I’m always thinking of myself as a soulless fuckup when it
comes to Cassidy. Then again, perhaps always is a strong word. Often is better.
Right now I’m not sure that what I do with her is so wrong.
If I’m pulling her away from anything when I call, it is her little studio.
This is what she always tells me.
She usually says, “I’m working.”
She sometimes says, “I’ve been working all day.”
If the answer is yes, she’ll say, “I think I need a break.”
If she were to ever bring up her girlfriend, I think I would
probably be pushing her out the front door before I could stop myself. Ok, so
maybe I am a soulless fuckup. Still, I know I’ve done worse than the occasional
couple hours of mutual, obligation-free feel good.
Cassidy falls pretty low on my list of sins.
“You beat yourself up,” Ben says, “more because you think you should feel bad about it.”
He grins his little ginger tabby grin and shakes his head.
See, these men who surround me do not equate a little
fucking with home wrecking. I suppose Anthony and I could be considered extreme
proof of that.
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