, which, in my opinion, makes him better looking than the old movie star. Tonight, in the shadows, the dent in his chin looks like a black hole in a way I want to touch and probe. Futz with.

We keep walking.

"Anything interesting happen to you today?" I ask.

"I think I'm about a day's worth of work on my project away from being able to have you over to the loft," he tells me.

"You're done with the sculpture?"

"Almost."

"That's great. I'm excited. Also to see the loft finally."

"You'll either love it or hate it."

"Why would I hate it?" I ask.

"Given where you live." He gestures at the apartment buildings as we pass them with their white stone facades and wrought iron doors, all more or less the same.

"It was either this or Connecticut," I tell him. "And Nicole didn't want to leave her friends with me being gone so much."

She got pregnant after we'd been seeing each other for about four months. It was an easy decision at the time to marry her and settle down. I was thirty-three, she was thirty-five. What else were we gonna do? I'd had a family in mind when I asked her out in the first place.

My only regret is that we couldn't make it work for Vaughn because we rushed into everything without considering how stressful my time away would be on a relationship, much less a new mom.

I often wonder if Nicole and I would have been better off as friends.

"Does she still hang out with Ravenna or not?"

"I don't know. Like I said—Raven and I don't talk much."

"Still, you don't think all this is gonna get back to Nicole?"

I sigh. "I don't know. Wait—do you know something I don't?"

"I really can't say," he says.

I nudge my shoulder into his. "What good is having a brother who's a doorman if I can't ask for the scoop?"

"She just used to go in and out a lot more at night. I haven't seen her as often."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning…she's not going out as much."

"Can you say that with a high degree of certainty?" I ask. Matthew's attention to detail applies strictly to his artwork. Not his memory. I saw the most recent sketch he drew of me, and it was…somewhat inaccurate.

"I would say an average degree of certainty."

"This is it," I say gesturing at Gramercy Place, the building where Gibson lives and works and kinks.

"This building?" he asks.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I temped here."

"At night?" I grin. "And you had no idea?"

"I remember thinking there were a lot of parties in the penthouse and that it was weird for a building to only have one penthouse."

"You're adorable. Did you know that?"

"Fuck you. I'm not the one who sings Moana songs in the shower."

" Coco . I sing the Coco songs."

"Whichever. You're not half as cool as you think you are. That's all I'm saying."

I laugh. "I thought I was a badass reporter."

"That was before I saw you eating colored Goldfish from a bowl last week."

"I'm a complex person."

"You're about a summer away from making dad jokes and flirting with the moms in the pickup line."

I show the Gramercy doorman my membership card, and he badges Matthew and me into the Penthouse elevator. "Dad jokes, huh? Is that how you see me?"

"Mostly I see you as uptight. Sort of nerdy and…guarded."

"And you're not?"

"We're not talking about me," he says.

"I'm not nerdy," I say, heavily resenting that descriptor the most. Uptight—fine. Whatever. He'll see in about thirty seconds I'm the exact opposite of uptight. "Is this because I wear reading glasses?"

"No. I like the glasses. I'm talking about all those articles you write and the shit you read."

"It's not shit?—"

"You know what I mean. It's not fun either."

"Fun is relative. What do you read?" I ask.

"Haha," Matthew says as the elevator doors slide open into the dark lobby with today's corseted hostess. "Make fun of the ADHD kid. How original."

I smirk, putting a hand on his lower back. "Ladies first," I tell him.

He steps into the foyer, and I follow. "Emilia, this is my brother, Matthew. He's my guest tonight."

The tall, platinum-haired sex worker checks her list with a penlight. Tonight she's wearing glitter eye-shadow, and her straight hair is in a tight ponytail. The severity of her features is reminiscent of Lady Gaga.

"We're not blood related," Matthew says to her. "He's adopted."

I glare at him. "Should I get that tattooed on my hand?"

"Just saying…"

"Welcome, gentlemen. Anything I can get for you?"

"We'll let you know," I say before Matthew asks for something ridiculous.

She nods her discreet nod and opens the door to the club.

Matthew steps inside and utters two words: "Holy shit."