“Shit.” Cole goes quiet for a moment. “Well. You obviously can’t do that.”
“I can’t? I mean, right, I can’t.” I hesitate. “Remind me why?”
He snorts. “Because you can’t sleep with your muse. Too big ofa risk.”
I rise from the deck chair and approach the railing, gazing out at the lake. The sun is dropping low in the trees, casting orange streaks across the water.
“It could go either way when you fuck a muse,” Cole continues. “Best case—it releases a creative wave that makes you even more productive. Remember my weekend in Munich with Anastasia? Jeezus. I wrote ‘Pretty Girl’ that weekend. Album went platinum last month, by the way.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. But then there’s worst case. Remember that December I spent with Tansy? The Vegas blackjack dealer? She inspired the hell outta me for weeks, and then the moment I slept with her, the music died. I couldn’t write again for months.” His tone becomes stern. “You can’t screw the muse, no matter how tempting it is.”
“Might be less tempting if I wasn’t goddamn celibate,” I mutter, unable to keep the accusation from my voice. This is his fault after all.Just try celibacy, bro. Trust me, it’ll help.
There’s another long pause.
“All right,” Cole says. “I give you permission.”
“For what?”
“To go get laid. Pick anyone but the muse.”
“Really,” I say dubiously.
“Look, you tried. You gave the whole celibacy thing a shot. But it’s obviously not working for you, and if you’re in danger of compromising the only source of creative output you’ve had in a year, then we need to get ahead of this. Find a beautiful woman, get your rocks off, and preserve the muse.” He curses suddenly. “Shit, I gotta go, G. Aimee and I are about to lay down the track. Send me the rest of the song when it’s ready.”
He disconnects, leaving me trapped in my own thoughts.
Maybe he’s right. Clearly, the celibacy didn’t work. I wrote nothing but shit when my dick was dormant. So maybe it’s time to let him loose.
But not with Blake.
Andnotbecause she might be my muse. Because all the reasons why I shouldn’t get involved with her haven’t changed. She deserves more than a one-night stand, and our families will literally murder me if I use her for sex and break her heart.
I stare at my phone, my thumb hovering over my chat thread and Mira’s last message. The nude might be gone, but the invitation remains.
Hit me up if you feel like it.
After several seconds of indecision, I type.
You around tonight? Want to grab a drink?
Then I tap Send before I can overthink it.
“You going out?”
Blake appears on the stairs as I’m rummaging on the hall credenza for the Jeep keys. I was the last one to drive it, and I swear I dropped them in this glass bowl. But all I see are decorative acorns.
I keep my head down. “Yeah.”
“Where you off to?” she asks curiously, bounding down the steps.
“Nowhere really.”
“Right, because that’s not suspicious.” Her laughter tickles my back. “Let me guess—you’re going to a secret underground pokerring? Moonlighting as a stripper?
I move my key search to the credenza drawer. “Nah, just meeting someone in town.”
