Becoming His Muse, Part Two Read online

  “Thanks, guys. This is great.”

  “And we have an easel so just bring your canvases and paints,” says Derrick.

  I’ll be bringing a little more than my painting supplies but I don’t mention that.

  I make my way to the English Department hoping I’ll find Logan’s alone. I can think of a few ways to celebrate the good news I have to share…

  Approaching his office, I hear voices through the half open door. Logan’s deep velvety voice plus two female voices. I’m sure one is that busty transfer student, Sherriann, and the other is a friend of Ruby’s, but I can’t recall her name. I linger in the hall for a few moments and then wait outside, flipping through my sketchbook, until I see them emerge from the building. They take no notice of me because they are tittering together like pre-teens.

  “He is so hot,” says Sherriann. “I’m definitely going down on him first chance I get.”

  My jealousy surges.

  I slip back into the building and walk unabashedly through Logan’s door. He is surprised but unperturbed when I tell him I eavesdropped on them for a few minutes. I don’t share what I overheard from Sherriann, even though her single toss-away sentence is eating away at me. It’s made me forget what I came here to tell him.

  “Why do you have to be so flirty with them?” I say with a pout.

  “Students perform better when they like the teacher.”

  “Perform? We’re not circus acts.” I cross my arms, feeling annoyed.

  Logan sighs at my petulance. “Ava, the better students do in class, the more they learn. This is research-validated fact. I’ve been hired here to teach. In addition to that I have a paid position while I finish my novel, which is my work, not the university’s. So essentially I have two full-time jobs. Don’t blame me for using my charms to make one of those jobs a little easier.”

  “Your charms? When you talk to students you sound like you’re seducing them. And I’m pretty sure they think that, too.”

  He shoots me a charming smile, “But the fact is, I’m only seducing you.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “Of course.” He looks at me with steady green eyes and I believe him. “Is it Sherriann you’re worried about? She comes on strong, like your friend Jenny, but she’s all bark and no bite.”

  I’m not so sure about that, but I sigh now and drop my crossed arms. “I guess I just want you all to myself. All the time.”

  “You have the best parts,” he says with a wink. He adds, “You have the real parts. Remember that.”

  I know my feelings don’t make sense. I want everything all at once, like a kid in a candy store, but I know that the best way to savor sweetness is one mouthful at a time. I just feel a fear, a deep-seated anxiety, that I’ll wake up one day and all that sweetness will be gone and I won’t have tasted nearly enough.

  “Is it so wrong to want to be with you all the time?” He looks up, across his desk, and I’m expecting one of his searing green gazes to take my breath away but this look is different, this look is serious, thoughtful, and a little distant.

  He sighs. “Sometimes I forget you’re so young.”

  That is the last thing I want to hear. I stiffen in my chair, his grandfather’s leather chair. I place my hands on the armrest to push myself up. I don’t want him to speak down to me. “Forget it,” I say. “Nevermind.”

  “Ava.” His voice is firm, but gentle. He wants my attention. I stay seated. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting anything. It’s the expectations we attach to that wanting that gets us into trouble. You have some expectation that being with me all the time will somehow make you happy.”

  I’m about to start nodding. That’s exactly it. More time with Logan equals more happiness for me.

  “But it won’t. I can guarantee that.” He looks away, past me, toward his photos on his shelf, toward some memory or other.

  “You’re wrong.” I lean forward. “You already make me happy. All the time.”

  His gaze returns to me. His eyes search mine briefly, but then they seem to darken, cool, as if he’s made some kind of decision. He leans back in his chair.

  “Passion is a fast fire. It burns hot and short. More time, more togetherness, douses that fire. You’re too young to know this. You haven’t had enough fires burn out on you yet. You haven’t lived among ashes.”

  I stare at him, anger begin to smolder under my surface of surprise at his condescending tone.

  “That sounds like part of your hard luck writer act.”

  He shrugs. “Is that what you think?”

  “Do you want to know what I really think?” I lean forward, my body tense with anger and hurt. “I think you’re afraid. Of getting too close to someone. Of loving someone.”

  I regret my words immediately, feeling as if I’ve crossed an invisible line.

  He clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes.

  “Who said anything about love?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Two days go by without a word from Logan. I feel an ache from not seeing him or hearing from him. As I pack my bags and head to the train station, I’m feeling full of regret about our last conversation.

  I shouldn’t have brought up love. I should have known better. It’s not part of my job as his muse. He only wants me to inspire him. But I can’t help wondering, isn’t love the greatest inspiration of all?

  Logan doesn’t want love. He made that rather clear.

  Well, if Logan doesn’t need love then maybe I don’t either.

  I tell myself I’m glad to be going home for Thanksgiving. I have been so immersed in school, painting, and my affair with Logan that I need a change of scene. A chance to clear my head. Some time to put my feelings in perspective.

  Logan can use this time to focus on his damned novel — the original reason for our affair — but maybe he’ll miss me while I’m gone. Maybe he’ll realize there’s more to us than inspiration and lust. Or maybe he won’t. Maybe he can’t. Maybe he’s too hurt, too afraid, too set in his ways, to let love in. I don’t know.

  As I stand on the train platform waiting to board, I realize there’s one thing for sure: love is the greatest inspiration of all, and no matter how hard I might try to convince myself that lust is enough, deep down in my heart, I want so much more.

  End of Part Two

  BECOMING HIS MUSE by KC MARTIN

  BECOMING HIS MUSE is a 3 part series.

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  About the Author

  I write about discovering the true power hidden in pleasure and living with an open heart.

  Stories have the power to change hearts and lives. Love, eroticism, and sensuality provide the greatest inspiration for the heart. When we claim our pleasure, we activate our power and embolden our hearts to create lasting change in our lives and the world.

  Some of the simple pleasures I enjoy:

  French macarons, Kir Royale (a glass of champagne with 1/2 oz of Cassis, a black currant liqueur from France), hot baths by candle light, walking in the forest, working in the garden, visiting museums, giving and receiving massages, laughing with friends, cooking, painting, and most of all: writing.

  KC