Playing Knotty (14 page)

“A few months, at least.” Ian held her at arm's length. “Look at you! I can't believe it.”

“I know. I'm like a house. Nothing fits, and I've gone up a whole shoe size.” She laughed. “This is supposed to be glorious and magical and all that, but I miss beer almost as much as I miss bladder control.” She rolled up the sleeves on her oversize sweater, revealing the intricate tattoos decorating both arms, and turned to Brent. “How's the tournament going?”

“I think we'll hit the maximum again this week.”

“And some women, too. Nice job, honey.”

Brent rolled his eyes and said to Ian, “Missy told me I had to expand my marketing to women, or else I'd end up with . . . how did you put it, babe?”

“An army of fedora-wearing neckbeard Redditors.” She patted his arm. “But it looks like you're avoiding that nicely.”

Three more people came up front to register, and Ian was left with Missy while Brent took care of the paperwork. Ian couldn't get over how big she had gotten. At least he knew that you weren't supposed to
tell
a pregnant woman how big she looked, so he just stared. It seemed impossible that she had two months left of pregnancy. “So how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, actually, all things considered. After the morning sickness went away, I've been mostly normal. Plus, if the baby doesn't come early, I'll make it to the end of the school year and get to save all my maternity leave for the fall.” She crossed her fingers on both hands. “Here's hoping. The kids have been great, though. Every class has a few little shits, you know how high-schoolers are, but since I got all”—she blew up both cheeks like a balloon—“they've been sweet as pie. If I'd have known it was this easy to get them to behave, I'd have started sticking a pillow under my shirt last fall. Maybe now they'll actually learn some math.” She laughed as Brent rejoined them. “Now, what about you? Work going well?”

“Much better now that tax season is over.” Ian grimaced at the memory of seemingly endless late nights spent in front of the glowing computer screen. “I have my life back.”

“And workshops? Got anything new coming up?” Missy and Brent were the only people outside of his FetLife social circle who knew what he did. Not counting Emma, of course.

“I just did one last weekend, and I've got another one tonight, actually. Advanced class.”

“Ooh, fancy fancy.” She whacked Brent on the chest with the back of her hand. “I keep trying to get Brent to take me to one of your classes, but he says it would be weird. Plus, you know, baby.” She rubbed her stomach. “Maybe when the kid's old enough for a sitter.”

Brent was saved from having to respond by the phone ringing. “D20, this is Brent.” He paused. “We carry
Naruto, Bleach, Fullmetal Alchemist
, and
Ouran High School Host Club . . .
No, I'm sorry . . . Yeah, I know it's hard to find . . . Yeah. You have a good day, too.” He hung up, shaking his head. “Another annoyed manga fan. I swear, I'd carry more of it, but I don't have the floor space. But nobody understands that.” He sighed. “Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh, right, we were changing the subject.” He turned to Missy. “You want to stay and play? I've got room in both tournaments as of right now.”

“No, I can't sit that long.” She rubbed her back. “I was just downtown doing some shopping and wanted to come by and say hi. You want to catch a movie later? That new
Paranormal Activity
is playing.”

“Sure. Things should be wrapping up here by around five.” Brent took his wife's hands in his and drew her in to kiss her. “I'll call you at lunch.”

“You'd better.” She smiled and kissed him back. The tenderness between them made something twist in Ian's stomach, a new and unexpected sensation.

When Missy left, Ian sat down at the table while Brent took a few more registrations. Afterward, Brent got up on the chair again to announce that the tournament was officially full and that open play would be restricted to tables 1 and 2 until the first round was complete. At last he rejoined Ian at the table, noticing that the board had been put away. “You're done? I thought we were gonna do a rematch.”

“Nah, let's play something else. How about Pandemic?” Ian reached over to pull the game off the shelf. Something about watching Brent with Missy had made him feel off: out of sorts, somehow. Maybe a bit jealous? Lonely? Neither option made much sense. He'd spent loads of time with Missy and Brent and had never felt like this afterward. And if Brent wanted to talk more about Emma, well . . . Ian didn't want to. Fortunately, the complicated strategy involved in Pandemic would limit extraneous conversation.

Brent looked at the game, then at Ian, scrutinizing his friend's face with the uncanny perceptiveness that always made Ian feel x-rayed. Whether or not he realized that Ian was using the game as a way to preclude further Emma-related conversation, Brent shrugged and sat down across from Ian again. “Pandemic sounds great.”

Chapter 16

I
s this a date?”

The question had been on Emma's mind for the last day and a half, although she hadn't intended to blurt it out before they'd walked three blocks from Prologue
.
It seemed especially strange to ask when he had just paid her fifty dollars for the evening's work. Ian didn't answer right away, instead looking down at her as they walked, his hands thrust into his jeans pockets. Next to his six-foot frame, she felt shorter than she was. Funny how she'd never really noticed how tall Ian was until right then.

“Well, that depends. Do you want it to be a date?” he said. They reached an intersection, and Ian looked both ways before grabbing Emma's hand and hopping out into the road, crossing quickly against the lights. When they reached the other side of the street, he didn't let go right away, and she found herself staring down at their entwined fingers before he noticed her gaze and released her hand.

Realizing he was waiting for her answer, Emma considered. But then Ian stopped abruptly in front of a game store, scanning the products in the display window. “What are you looking for?” she asked, grateful for an opportunity to switch topics.

“The new
Halo
is supposed to be out soon. Or maybe it's already out.” He pursed his lips in thought, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I forgot to ask Brent. He would know. Well, it's probably not out yet, or it would be in the window.” He turned away and continued up the sidewalk.

“You saw Brent today? How's he doing?” Emma had to rush to keep up with Ian's loping strides. “Hey, slow down. Some of us have short legs.”

Ian slowed down, smiling. “Sorry. I forget sometimes. And yeah, he has gaming tournaments every Saturday morning. I usually go when I'm free.”

“Oh.” That actually sounded kind of fun. But no, she shouldn't think about the other fun date-like things she could be doing with Ian: The more attached she got, the easier it would be to get hurt. “And, um, no. It's not a date.”

“What?” Ian's eyebrows drew together in confusion before realization hit. “Oh! I forgot I'd asked. Well, fine. A friend dinner, then.”

“Did
you
think it was a date?” Emma looked up at him, but he was focusing ahead. The building they were passing was under repair, and they had to cross in the pedestrian walkway beneath the rickety metal scaffolding and orange mesh safety netting.

“I didn't think it needed a label. Not everything needs a label, Emma.” He looked down at her, but in the shadow of the scaffolding, it was hard to read his expression. He seemed frustrated. Then they passed back out the other side into the dull late-afternoon sunlight and turned right, heading for a bar and grill Emma had walked by a hundred times but never visited. “How's this?” He gestured to the menu on the door.

Emma studied the options. It was standard pub fare. “Looks fine. Is it good here?”

“No idea.” Ian shrugged. “Never eaten here before. Passed it on the way and thought we could give it a try.”

“All right, what the hell.” She preceded him into the dimly lit building. It was early enough that they were seated immediately; within a half hour, every restaurant would probably require a wait.

They each ordered burgers and fries. It had been a long time since Emma had eaten a burger, but the sign said they'd won Best of Boston the year before. Where they were sitting, not far from the front entrance, the award seemed to be staring right at Emma. She couldn't help staring back, studying the red plaque with its reflective star in the corner and the sponsoring magazine logo emblazoned at the top. If she won the award this year, she could hang it right on the back wall behind the cash wrap. She was halfway through mentally rearranging her wall to most prominently display the award when Ian spoke up, interrupting her reverie.

“So you're feeling okay about tonight? No questions or anything?”

“No, I'm feeling good. It helps to have done all the ties ahead of time. There won't be any surprises.” She sipped her water. When he didn't continue, just kept looking at her with an unidentifiable expression, she felt a twinge of fear in her gut. “Right? No surprises?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. No surprises.” He shook his head. “Sorry, I was just . . . lost there for a minute.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I was noticing how nice you look tonight.” Ian smiled. “I like that sweater.”

Emma looked down. It was snugger than she usually wore but loose enough to be comfortable. She supposed it did highlight her shape nicely. “Thanks.”

“You're not wearing your yoga pants.”

Emma brushed her hands down over her jeans. “Is that okay? I didn't want to wear them out to dinner. These jeans are loose, but if you think they won't work, I can maybe run home and change.”

“No, they're fine. They look really good on you.” He seemed genuine, and Emma didn't know how to deal with the attention.

“Thank you.” After a pause, she added, “You look good, too.”

He laughed. “You don't have to reciprocate just because I paid you a compliment, Emma.”

“No, I mean it.” He was wearing a plain black T-shirt under a gray button-down shirt and jeans. They might have been the same jeans that showed off his ass, or maybe he owned several pairs, since it would be practically criminal not to. He hadn't shaved that morning, a trend she was beginning to notice accompanied his workshops, or perhaps his weekends in general. “It's a good look for you.”

“Well, this is what I wear to my workshops. Kind of my uniform.”

“So how come this event is being hosted at somebody's house? Don't you usually find your own locations?” The salads arrived and Emma started picking off the red onions. She never remembered she didn't like them until they showed up in her salads.

“Sometimes I schedule workshops on my own, like the one from last weekend, and sometimes people hire me to come in as a consultant, like tonight.” Ian noticed her salad disassembly and smiled, then began doing the same. “I hate red onions. They make my breath terrible.”

“That wouldn't be good for tonight at all.” Emma nodded. When the salad was blessedly onion-free, she started in on it. The house vinaigrette was delicious. “What other workshops do you have coming up?”

Ian pulled out his phone to look, then hesitated. “Not exactly a workshop, per se.” He licked his lips. “I'm doing rigging at a play party next week.”

“A . . . play party?” Emma had a rough idea what Ian meant, but she wasn't positive.

“Yeah. It's an opportunity for people in the kink scene to get together and socialize, as well as enact some scenes.”

“Oh.” This was probably a very different atmosphere from his workshops. “So you . . . do scenes with people?”

Ian was chewing, and he tilted his head back and forth in an “it depends” gesture before swallowing. “I've done some scenes, yes. Does that bother you?”

It didn't, actually. It was kind of hot to imagine watching Ian work on someone else, getting to see him in his element without the distraction of being bound. Not as hot, though, as she imagined it would be to take part in it. Maybe that was the most surprising aspect of all: that she was considering participating and he hadn't even asked her yet. She waited, expecting the question, but it didn't come.

“Are you going to ask me to go with you?”

Ian looked up from his salad, fork halfway to his mouth, and a tiny smile curled his lips. “Eager?”

“Curious.”

“I didn't ask because it's not a paid modeling gig. It's an experience. You'd be coming as my guest, not my model. It's a no-intercourse party, but things can get pretty intense. Still curious?”

Emma licked her lips, tasting the residual vinegar tang of salad dressing. “Still curious.”

“Let's see how tonight goes. One step at a time, all right?”

She nodded, trying not to feel rejected. Maybe he didn't want to take her as a guest. These play parties were probably all hot people and leather clothing, and she wouldn't fit in. It was probably for the best. She forced a smile, affecting nonchalance. “All right.”