Kiss of the Muses

violence on their beloved's behalf.

deranged compliments and praising bad deeds.

stealing nice things for their beloved.

jealousy and possessiveness.

encouraging their beloved to be worse.

Billy watched her laugh.

Not the surface one; not the polished bar‑version. The real one. The one that slipped out before she could rein it in. And for a split second, it did something ugly and inconvenient in his chest.

He took a slow sip of his bourbon, eyes never leaving her.

“Garbage and piss‑covered sidewalks,” he repeated lazily. “You say that like it’s a moral equalizer.” His mouth tilted. “Difference is, sweetheart, I don’t have to walk ‘em. I choose to.” A second passed. “You? You sound like you’ve made peace with it.”

His gaze sharpened, studying her over the rim of the glass. “And that tells me more than the paycheck ever could.”

She hit him with that line about impressing him, and he actually huffed under his breath, something low and amused.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he said smoothly. “If you were tryin’ to impress me, I’d probably need a minute to recover.” His eyes flicked down and back up again, slow and deliberate. “But don’t sell the banter short. You wield it like a blade.”

When he leaned close and she held her ground, that’s when it clicked for him.

Most people flinched. Even the tough ones. Especially the tough ones. There was always a tell in the shoulders, a breath caught wrong, a micro‑step backward.

Freya didn’t give him that.

She went still. Controlled. Deliberate.

That wasn’t instinct. That was training.

Billy’s grin didn’t fade; it evolved.

“Spent time with married women?” he echoed, eyebrow lifting. “I spend time with all kinds of women.” He tilted his head slightly, studying her reaction. “And men. And soldiers. And liars. Patterns repeat.”

She leaned back, creating space.

Smart.

He let her have it.

“Shitty men,” he repeated, softer now. Not mocking. Not prying. Just tasting the words. “Yeah. That tracks.”

His eyes moved over her again, slower this time, not predatory, assessing. There was something in the way she said it. Not broken. Not bitter. Just… catalogued.

He set his glass down with a quiet clink.

“You know what I think?” he said casually, stepping just close enough to keep the conversation intimate without crowding her again. “I think you didn’t have shitty men.” His head tilted slightly. “I think you had dangerous ones.”

Silence settled between them, heavy but not loud.

Then she did it.

She invited him to dig.

Billy’s mouth curved slowly, appreciation clear and unhidden now.

“Oh, I like that,” he murmured. “You’re right. Dinner first. I’ve got manners.” He leaned one forearm on the bar beside her, posture relaxed but coiled underneath. “And I didn’t accuse you of anything. I just pointed out that you move like someone who knows how to survive.”

His voice lowered a notch, losing some of the theatrical edge.

“Big difference.”

He studied her face for another second, then let something honest slip through the cracks.

“You’re not sloppy. You don’t panic. You don’t overshare.” His eyes flicked to the bartender, then back to her. “That’s not PTA behavior. That’s someone who learned lessons the hard way.”

A pause.

“And I respect that.”

The word hung there.

Respect.

He pushed off the bar then, straightening, slipping his wallet from his jacket pocket without breaking eye contact.

“Dinner,” he said simply. “Real place. No neon beer signs. Somewhere we can talk without the soundtrack of bad karaoke.”

His grin returned, slower now. Less testing. More intrigued.

“And I promise, Freya… I won’t ask for your whole life story. Just the parts you feel like giving me.”

His gaze held hers, steady, unapologetically interested.

She snorted when he admitted that he spent time with all kinds of women and rolled her eyes, looking more amused than anything. She'd expected him to say something like that. With his smooth talking and looks like his? She wouldn't have believed him if he'd said otherwise.

Ah. He'd hit the nail right on the head. She snorted slightly. "There's a difference?" she asked. She didn't drop her gaze or try to fill the heavy silence that fell between them in the wake of their words.

She had a past, there was no way around that. It was just exactly what version of that past she sold to others that she had to be careful of. Especially with Billy. He was far more perceptive than most people.

"Like I said: shitty men," was the only thing she responded with, as if that could sum up why she was the way she was. As if that could explain…well everything. And, in a way, it did. Just not in the way that most assumed.

Her brows rose into a look of surprise when he so readily agreed to have dinner with her. She really hadn't expected him to agree so quickly, but, she was far from displeased. As the prospect hung in front of her, Freya realized that it excited her more than anything.

"Yeah? You wanna know about me that bad that you're gonna wine and dine me for it?" she asked, a smile pulling at her lips. "And what if I don't feel like giving you any of it?"

Despite what her question implied and despite everything in her telling her better, she reached into her purse and pulled out a pen. She grabbed a napkin and jotted down her phone number on it.

"I'm not afraid of you, Billy," she said, handing him the napkin. It was true, though, she probably should have been. If he did find out the truth, she would have to abandon the life she'd built here and disappear. And she'd grown to enjoy this life that she had. But, she was confident in her ability to dodge any questions he had just like she had with other people for years.

Terry; having his first frame on screen being him screaming ADVENTURE while being thrown through a window of a fight HE CAUSED ON PURPOSE.

Me: OMG I LOVE HIM!!