23. Fischer

23

FISCHER

L unch is endless, and I am truly suffering. Maintaining my distance from Matthew is excruciating, but what's worse is that everyone keeps referring to him as my brother, and it's starting to feel pointed.

I get it, all right?

I'm also past giving a shit. My body's response to his nearness is extreme. I can't seem to let go of his hand for more than two seconds, even though all I'd meant to do when I took it was give it a squeeze and move on with lunch. I'm warm and shaky with the occasional disorienting stomach flip when our eyes happen to meet.

On my left, Vaughn is making as much noise as possible, but I barely care. I let Donna remain on manners duty while I fight the urge to put my hand between Matthew's legs.

The conversation meanders with equal attention paid to everyone, but my mind keeps wandering. Part of me wants to pretend the other night never happened in order to avoid any more awkwardness, lack of communication, or general pain and suffering, but my body has other ideas. Too many ideas, and it's not going to be ignored.

At last, the check arrives. Stuart, Donna, and I reach for it at the same time, but Stuart is quickest. I don't fight for it. I'm okay with whatever gets me and Matty out of here fastest.

As we're saying our goodbyes, Matthew leans in and says, "Let's get a drink before we go."

"Sure." Maybe both of us need to cool off. If my cock is leaking just from holding his hand off and on for an hour, one more drink is probably a good idea.

He gives Maggie a hug, and then everybody gets hugs. The only people who don't hug each other are me and Matthew.

I say a long goodbye to Vaughn and tell him to be good for his grandparents. He throws his arm around my neck and gives me twenty kisses in a second. "Love you, Dad."

"I love you, too. See you Wednesday."

"See you Wednesday." Like always, he gives my cheek a pat, and I straighten up, using my cane to keep me steady before I feel Matthew's hand on my lower back again.

"Wanna check out the Two E?" Matthew asks we watch the others leave.

"Sure."

"I've heard it's posh like you," he adds, sliding his arm around my waist once again.

I return the gesture, breathing easier. "Drinks on you?"

"Sure, if you're buying."

Fuck, I missed him.

The Two E Lounge inside The Pierre serves high tea, which is what appears to be happening when we come in. Several groups of older women—likely tourists—gather around tables laden with pots of tea and plates of biscuits.

Matthew and I walk to the bar. He orders me another vodka tonic and gets himself some tea.

"You're not drinking?" I ask.

"Not right now. I'm worried I might overdo it."

I hang my cane on a hook underneath the bar and lean an elbow on top. "Don't let me overdo it, then."

"One drink, that's it," he promises. "Then my place."

We share a glance. He smiles faintly. "I tried to warn you."

"I know you did," I say, assuming he's referring to the bizarre aftermath of our kiss.

"Listen, I want to explain about why I said what I said the other night…"

I shake my head, dismissing the topic. "Please, no. No need. I think it's fair to say we both lost it."

He takes my hand and holds it in both of his, resting them on his thigh. "Okay," he whispers. "But I wish I would have stayed."

"I wish I would have talked to you," I admit.

"We can do better," he says. "I have faith in us."

I manage a smile.

"But," he adds, "This means I have to ask…"

I brace myself and sit back as the bartender delivers my drink. With my free hand, I lift it to my mouth and take a sip. It's the best martini I've ever tasted.

"Do you wanna forget about it?" Matthew asks. "I'd totally understand if you did."

"I can't," I confess.

"That's not the question."

No. It wasn't. "Do you want to forget about it?" I ask instead. "You keep giving me all these off ramps, and I'm wondering if maybe I'm coming on too strong."

"No. I want this. I really want this. But I need you to know I can live without it. Like if it's too much, or you're not comfortable, I get it. I'm not going anywhere. Like you won't lose me over this. If there's a line we can't cross, I can live with that. You're way too important to me."

"I needed to hear that," I say in a moment of total unguardedness.

He squeezes my hand. "I understand. It's okay." And then he starts to let go.

I hang on tight. "Matty, please—don't misunderstand me. I don't want to forget. And there's no line." I swallow hard because what I'm about to say is the most vulnerable thing I'll ever say with my clothes on. "I want you."

His brows lift as we stare at each other. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't think we're done yet."

He lets a small smile bend one corner of his mouth. "Is this the ‘get it out of our system' theory?"

I grin back at him. "Maybe."

"And if that doesn't work, then we'd be what? Friends with benefits?"

I take another sip and shrug.

"You know these are all failed practices. Like train wrecks waiting to happen."

"You don't think we could come back from a burning train wreck?" I ask.

"Let me put it this way—if all we've ever known is life on the train, and then we jump off it and the train explodes, how do we survive?"

"Couples' counseling?"

He laughs. "I might need you to be serious."

I run my thumb over his. "The serious answer is I don't know."

"Yeah. Me neither. And I don't love that."

"We care about each other, right?" I ask, needing him to remember that I could never knowingly hurt him.

"Yeah, too much on my part, maybe."

"It's not too much." I finish my drink in one long swallow and set it on the bar. "If you're interested, I think we should have sex."

Matthew stares at me, a dark flicker in his eyes. "You can't say that to me."

I lift my brows. "Sure I can."

"No, because it feels like a dare."

"It's not." Maybe it is.

That's the vodka talking.

I need to stop looking at him in that godforsaken henley. I can't believe we're talking about this in public at high tea.

"So, the options are we either fuck, or go back to being normal brothers."

"We were never normal, and we're not brothers," I remind him.

"If we're gonna blur all the lines, I don't see what difference it makes what I want to call you."

"Fine, call me whatever you want. Brother, Princess, old man, Daddy ?—"

"Too far," he says.

I laugh.

Suddenly, he wraps a hand around the back of my neck and plants a kiss on my mouth. I stare at him, stunned. "What was that for?"

"That pretty smile. I missed it." He drags his thumb across my mouth before letting go of me.

I shudder, glaring at him. "Not in public."

"Aw…"

"I'm on television."

"Mhm."

"Just because you don't watch it doesn't mean no one else does," I argue. "What if someone found out who you are?"

"Not your brother, you mean?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"Newsflash, princess, you haven't stopped touching me since we walked in here. Everyone already assumes we're fucking."

"Well, they're technically all wrong, then."

The car ride to the Bronx is challenging. All I want to do is stare at Matthew. Okay, obviously that's not all I want to do, but it's the thing I can't stop myself from doing. He reclines in the seat beside me, his legs spread, and his face turned toward me. My hand is resting on top of his in the middle of the bench seat, and we graze each other's fingers with our fingertips. It's erotic as fuck.

His eyes hood, his breaths deepen, his throat moves, and every now and then, he wets his lips in the sexiest way I've ever seen. Matthew's always been beautiful, but he hasn't always been this hot . Or maybe he was masking it around me. Not allowing me to see this side of him, which makes me wonder if he knows how powerful it is.

I mean, he probably does. It's not like he's ever lacked for a hook-up. Or a muse . "Do I inspire you?" I ask as we leave Harlem.

"Always."

"How's that?"

"I have to explain inspiration to you?"

"Explain how it works for you ."

"I'm not sure I can."

"Try."

"Do you ever have a thought that feels like it doesn't belong to you?" he asks.

"Like just a random thought?"

He nods.

"Sure."

"Okay, so it's like that plus— and what if ."

"Give me an example."

"I'll give you an example when you get to the loft and see the piece."

"Who inspired the piece?" I ask.

"An artist never reveals their inspiration."

He's so full of shit, and I love it. "Do the muses make you sign an NDA?"

He smiles. "I don't do paperwork."

"I wanna kiss you," I murmur.

"Kiss me, then."

I wish I had the nerve, but I don't. Not in an Uber.

We keep staring in silence until I get snagged on another thought. "If I'm not doing it for you at any point, just fake it, okay?"

His face breaks in a laugh. He lifts my hand off the seat and kisses my knuckles. "Listen, if you're nervous, you're not the only one."

"I just don't know how it's gonna work."

"Well, I'm not gonna draw you a map. That would take all the fun out of it."

"So, you do think we can make it work?"

"Definitely."

"What makes you so sure?" I ask.

He pulls our hands down to his lap, letting go of mine long enough to feel the hard length of his erection behind his cargo pants.

I draw a shaky breath. "I haven't been with a man in a long time."

"You've been with me plenty," he disagrees.

"I haven't touched a cock in years, though."

"Is it coming back to you?" he asks, nudging his hips up to press into my hand.

It's like my core is melting down. Overheated and molten.

I withdraw my hand and run it through my hair. I have a strong feeling that my whole theory of sex is about to be re-written.