Page 68 of Brazen Deceits

I tried for the first two museums to make him laugh, but his dreary mood is bringing me down, too.

I grab his hand, dragging him farther into the museum, bright colors drenching the walls, wanting to get this last visit done as quickly as possible.

He pauses my forward march to gaze at a small canvas covered in blue ethernet cables, red splattered over the maze of wires, a black-and-white photo of a crowd barely visible, printed directly onto the canvas.

“What do you see?”

At first glance, I see a mess.

But I take a breath, trying to figure out what would have gotten this little piece a spot on the wall. “I see an allegory about technology murdering the masses.”

Walker’s eyes shine, a true, giddy smile on his face. “Exactly. Whoever did this, theyseeand create. This, this,“ he leans in to read the placard, glancing at the signature to verify he has the right piece, “Gem Black, they can tell a story using motion and color, found objects and a photo from the 1920s, and it all comes together in such a way that even the untrained can see it.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, but he doesn’t notice, drifting from one side of the piece to the other, focused on the structure of this messy bit of social commentary.

I step back, letting him have his moment, glad he’s happy, even if he was a little snarky about it.

A touch feathers my elbow, and RJ is there. “Excuse me,” he says. “I was wondering if you know when the next bus might be by?”

Playing along, I grin, the weirdness of not actually talking to RJ all day, even though I’ve seen him, burning through me. “I’m actually from out of town. But I bet if you head that way, toward that one busy street, there are a ton of buses. Like, so many buses,” I chirp, my muse role demanding drama where none is necessary.

“Oh, you’re not from around here?” RJ asks, Walker still occupied with the art.

“No, I’m here with my boyfriend,” I say, the word almost choking me. Boyfriend? Is he my boyfriend? My fuck buddy? A confusing mess of mixed signals? He’s definitely that last one.

RJ glances around the gallery, playing it up. “I don’t see any boyfriends around here,” he says with a wink, and I giggle. A real one, but it fits for the muse too, so I guess it’s not a problem.

This breaks Walker’s concentration, and he strides toward us, the anger in his gaze feigned. “Princess, come on,” he says, slipping his hand in mine, pulling me away from RJ.

“Sorry. Good luck with the bus,” I call, stumbling a bit as I trail behind Walker.

RJ’s brows crease as he watches us, and suddenly I worry that Walker’s anger maybe wasn’t all feigned.

He was into the three of us last night, encouraging me to give RJ plenty of attention. Although we were all a little drunk. Maybe he regrets it now that he’s sober? But he’s shared me with Jansen, too. He has to be faking the anger, right?

We wander a few more rooms in silence, Walker’s fake anger fading into a frigid facade, not even muse able to drag out another smile, a single touch. We travel back to the hotelin silence, Walker’s face blank as he stares out the window at the passing buildings.

RJ follows us into the elevator, reaching for my hand after the door slips shut, squeezing my fingers, offering support. Only, this is between me and Walker. I just wish I knew what “this” was so I could deal with it, avoid it, maybe even fix it.

We follow him to our room, and he immediately starts shoving his stuff into his bag, not looking up from his self-assigned task.

“Walker?”

He turns to me, his pleasant mask taking a moment too long to settle on his face. “Yeah? What’s up?”

I’m not going to grovel, I’m not going to apologize, but I need this to be better. Every time he pushes me away, it’s like barbed wire tightens around my heart.

I tug on my shirt. “I’m worried about you, about us.”

“Why?” He flashes a chilly grin at me before turning back to his stuff.

I sit cross-legged next to where he’s crouched, pulling some of the thrifted clothes out of the dresser drawer, and tug him down next to me. “This isn’t working. I can’t keep getting pulled closer, only to be shoved away when I break some unknown rule. I’ve played this game before, Walker, and I’m not doing it again.”

The door clicks behind us, RJ making himself scarce.

His smile flickers. “You’re perfect, Clara. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m going to vomit every time you pretend things are fine, Walker?”

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