17. Fischer

17

FISCHER

T hree weeks have passed since Matthew kissed me on the mouth. He worked overnight last weekend but declined my invitation to sleep over. I haven't seen much of him, but all his excuses have felt valid enough, not like he's actively avoiding me. We're texting just as often as usual, but it's all felt superficial.

Despite my better judgment, I haven't stopped fucking Ravenna. She's also taken to texting me throughout the day, hinting at dates and events—fishing for me to say— sounds great, I'd love to do that with you. Which I don't. We had the "strictly casual" conversation, and she nodded along as if she was on the same page. Then, one night she showed up while I was getting Vaughn's dinner ready and tried to work her way inside the apartment. I'd turned her away at the door and refused to return her texts that night, hoping she'd take the hint.

And, of course, I've spent many a night at Gibson's club, splitting my hours there between watching the woman on the bed in the "gang bang" room, studying her face like she's the goddamn Mona Lisa, and behind a door banging someone myself. Occasionally, Gibson and I get caught up talking, but more often, I get off and get out.

Matty can't avoid me forever. I know for a fact that this is his weekend off, and even though I have Vaughn, I'm determined to spend some time with my brother. Now I just need him to pick up the fucking phone. I call him from my Midtown office before I go on the air.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you?" I ask, because there's a lot of noise on his end.

"Walking to the train station. You at work?"

"Yeah. Is there any way I could talk you into coming up in the morning?"

"It'd be early," he says.

"I know. I don't mind. Nicole's dropping Vaughn off at nine."

"I can't stay," he says.

"Why?" I ask.

He hesitates and something in my heart withers and dies. I'm sick to my stomach. "Matthew?"

"Yeah?"

"Starting to feel a lot like you're avoiding me."

"I'm just busy, Fischer," he says. "We're good. I'm not going anywhere."

But he has, hasn't he?

I try not to let my fear of losing him come across in my voice. "Good, because I might be going through withdrawals. I'm not used to not seeing you. You need to widen your availability."

He huffs a short laugh. "I miss you, too."

"Yeah?"

"A little."

I manage a smile. "Then maybe you'll change your mind about sticking around in the morning?"

"Maybe."

"Okay. I'll let you go, then." I feel marginally better. "See you when I get home. And I'll expect a hug."

"You got it. Bye."

"Bye," I say in a choked whisper as I hang up.

He opens the door for me when I get home, and even though two couples are waiting behind him at the elevator, he gives me a big hug.

A full body shudder overwhelms me, and fear I haven't felt in months threatens a panic attack, the likes of which I haven't had since I've been home. He scared the shit out of me, and it isn't until this moment that I realize how fundamental the anxiety of losing him is. It's part of my makeup. Cellular. "Jesus, Matty," I manage to say, clutching shamelessly at his shoulder blades.

"Shh…" The sound he used to make when I had a nightmare to bring me back to reality.

"You have to let me make this okay," I tell him.

"I told you, we're fine."

Why does this feel so fucking good? Why doesn't he always hug me like this? Like he's holding me together? Or just…holding me.

Is it okay to want that?

"Don't flake on me in the morning," I say.

"Why would you say that?" We're still pressed tightly together, still whispering in each other's ears.

"You've been avoiding me."

"I've been…it's not about you."

"What's it about?"

"I ended it with Valentine. I've just been…handling that."

"You broke up?"

"We can talk about it in the morning."

"Are you okay?" I ask him.

"I'm… Jesus." He pulls away, hands on my shoulders, putting me at arm's length. "You need to relax. Go do your thing. I'll be here all night if you need me."

I wish he weren't working. I wish he could come up with me, and I wouldn't be plagued with dark impulses to get wasted or have anonymous sex. I wish I could just go upstairs for an hour, have a drink or two and work on my book without it feeling like I'm the loneliest, most pathetic person on earth. The thought of how tonight will likely end has me frozen to the spot where I stand.

His brow furrows. "You need something now?"

I snap out of it, shaking my head quickly. "No."

"I'm here if you do. You know that, right? I'm not ghosting, and I'll always pick up the phone when you call."

"Yeah." I know that. I've pulled back from us, too.

Realizing that, something else clicks. I know what I need to do when I get upstairs, and while it won't be fun, I think I'll sleep better once it's over. "I do. Sorry for being so dramatic."

"Let me get the elevator for you."

While he waits with me for it to arrive, I lean on him more than I do my cane. He gives my hand a short squeeze as the doors slide open. "See you soon."

I nod and step inside.

Ravenna's apartment is exactly two floors below mine. #907. It has nearly the same layout as my place, but hers has personality. Eclectic art in the form of paintings, figurines, jewel-toned furniture and light fixtures. It's colorful and warm, sexy in an obvious way from the plush sapphire sofa to the topaz velvet chaise overlooking the park.

"Oh my god! What an amazing surprise! Hey babe!"

Christ.

She throws her arms around me once the door is closed. I try not to flinch and push her away. I hate hugs. Even Nicole knew that. On her tiptoes, Raven buries her face in my neck and starts kissing it. "God, you smell so good."

My cock stirs, not unexpectedly. She's sexy, and she knows it. The red dress was one thing, but she's equally hot in her leggings and tight-fitting t-shirt.

I extract myself from her grip before the kissing goes any further, or I get confused about what I'm doing here. "Can I make you a drink?" she asks as she lets me in.

"No, I came to talk."

"Oh." Her uncertainty is evident. "Okay." She leads the way down the hall, and I follow her to the living area. She pads into the kitchen in fuzzy socks, and I wonder whether I should sit or help her out.

She takes two glasses from a shelf and uses a corkscrew to open a bottle of red wine. Meanwhile, I notice a half-finished green smoothie on one of the end tables. It looks disgusting.

"You wanna sit?" she asks approaching and handing me the wineglass I didn't ask for.

I have a seat on the tufted sofa. She sits down, cross-legged, facing me, back straight and eyes wide with uncertainty. I take a hearty sip of wine before setting it down and turning to face her. I've never broken up with anyone in my life. I have no clue how to do this.

"How's work been?" Off to a great start, Fischer.

Her green eyes sparkle with delight when I ask, and I immediately know I've fucked this up. " Sooo good," she gushes. "I discovered this new artist from Staten Island—who knew, right?—and she's incredible. She does the most amazing things with burned paper. You have to come see it. I feel like you'd love it—being a writer and everything."

"Sounds interesting."

"How ‘bout you? I watch you every night you're on. You're the best anchor they have. They're so lucky you came home. Don't get me wrong, I've always gotten my news from CPNC, but you just have this wry, wonderful way of putting things. You make me feel, like, ten times smarter."

"You're laying it on thick," I tell her.

She shrugs. "I'm just saying—I feel like you're exactly where you belong. It's okay to take a compliment."

"I appreciate it, but listen, I didn't come by to talk about work."

She lifts her brows, and a smile I recognize too well tilts half her mouth. She sets her wine aside and leans in. "Oh, I know exactly why you're here."

"Uh…no." I put a hand on her knee and give my head a slight shake. "We talked about keeping this casual."

" Right …"

"You've been texting a lot," I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. "You're just on my mind. Sue me. I'd love to see more of you. Casually …"

"Casually means I can't have you showing up when my son is with me—awake."

"I know. I get it. My bad." Her gaze drops to my mouth. "Forgive me?"

I take a long sip of wine. "Raven, I think we should cool things off."

"Ugh. Why?"

"Because I feel like I'm leading you on, and I don't want to do that."

"Babe, I know you've got a lot going on. You're a single dad, you have a huge job, you're still trying to settle in. I'm sorry if I've been a lot. I just get excited. I promise—I have zero expectations. I'm perfectly content with the way things are. Swear."

I frown, trying to discern whether I believe her or not.

"Are you still close with Nicole?" I ask.

"I wouldn't say close. We text occasionally. She's got her hands full with Hunter and Vaughn and a full-time job. Sometimes we'll manage to grab drinks, but we haven't in—months."

"So she doesn't know…"

"God, no."

"Are you seeing other people?" I ask.

She blushes, and I feel like I fucked up again. Two strikes. Next thing you know, I'll accidentally propose. "No. Why do you ask?"

"You don't go to the club anymore?"

"Oh, that. A date took me there—I'm not a member. He just wanted an excuse to get fingered by a guy in front of me. Worst date ever until I saw you."

She laughs at the horrified expression on my face. "That's what it's like out there. I think you're smart for not wanting to date. And to be honest, it's why I like our arrangement."

Arrangement . She sees it as an arrangement. I breathe easier.

"You're not interested in dating anymore?"

"I want to wait for the right person." She smiles. "Let it happen organically. I'm not trying to force anything."

She's saying all the right things, and I have to admit it's working. It's taking my mind off Matthew and putting to rest all my concerns about her wanting too much from me. "So, what do you have planned the rest of the night?" she asks.

"I don't have anything," I admit, a victim of my own unfortunate reality.

"Well…since you're here…"

She sets my wineglass aside, and I allow her to straddle my lap. She runs a hand down my tie and back up. "You look so good in this. Like you stepped right out of the TV."

She's hot as she grinds her pussy over my semi, causing it to fill rapidly.

"I can't stay," I tell her.

"You said you didn't have anything…"

"I mean, I need to clean up. Vaughn's coming— Fuck …" She grinds again, and it makes my brain go numb. Sex makes me so fucking stupid.

"You can clean me . I'm so dirty …"

I glance over at the velvet chaise by the window. She follows my gaze. "Babe, I love the way you think."