Playing Knotty (19 page)

Emma shook her head. “Do you want to do it?”

Bethany didn't have time to respond before the host introduced someone else and the next poet got up to deliver one of his pieces. They listened, but all Emma could think about was hearing Bethany. At the first opportunity available, she approached the host. “Do you have room for anyone else?” Emma peered over his shoulder at the list.

“One or two, yes. Do you want to read something tonight?”

“Not me. Hang on.” Emma looked over at Bethany and gave her the thumbs-up. Bethany pursed her lips in thought, then shrugged. “Good, put her on the list. Bethany Leonard.”

Bethany was called up after two more poets; she kept casting looks over her shoulder at Emma while walking up to the front of the room. Emma gave her a thumbs-up and smiled. The room fell silent when Bethany started, language falling crisp and sharp and evocative on the listeners. Chills ran down Emma's spine, and she knew Bethany could get in to any MFA program she wanted.

T
hat night,
lying in bed, Emma took the phone off her nightstand and sent a text to her sister.
Bought a dress.

Julie's reply came back immediately.
U won????

Not for that. Dress is for a different party.

Pics.

Emma sent her sister a picture of the mirror selfie she had snapped in the dressing room.

Julie wrote back right away.
Fuck yeah. Hot.

Thanks. Howr u?

The pause meant Julie was typing something lengthy. Finally, the phone lit up with the text, split between two messages.
Ok. Mom's all crazy lately, though. Threw out half the food in the house and made some tofu dish that tasted like sponge. I told her I need real food for softball and she got pretty pissed. I need to get out of here.

Emma felt a pang of sympathy. When she was growing up, her mother's fad diets had rolled through the house like tsunamis, causing havoc and destruction every month or so.
You should come visit me sometime.

Yes, thank God. Gotta go; school tomorrow.

After hanging up, Emma plugged the phone in and lay back down, where her thoughts inevitably turned to the party looming only three days ahead. There was no doubt she was excited—but was she ready?

Chapter 21

H
ow the hell
could one person do so much damage to an apartment in a week? It took an hour for Emma to get the place presentable enough for Ian, who was coming over a bit early to brief her on play party decorum before they headed out. She was shoving an armful of clothes into the hamper when she heard a knock at the door. Brushing her hands off on her jeans, she jogged through the house to let Ian in.

“Hi.” Ian stood in her doorway with his two suitcases, but she almost didn't recognize him. Instead of his usual workshop-casual attire, he wore perfectly tailored black dress pants and a black button-down dress shirt with a red tie. He'd left a little jaw scruff, trimmed neatly, and his glasses made him look studious. She looked him up and down, from the polished wing-tip shoes to the elaborate knot of his tie, which of course was tied perfectly. He'd told her to dress formally for the party, but she hadn't really thought about what
he'd
be wearing.

“So, can I come in, or are you going to make me stand here all night while you ogle me?”

His teasing broke the spell. “Oh, shut up.” She stepped aside to let him in, looking down at her jeans and old T-shirt. “I'm sorry I'm not dressed yet. I was cleaning up. I figured we've got time, right?”

“Yeah, lots of time.” He sat down on the couch. “How was your week?”

“Good. Busy. Yours?”

“The same.” He looked around her apartment. “So you really cleaned for me?”

“What, doesn't it show?” Did she forget some giant pile of trash or something?

He laughed. “No, I don't mean it like that. It looks nice. I just thought it always looks nice.”

“You've only seen it twice.” And the second time he didn't truly see it, but she didn't want to add that. When she met his eyes, though, she was pretty sure he was thinking the same thing. “So, what do I need to know about this party?” She sat down in the armchair.

Ian rested his hands on his lap, tapping his foot. “Well, before we start talking about that, I wanted to ask you: Can I rent your shop again next Sunday night? Same fee as before?”

“Sure.” That meant another chunk of extra cash, which sorely needed replenishing after her splurges earlier in the week. “Do you want me to model?”

“Do you mind?”

Maybe her face matched how incredulous she felt, because he took one look at her expression and laughed. “Okay, was that a dumb question?”

“Yeah.”

“It's another beginner's workshop. Nothing you haven't done before.”

“That's fine. So . . . the party tonight?”

He nodded. “I wanted to talk to you before we go about what you're hoping to get out of it. This isn't a job, so our roles are ambiguous. I wanted to clear up that ambiguity before we get there.”

“Okay.” That all made sense and was probably a good idea.

“I've agreed to help a couple rig their scene, so I'll be needed for that. Sakio and Mina. You'll meet them tonight. After that, I'd like to do a scene myself.”

“As a top?”

“Yes, as a top.” He leaned back and uncrossed his legs, running his hands up and down on his thighs once before draping his arms over the back of the couch. “The question is, do you think you'll want to participate in a scene, or would you rather just watch?”

Emma hadn't even considered just watching. “I want to participate.”

“There are usually some private rooms. Would you prefer our scene to be private, or are you all right with people watching?”

Her throat felt dry as she swallowed, but her palms were beginning to sweat. “I think I'm all right with people watching.” She hesitated. “Can I . . . Is this my last chance to decide? Can I change my mind?”

“You can change your mind anytime. You're not tied down to anything.” Realizing his choice of words, Ian smiled. “I mean, aside from in the obvious way.” She returned his smile, tension easing. “We're not using safe words or doing any discipline play, so you can tell me to stop and I'll stop. If you change your mind and want a private room, or don't want to do a scene at all, it's not a problem. We're talking now on neutral ground so I can have an idea of how to handle things this evening, but you can always . . .”

“. . . call an audible?” Emma supplied.

Ian blinked. “Is that a sports reference?”

“Oh my God. You're such a geek.” Emma couldn't believe he didn't know what it was to call an audible. “Yes, it's a sports reference.”

“I'm not into any sports.”

“I figured that out, thanks. So what else do we need to talk about?”

Ian shifted on the couch again, only a little, and Minerva hopped up to sit beside him. He stared down at the cat as if he didn't know what to do, then hesitantly began petting her.

“She'll get cat hair all over you.” Emma got up to remove the cat, but Ian shooed her away.

“It's okay. I've got a lint roller in the suitcase.” He began scratching Minerva behind the ears, and she casually got up and draped herself across his lap. “So just a few basic rules. Don't make fun of anybody or their kinks. Sometimes there's some shit that looks really weird, and you don't have to like it, but you do have to respect it. Also, don't go in any private rooms. They'll be marked. Finally, it's an intercourse-free party, but house rules require protection from all fluids, so there'll be gloves and dental dams. Don't be surprised when I use them on you. It's just safety.” Emma nodded to show she understood, almost wishing she had a notepad to scribble everything down. Ian cleared his throat and continued. “Anyway, do you want to be naked tonight? Or wear lingerie? Or actual clothes?”

Emma was not going to back out after spending all that money with Bethany. “I want to wear lingerie. I . . . bought some.”

The corner of Ian's lips quirked up in a small smile. “All right. Now, if you're willing, I'd really like to make you come tonight.”

He said it so casually, as if complimenting her hair or asking where the can opener was, and Emma felt a jolt of heat between her legs just from his directness. It took her a moment to answer. “I'd . . . like that.”

“Do you care how I do it?”

Emma shook her head. “Surprise me?”

“That works.” He nodded, still smiling. “Can I try out some new ties on you?”

“Yeah.” She pressed her hands to her thighs to stop them from shaking.

“Are you nervous?” He patted the couch next to him and she went, sitting not quite near enough to touch.

“Yes. But I'm also excited.” She drew her leg up beneath her; their positions mirrored the way they'd sat on his couch the previous weekend, before she'd tied him up and fucked him. The mere thought sent chills down her spine. She tried to forget that she'd rushed out right afterward; if he'd been bothered by her departure, he wasn't showing it. “I've never done anything like this.” Things were becoming a lot more real. She was actually going to do this, and he wasn't even paying her. “Should I go get dressed now?”

“Yeah. Go get dressed.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Hey, what's your Wi-Fi password?”

“I don't have Internet.”

His head shot up. “What year is it? Did I go through a time machine when I came in here?” He began looking around in mock horror. “Is it 1996?”

“Fuck you. Internet's expensive.” She laughed, intending her laugh to come out easy and genuine, but it sounded strained. No matter how she tried to make light of it, she couldn't laugh off the fact that she seemed to be stuck in an ever growing mountain of debt.

As if sensing he had hit a nerve, Ian stopped teasing and reached out to take her wrist, tugging her closer. In his lap, Minerva rolled onto her back. When he looked up at Emma, his face was serious. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and the familiar gesture eased her anxiety. “Emma, are you getting by okay?”

The words were on the tip of her tongue, the patent denial she gave to everyone who asked, complete with shrug and subject change. But when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. She looked down at Ian's hand still on her wrist, his thumb tracing the skin. Then she took a deep breath in, trying not to tremble, and let it out.

“It's tight.” Her voice sounded tight, too, as she said it. “I . . . I get by, but I don't have a very wide margin. The business doesn't make enough money.”

“Have you thought about selling the place?”

Emma shook her head automatically. “It's been my dream since . . . forever. And to sell it would be admitting I can't make it. I know most businesses close, but I swore that wasn't going to be me.” She heard the tremble in her voice. She was
not
going to cry. “I mean, I'm doing it, right? I pay my employees, and I can make enough extra to keep the heat on and pay most of my bills. I'm afloat. The problem isn't really Prologue. See, I own the empty shop next door, too. It wasn't empty when I bought it. And then that business went under, and I haven't been able to get a new tenant in close to a year. So I get no income from that property, which is supposed to be covering the difference in my mortgage.”

Ian's gaze was tender but not condescending. He turned her hand over in his, brushing his thumb over her palm. “I'm sorry. That's got to be stressful.”

Emma nodded, the panic rising in her throat, keeping calm only by force of will.

Ian squeezed her hand. “All right. Let's not talk about this now, right? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stress you out.”

“It's okay.” Grateful for the end of the conversation, she got back to her feet, gently tugging her hand out of his grip. “I'll go change.” With her mind a tumult of emotions, she ducked off into the bedroom to get ready.