Playing Knotty (22 page)

Chapter 25

O
h, that could
not
be someone pounding on her door at—Emma looked at her phone—oh, shit, it was already ten in the morning. She blinked blearily at the clock on her phone, trying to figure out why she was still in bed and so comfortable, when a warm arm snaked around her waist and the events of yesterday came flooding back. Ian nuzzled at her ear and pulled her flush against him. “Who the hell is that, and can you make them go away?”

Emma snuggled closer into the warmth of his arms for a moment, enjoying the closeness, but the knocking started again. With a sigh, Emma pushed herself upright, Ian making a small noise of disapproval as she left his embrace. The knocking stopped again, but then her phone buzzed with a text . . . from Julie.

Rise and shine.

“Apparently, it's my sister.” Emma got up and pulled a bathrobe around herself.

“You invited your sister over?” Ian sat up, still naked, his hair mussed from sleep.

“No, it seems she just showed up.” What the hell was Julie doing there? Emma toed her way into her slippers and padded to the front door.

“Good morning!” Julie held up a Dunkin' Donuts box and a cardboard tray of iced coffee. “Surprise?”

“Jules, what are you doing here?” Shit, did she invite her sister and forget about it? No, she'd definitely remember something like that. Rubbing her eyes, Emma tried to blink sleep away. “Does Mom know you're here?”

“Yeah, I told her you said we could spend the day together.”

“But . . . I didn't say that.” Emma wasn't awake enough to make sense of this.

“No, but I needed to get out of the house, and Mom doesn't let me go into the city unless I'm seeing you, so . . . can I come in? I brought donuts.”

Emma stepped aside for her sister to enter. “Julie, you should have called. It's not really a good time for you to be here.”

Julie put the donuts down on the kitchen table and separated one of the iced coffees from the cardboard tray. “If you've got to work, I'll go shopping or something and . . . oh. Hello.” Julie stilled, looking over Emma's shoulder, eyebrows raised to her hairline.

Emma turned to see Ian coming out of the bedroom, fully clothed (thank God) but rumpled and sleepy-eyed. At least he'd brought a change of clothes and wasn't in his suit from the night before, because that would have “walk of shame” written all over it. Not that there was any question about what he was doing in her apartment all sleep-mussed, with adorable bed head; that much was obvious.

Ian smiled easily, scratching the back of his head. “Good morning.” He thrust a hand out. “I'm Ian.”

“Oh, hi, Ian. I'm Julie.” Her smile was full of mischief as she shook his hand. “So, Emma, this is bondage guy?”

“Oh my God.” Emma buried her face in her hands. Maybe she would fall through the floor and die right now.

“I see Emma's been talking about me to the family.”

“Just Julie.” Emma's voice came out muffled from between her fingers. “I told her I was helping you with some workshops.”

“Looks like you're helping him with some other things, too.”

Emma could hear Julie's smile in her voice, and Ian let out a hearty laugh. “I like this one, Emma. She's all right.”

Emma uncovered her face. “Yeah, well, that doesn't mean she's not a little bitch.” She opened up the box of donuts and pulled out a chocolate frosted one. “Thanks for the coffee and donuts.”

“I'd have bought another coffee if I'd known you had company.” Julie took a napkin and a glazed donut from the box.

“I like to think you'd have stayed home if you knew I had company.” Emma pulled up a chair, folding one leg under her. The donut was delicious and the iced mocha made exactly how she liked it. She could almost forgive Julie for showing up unannounced and interrupting a lovely morning with Ian . . . almost.

Ian poured himself a glass of orange juice out of the fridge. Emma was glad she had orange juice. The contents of her fridge were pretty sparse, she knew, but Ian didn't say anything about it when he joined her at the table and snagged a Boston cream donut out of the box.

“So, Julie, what year are you in school?”

“I'm a junior.” She studied Ian intently, with no obvious caution. “And what do you do aside from the bondage thing?”

“I'm an accountant.” Ian bit into the donut and licked a tiny bit of chocolate off his upper lip. “You thinking about college next year?”

“Pre-med. How long have you been sleeping with my sister?”

“Jules,” Emma hissed, face flushing again, but Ian drank some orange juice and met her gaze head-on.

“A couple of weeks now. Do you always lie to your mom about where you're going?” He took another bite, licking more chocolate off his lip in a way that Emma was starting to find very distracting.

“Only when my mom's being crazy.” Julie chewed her donut. “Are you dating Emma, or are you two just fooling around?”

“And that's enough of that.” Emma got to her feet. “Julie, can I talk to you in the other room?”

“It's all right, I'm going to take a shower. You two can talk in here.” Donut in hand, Ian got up from the table. When he walked past Emma, he leaned over and gave her a long, slow kiss that made her knees go weak. Afterward, he fucking
winked
at her before sauntering back to the bedroom.

When the door had shut, Julie turned to Emma and raised her eyebrows, smiling. “So I thought you weren't his type. You sure seem to be his type.”

“You need to mind your own fucking business.” Emma tried to sound stern, but she was too wobbly after that kiss and her night with Ian to muster up much resistance.

“What's up with you two? Really. Last weekend you're all ‘there's nothing between us,' and this weekend he's sleeping over?”

Emma gave a long-suffering sigh. “Are you still young enough that I can say ‘it's grown-up stuff' and you'll leave me alone about it?”

“Not a chance.” Julie finished her donut and sipped her coffee. “Unless it really, really makes you uncomfortable to discuss it. I'm curious about my big sister's life. Not the sex parts, though.”

“I don't know what's up, honestly.” Emma sat back in her chair, tipping it off its front legs enough to rock back and forth. “I think . . . I might have feelings for him?” Admitting it out loud twisted her stomach in an uncomfortable way, and swallowing her last bite of donut became more difficult. Julie didn't say anything, waiting for Emma to continue. “And that scares the shit out of me.” Emma drank some coffee to give herself a minute to breathe, because this had suddenly gotten way too honest.

“Do you think he feels the same?” Julie's teasing tone was gone, and she had become all patience and comfort. In these moments, she always seemed older than her years.

“I'm not sure. He hasn't said anything yet. He hasn't even asked me out, really, unless you count the fact that we keep ending up in bed together.” Emma rubbed the back of her neck and looked away. “Which I always initiate. I think . . .” She trailed off, considering Ian's point of view. He was always happy to be physical with her, but nothing else. “I think to him, it's meaningless sex. There's nothing emotional between us, just some good chemistry. Nothing more, and no potential for more.”

Movement out of the corner of her eye made her look. Ian was just emerging from the hallway, still dressed. He paused at the edge of the dining room. “Is it okay if I use your towel and shower stuff ? I realized I didn't ask.”

“That's fine.”

He headed back the way he'd come.

Julie bit her lip, thinking, a habit Emma recognized in herself. “Maybe you should ask him.”

“And have him get weird about it? No way. I like doing the workshops with him, and I need the money. If he knows I like him and he doesn't like me back, it'll be weird.”

Julie sucked on her iced coffee for a long while, chewing at the straw. “You know, I was kind of hoping these games ended after high school.”

“They don't. The stakes just get higher.” Emma looked back down the hallway where Ian had disappeared. “So why'd you need to get out of the house?”

“I need a dress for junior prom, and I didn't want to go shopping with Mom because she makes all these little disapproving noises and comments about trying to hide my arm fat.” Julie finished her iced coffee with a loud slurp, the cup echoing hollowly as she drained the last drops. “You'd think it would be good enough that I'm the top pitcher on the softball team and can run an eight-minute mile, but I guess I have to be skinny along with my straight As.” She snorted and shook her head.

Emma remembered similar shopping trips with her mother in high school, but without Julie's positive attitude about her body. “Jules, can I ask you something?”

“Sure. I already disrupted your hot breakfast sex, so I guess I owe you one.” Julie pulled the elastic out of her hair and shook down the loose brown waves.

“How do you keep your confidence?”

Julie looked off to the side and pursed her lips, eyes vacant as she considered the question. “Body positivity blogs, mostly. I try to read them every night, especially when I'm feeling crappy.”

“Hmm. You want to . . . send me some links?” She didn't have the Internet, but she had Starbucks.

“Sure.” Julie smiled. “You wanna take me dress shopping? Or do you really have to work? Or go back to bed with Mr. Bondage?”

Emma looked skyward and blew a curl out of her eyes. “Seriously, I don't know why I put up with you. You're such a little brat.”

“You love me.” Julie batted her dark eyes at her sister.

“Yeah, I love you.” Emma reached over and messed up her sister's hair, earning a squeal of disapproval as Julie swatted her hand away. “I don't have to work today. I'll take you shopping. Where do you want to go? I found my dress in Downtown Crossing, but we could also hit the Prudential Center shops if you want.”

“I don't know. Let's make a day of it. I'll even buy lunch.”

“Sure.” It would be nice to spend time with her sister. In the other room, the shower was running. Emma didn't realize she was staring down the hall until Julie cleared her throat.

“Yeah, you probably need to shower, too. Just . . . don't be loud.” She pulled out her phone. “I'll be here.”

Chapter 26

I
an stood under
the hot water without moving for a long time, eyes closed, trying to get rid of the sick feeling in his gut. He hadn't intended to eavesdrop on Emma and her sister. He'd really wanted to check before he used her personal things; some people were weird about that. Right as he'd opened the door, he'd heard her
. . . meaningless sex. There's nothing emotional between us, just some good chemistry. Nothing more, and no potential for more.

He'd thought last night had changed things between them. They'd talked so openly on the way home, and she'd invited him to spend the night. After sex, they'd cuddled—actually
cuddled
—and fallen asleep wrapped around each other. It was the best night's sleep he'd had in a while, too, even with all the unpleasant side effects of spooning, like waking up with an arm completely asleep and her hair in his mouth. Last night had felt domestic and warm and . . . maybe the beginning of something new and overwhelming in all the best ways.

He should have known better. She'd never asked him out, never expressed any desire to have more than casual sex with him and help him at the workshops. She hadn't ever responded to his freaking texts.
There's nothing emotional between us . . . Nothing more, and no potential for more.
Well, at least knowing where she stood meant he wouldn't make an ass out of himself by confessing his feelings.

He was going to use up all her hot water if he didn't do something other than stand under the showerhead feeling sorry for himself. He poked through the assortment of bottles on her shower rack. For one person, she had a ridiculous number of products: three different types of shampoo (one for curly hair, one for dry hair, one for frizzy hair), three bottles of conditioner (two of the same kind, with one mostly empty and turned upside down in the rack), a can of shaving cream for women, a razor, a multipack of razor blades balanced on the edge of the tub, face wash, more face wash, face and body wash, more body wash, moisturizing body wash, antibacterial body wash. A dried sponge-looking thing on a stick. A mostly used white bar of soap that was cracked in parallel lines down its surface, the edges shriveling like a prune. Something about the entire rack made him feel lonely.

After sniffing all three types of shampoo, Ian used the one that didn't smell like her, because it would be hard enough to distract himself without her scent all over him. He couldn't shave, so he left his day-old beard growth and washed with the antibacterial body wash, the least fruity-scented of the collection. He was rinsing off when he heard the bathroom door open. “That had better be Emma and not her sister.”

“It's me.” She sounded light and happy, probably relieved that she had an excuse to get him out of her apartment. “I'm going to take Julie shopping for a prom dress in downtown Boston.”

“All right. I was going to go see Brent today at the shop.” It was a lie; he had seen Brent the day before for Tournament Saturday—where he'd had his ass handed to him in a dozen games of Magic: The Gathering.

“You want to get together later?” Her voice sounded tentative, and if he didn't know better, he'd think she had actual feelings for him.

“Didn't you get enough last night?”

He intended it to sound like a joke, but it came out straight. The long pause on the other side of the curtain made him wince. Shit, that probably sounded harsh. He plastered a smile on his face and pulled back the curtain enough to peer around it. She looked lost, sitting there on the closed toilet, fluffy robe pulled tight around her, hair wild from sleep. At the sight of his smile, some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. “I'm teasing you.” He wasn't, not really, but he needed to keep things light. They were just friends who occasionally had “good chemistry” and “meaningless sex.”
Nothing more, and no potential for more
. God, he felt like such a fool. “But I'm busy tonight,” he said.

Her smile drooped. “Oh, okay. That's cool.”

“But take the day with your sister. Go dress shopping. Don't worry about me. You want to get in here?”

“Yes, please.”

He pulled back the curtain and grabbed the towel from the rack, drying his hair. She scanned his body, top to bottom, lingering in a few places before realizing she was doing it and glancing away. She was so pretty when she blushed.

He stepped out onto the bath mat, leaving wet footprints. “Shower's all yours.”

Emma dropped her robe and stepped out of her slippers before getting in, pulling the curtain shut behind her. Ian dried off and pulled his clothes back on.

“We're still on for next Sunday, right?” she asked. “The workshop?”

Right, the workshop. Another evening where he got to tie up Emma Green and have none of it mean anything, just like usual. “Yep.”

“Good. I'm looking forward to it.”

It was difficult not to hear everything she said through the lens of
Nothing more, and no potential for more,
and each word felt like he lost her. It was ridiculous, of course. She'd never been his to begin with. This had been a business arrangement, a friendship, a friends-with-benefits situation, and . . . that was where it ended.

“I think I'm going to show myself out.”

She paused. “All right, if you want. Don't let my sister give you a hard time when you go.”

“I won't.”

Julie looked up when Ian walked through the kitchen, his overnight bag slung over one arm. “You're heading out?”

“Yeah.”

Julie considered. “I feel like I should say something about you not breaking her heart. Isn't that my role in this?”

Ian couldn't help laughing as he opened the door, and it was a bitter sound to his own ears. “I don't think you have to worry about that.”

“H
ey, Brent, it's Ian.
You home or working?” Ian held the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he fumbled with his house keys, suitcases behind him on the landing.

“Home alone right now. Missy's got pregnancy yoga and then having lunch with some girlfriends. I'm in my underpants and watching
Battlestar Galactica.
Want to come over?”

“Only if you put some pants on.”

“Sold. Come on by.”

Ian unpacked his gear, separating out the ropes he'd want to wash later, tossing them loosely into a pillowcase and tying it closed. He would need to do laundry when he got home. And—as he checked the fridge for some lunch—buy groceries. Something for between takeout meals. He heated up Chinese food from the night before and ate it standing in the kitchen, leaning against the sink. A day with Brent would be good. They hadn't gotten together much lately, outside of Ian stopping by his shop.

It would be quicker to take the T to Brent's house, but it was sunny and warm and the walk would let him clear his head. He loved Boston in the middle of spring, sidewalks dappled with the last cherry blossom petals, the cars with on-street parking spotted like the remnants of a ticker-tape parade. If he didn't have a monthly pass for the garage around the corner, he'd probably hate this time of year. Without that inconvenience, though, he liked the way the pink and white blooms covered the imperfections of the sidewalk; if he squinted, he could forget that the sidewalks were less than a beautiful carpet of color. Only by paying close attention would he remind himself that a lovely exterior meant nothing. When the blossoms wore away, dissolved by rain and pedestrians and time, the cracks would be visible once again.

“What, did you get lost?” Brent's voice echoed through the townhouse as Ian opened the front door.

“No, I decided to walk. It's nice out. Do you have pants on?” Ian hung up his light jacket on the hook in the entryway.

“Yeah, I've got pants on. Come on in.”

True to his word, Brent was reclined in front of
Battlestar Galactica
with the remnants of sandwich crusts on a paper plate next to him, a plate of veggies and dip in his lap.

Ian moved the paper plate to the coffee table and settled in to the sectional. “You know the crusts are good for you, right?”

“They have a large concentration of antioxidants and a substantial boost of fiber, good for preventing colon cancer.” Brent pointed to the carrots and broccoli in his lap. “But I don't like crusts, and I
do
like vegetables.” He offered the plate to Ian, who turned him down. “So what's up? Just want to hang out, or you got something on your mind?” Brent looked over at him and affected concern. “Ian, do you need to talk about your feelings?”

“Fuck you, asshole.” Ian reclined his part of the sectional.

“How'd the party go last night?”

“Good.”

“Emma liked it?”

He could say yes, but the word felt so inadequate to describe the night before. Emma had been so open, so sexually responsive, so gorgeous in her dress and lingerie, calves shaped by her high heels, body straining against the bonds when he'd licked her into whimpers and sobs . . .

“Shit, are you doing it again?” Brent wiped his hands on his sweatpants.

“Doing what?” Ian jerked out of his reverie, feeling guilty.

“I mention Emma and there's flashback harp music while you go off into your own world. Fuck, you really do want to talk about your feelings, don't you?”

“
No.
Everything was fine last night. Emma had a good time. But”—he thought about how to phrase it, whether he even wanted to bring it up—“it turns out she's not looking for anything more.”

“Oh. Sorry. I know you've got a thing for her. That sucks.” Brent crunched loudly into some raw broccoli, and Ian took a moment to consider how his friend managed to fit and defy a whole collection of stereotypes all at once. “You gonna stop working with her?”

Ian had definitely thought about it in the shower that morning. “No, I don't think so. She likes doing the workshops, and she's a great model, so . . . yeah, I guess we'll stick with that.”

“If it works, it works.” Brent didn't push, and for that Ian was grateful.

“How about you? Who's running the shop today?”

“I've got Keith in there this morning, and then Minsuh comes in to help him close. Hey, can I ask you something from a business point of view?”

“I'm not really a businessman. I'm just an accountant.” Ian shifted so he could see his friend better. Brent rarely asked for financial advice; with his uncanny memory and penchant for reading everything he could find on a given topic, he seldom needed additional input.

“Okay, as a friend, then.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I think I might start a second shop. Just a small one. I'm at capacity right now, but I've been getting a lot of requests for content I don't carry. I've started tracking it.” He pulled his iPad over and searched for a file. “Here, check it out.”

Ian looked over the spreadsheet, which listed all the merchandise for which Brent had received a request, the frequency of the request, the category of the merchandise, and a few other data fields. “You actually computed the amount of square footage each category of merchandise would need if you carried all these items?”

“I'm a very thorough person.”

“So you think a second location is the answer?”

“Well, it would enable me to split my stock in a meaningful way. In the shop now, I would keep all the board games, as well as the miniatures. I could expand my collection of add-on merch, plush, action figures, and collectibles. In my satellite location, I'd focus on books and comics. I'd move my entire comic section and expand my collected graphic novels. RPG books would also move, and I would be able to put in a manga section and sell anime.” Brent waved a piece of broccoli around as he explained the plan, a bit of ranch dip getting ever closer to dripping off before he popped it into his mouth at the last possible minute.