14. Matthew

14

MATTHEW

T wo 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.

Sex with a guy might be the only way to distract myself from wanting to dry hump my brother. Because Jesus Christ, tonight on the couch at the club I could have easily pulled him closer, and no one would have cared if we'd ground against each other until we were both spent.

This is the kind of thought I need to get fucked out of me, and Valentine's too much of a lady to do it. I need a man.

Fischer may want to feel me up when he's drunk or concussed, but he does not want to have sex with me. He'd have a hundred and one reasons why it's a terrible and impossible idea if I ever brought it up. Number one being—we share parents who already think we're weird. Number two—our friendship is too important to us both. And he'd be right.

I don't make friends easily. I'm a lot to take, and you kind of have to know me to love me. On top of that, being a twin is tricky because nothing is ever really yours. I've been part of a couple from the moment I took my first breath. I share birthdays, toys, graduations. I can't even imagine how much worse that would be if I were part of an identical pair—sharing my face would be awful.

But then I did graduate, and I was on my own, and I had no idea what to do with myself. Maggie's a way better functioning twin than I am. Once I didn't have her to hide behind anymore, it was like having to invent an entirely new version of myself. At eighteen, sex was the closest thing to hiding in a person I could find. It's hard to explain. Hard to understand even for me.

Basically, it's in my nature to attach. Since no one's obligated to spend time with me or attach back, they usually don't, and then I get antsy. On top of that, I'm different, and I have a dizzying fear of rejection. After being widely rejected by my peers in school for being gangly and obnoxious, I made a reputation for myself after deflowering one of the popular girls who had a thing for me.

Sex and control are how I've coped with feeling like half a person. My muses have helped me through some of the rougher times. They offer sex with passion, which feeds my obsessive tendencies, but it's all in the name of my art, which is an extension of me, but not me. Maggie calls me a serial monogamist. But the truth is, my heart's not available. It picked its person a long time ago.

And it doesn't matter to me that Fischer and I can never be together like I am with the women I fuck. What he and I are is enough.

My hourly alarm goes off, and I roll over to shake Fischer awake again. He startles. "Tell me your name."

He swats at my hand on his shoulder. "Fuck off, Matty. I'm fine."

"Tell me the name of the building, then."

"Suck my dick." He shoves back at me again, and I grunt.

"Don't fucking tempt me," I say.

"You should have asked before I came to bed."

My eyes roll back in my head as my cock swells in my shorts. I slap his shoulder with the back of my hand. "Shut the fuck up."

"Just saying…you kinda had me going there for a minute."

"You had yourself going," I throw back, not even sure what I'm talking about. "Go back to sleep."

"Seriously? You scared the shit out of me. Now I have to take a piss."

I sigh, rolling onto my back to stare down at my erection tenting the sheet as he hobbles the few feet into the bathroom. He doesn't even close the door, which—why would he? I've washed his ass crack.

I throw an arm over my eyes because I do not need to be thinking about that right now either.

Why does that memory make me want to kiss him even more? What the fuck is wrong with me? I move onto my side, facing away from the bathroom.

Fischer returns, snuggling deep under the covers, and his hand brushes down my spine. I shut my eyes and try to keep my thoughts platonic.

"Can't sleep?" he asks.

"I'm trying," I tell him.

"I really am okay. I don't think I have a concussion."

"Good."

"Can I help?" he asks.

"What?"

"Get you to sleep?"

"Just rub my back," I say instead of what might actually help me.

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.

I see they brought breakfast, a full spread of pastries. I head into the kitchen to make myself some tea. I need to get home, but I don't see my parents that often, and I might as well buy myself another few months of privacy since I'm already here.

Hopefully, if I act normal, they will, too.