Page 58 of Muscle Cub

Austin plugged a media cable into his phone, and while I gave him general directions to my place, he started scrolling through a music app. “This is for you.” He grinned and peeled out.

I braced myself for the country playlist he’d threatened to make for me, but I recognized the familiar opening guitar riff. The volume was deafening—I could feel the bass in my lungs—but it was an old song I loved and hadn’t heard in a while. With the windows down, the breeze blowing across my skin, and the endorphins from the workout still buzzing in my veins—not to mention the high of being with Austin—the part of my mind that observed the story content in everyday life said this was a perfect moment.

The second song was another favorite, one I always turned up in the car when it came on. I could’ve sworn he’d accessed my own streaming account.

I told him to take the next turn, and asked, “When did you have time to make this playlist?”

“You like it?”

I nodded.

“I made it a few years ago for my dad.”

I shot him some side-eye.

“What? You guys like the same shit.”

Austin pulled into the driveway behind my truck. “Wow,” he said, peering through the windshield. “I freaking love Craftsman houses.”

“Yeah? It was built in 1929.”

“It’s awesome.”

I’d had a rule for years that I didn’t bring men to my house. On the few occasions I’d hooked up with someone, I always insisted I couldn’t host. If things in the bedroom didn’t work out, I didn’t want to find myself in the position of having to get rid of someone. I preferred being able to leave when I wanted.

Austin had broken his rule for me, so I invited him to come inside.

I left my shoes in his Jeep. I’d remembered they were there, but I preferred him having them. At least for a while longer.

As he followed me up the walk to the front door, he said, “I can’t believe I met your mom on our first date.”

“Me either. I think I may need to process it with my therapist.” I unlocked the door. “And for the record, we spent three nights together, so I’m not sure this qualifies as our first date.”

21

“Prof.” Austin tiptoed into the foyer, his voice hushed and reverent. “This place is so cool.”

“Thank you. My ex always said old houses were depressing money pits.” Even if Charles wasn’t there to hear it, I still gloated. “He said my love of them was maudlin.”

Austin sneered. “Who the fuck even talks like that?” He walked over to the staircase and touched the banister. “This woodwork is amazing. Is this all original, like, from back in the day?”

“We had to replace some of the wood, but we tried to restore everything with as much historical accuracy as possible.” Conscious of having used the word we so soon after mentioning my ex, I hastened to clarify. “Ben helped me with the restoration.”

“Ben, like Eric-and-Ben Ben?”

I nodded. “That’s how we became friends. This kind of carpentry is his specialty.”

“Right on.”

“We just finished our final project, the upstairs bathroom. You’ll have to check it out. No one else has seen it yet.”

Austin turned toward the living room. “Holy shit!” He bounded over to the fireplace and stared up at the framed print of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night hanging above the mantle. He pointed at it, mouth hanging open, looking to me as if he wanted me to confirm he wasn’t imagining it. “I have this same painting! I swear to God. I could drive you over to my apartment right now and prove it, but I have a buddy that’s kinda subletting, and it’s a total dump compared to your place, so I’m not sure you’ll ever be allowed to see it now.”

I laughed. “I believe you.”

“Mine’s just a poster, though.”

“Oh, that’s a print. Obviously.” I chuckled. “The original is hanging in the MoMA. Fifth floor if I remember correctly.” I sounded like a pompous know-it-all. “Have you been?”