by Anna Zabo
Nope. Not Lydia’s fault either. “Well, you are my wife.” I pushed off the door, walked over, and took both her hands. “I can’t ask you to avoid me because I’m shit with men and don’t know how to flirt or talk or—”
She snorted. “Yeah, except he’s into you, so you must have done something right.” She gave my hands a squeeze. “And you’re not shit with men. You’re gorgeous, sexy, and funny.”
“I’m really not.” More nervous and geeky. “And you’re biased.”
“Maybe I am. But you didn’t see Ian’s face when you hugged him.” She raised her gaze. “I did.”
I hadn’t, but I had felt the bulge in his pants. Even now, the memory got to me, and I gave a little sigh.
Lydia’s smile widened. “I’ll give you hopeless. Especially when a guy knocks you off your feet.”
Couldn’t help the laugh or the color to my cheeks. I slipped my hands free of hers. “He’s . . . Oh God. I haven’t felt like this in years.” Hopeless was a good word for it. “I’ve only known him for a few hours!” Wanted to know so much about him.
I didn’t know if I stood a chance, though. These kinds of situations were weird and . . . well, Bluewater Bay was an awfully small town to be poly in. Word got around. Breakups got awkward. We’d seen it happen with some other people, which was why we’d mostly gone swinging out of town. Besides, our one try in Bluewater Bay had fizzled out before it even began. Dude had been too into his ex and not into us enough.
Lydia wrinkled her brow. “What did you do the last time you felt like this?”
Her question stopped my breath, but I knew the answer. I’d flirted hard and stupidly. Made a fool of myself. Gone out on three dates, and then asked Lydia to be my wife.
That had been a rocky time, since we weren’t each other’s primary relationship. Given that I felt the same giddy, life-changing rush for Ian?
Oh shit, it worried me right down to the bones.
“Honey?” Her voice was soft.
“I married you.”
So many emotions flickered over her features. This time, when I took her hands, I went to my knees on the hard floor. “I won’t do anything.” I wouldn’t lose her. I loved her. Deeply. Astoundingly. Enough that I knew—without a doubt—that no matter who else she was with, she’d come home to the house we’d made.
I needed her to know that about me too.
“Si, don’t.” She freed one hand and cupped my face. “I’m not worried. I know who I married.” She kissed the tip of my nose. “Go home. Get some rest.” She chuckled. “If you start acting around Ian the way you acted around me, he’ll have no choice but to fall hopelessly in love with you.”
I wanted that. I feared that. Society told me I couldn’t have that. I pulled Lydia into my arms. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” The words fell into her hair.
She pulled back enough to kiss me—sweet and lingering, with enough tongue to curl my toes—before she backed off and sighed. “I need to work on this job. It’s due in two days.”
I stole a quick taste of her mouth. “I’ll let you get to it.” Rising made my knees creek like a set of stairs. Shit. I was only in my thirties. Unfair. “See you when you get home.”
“Mm-hmm.” She pulled me down for another kiss, one that left me a tad breathless. “Don’t wait up.”
I would. I always did.
On the way up to the front, I grabbed my bike from the employee area and conferred briefly with Jesse about Ian’s set in the middle of the miniatures area.
“I’ll make sure no one touches it, boss.”
He would too. I had him hold my bike as I took one last look at what we’d accomplished today. Didn’t seem like much: a painted base that could be a grove, and bits of shattered bark. Couldn’t see how this all was going to go together in a week. But Ian had been pleased.
Ian.
I closed my eyes and remembered how his body had touched mine during that brief hug, and wondered what he’d felt. Wondered if I could build on any of it.
I’d never managed to get going on a relationship like this before. But Ian was different and he hadn’t run away. I glanced around the area. Then again, I had his set, so it wasn’t like he could.
Right. Enough rumination. I headed back to the counter, grabbed my bike, and rode home.
The sound of the front door closing startled me awake and the book I’d been reading slipped from my fingers and thudded to the floor. It took me a moment to figure out I was on the couch in the living room and not in bed. Mostly, it was the sweatpants that gave it away, and the fact that Lawrence Purrbody, our longhaired black and white troublemaker, was stretched out next to me, rather than on my legs. He preferred me under the covers. Apparently, without blankets, my legs were too bony for his royal fluffy butt.
From the entry into the living room, Lydia snorted. “It’s past midnight.”
I groaned. Getting up tomorrow would hurt. I had no idea how Lydia managed. She seemed to survive on a couple hours’ sleep and coffee. “Guess it’s time for bed?”
“Go on up, sleeping beauty. I’ll take care of feeding Purrbutt.”
Wasn’t going to argue. I fished my book off the floor, found the last spot I remembered reading, and stuck in a bookmark.
I made it through my nighttime routine and was tucked under the covers when Lydia came up. “You look a little like someone dropped a brick on you, love.”
“Gee, thanks, sweetheart.” We both laughed, though I sobered first. “The brick is named Ian.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything else before heading into the bathroom for her own pre-bed ablutions.
Ian. I ran bits and pieces of the day through my head. His smile. The sound of his voice. That hug that had lasted longer and been closer than a guy-hug . . . and that had just been day one. I groaned, grabbed Lydia’s pillow, and covered my face.
“Simon?” A mixture of amusement and concern from the bathroom doorway.
Had to ditch the pillow to speak, so I tossed it back where it belonged. “I’m going to be spending an entire week with Ian.” I mean, I’d known before. But it hit me now. A week of those bright eyes and those arms and that waist and . . .
I was hot for him. So much so. I blew out a breath.
My wife laughed at me. “You’re adorable.”
“But—what do I do now?” How do you tell a guy you dig him when he’s met your wife and you haven’t had the chance to explain? Hell, how do you tell a near stranger you’re in an open marriage, and you’d like to get to know him better?
Lydia managed those talks, but my usual route was to get cold feet, a dry mouth, and not do anything. Because when I did, a lot of people pegged me as the “typical cheating bisexual.” And I wasn’t. I wasn’t.
Once she’d undressed, Lydia slipped under the covers and curled up against me. “You talk to him, Si. You tell him what’s up and see if he’s interested.”
“He’s not going to be.”
“Honey, I saw how tight the front of his jeans was.”
Yeah, I’d felt that during the hug. “That’s . . . lust.”
“Lust’s a good start.”
It could be. I certainly had it in spades for Ian. There was also that same weird connection and longing I’d felt when I met Lydia all those years ago—right after I’d pretty much given up on women and gone exclusively to dating guys. Funny how life liked to play with me. Kind of like Lawrence McFluff liked to play with cotton balls—incessantly and without mercy. “Ethical non-monogamy is hard!” I mock whined the words.
Lydia kissed my shoulder. “It’s not easy to say either.”
Couldn’t help laughing. She had me there. “God, I love you.” Over and over. I couldn’t have met a better partner.
“I know,” she murmured against my skin. “That’s why you married me.”
Yeah, it was. “I can’t imagine spending the rest of my ethically non-monogamous life without you.”
“Ditto.” Sleepy voice. “Never gonna—”
>
Before she could get the next word out, I pressed my fingers against her lips. “Don’t you dare Rick Roll me in bed, Lydia Derry!”
Her eyes danced with an evil glint. She knew that song would be stuck in my head now. Probably would be playing there in the morning too.
I replaced my fingers with my lips and kissed her long and hard.
I felt like some kind of weird thief or secret agent creeping around dumpsters and trash cans in the alley behind Main Street to find the back door to End o’ Earth. Luckily for me, it was well-marked. They all were, actually. I guess that made sense for deliveries. Or weird miniature artists coming to work on models at eight thirty in the morning.
I had two cups of coffee from Stomping Grounds in my hand—coffee with cream for me and a latte with a touch of cinnamon for Lydia. It was her favorite. Or so the barista at the shop had said when I asked.
“You know, she’s married,” she’d said.
My chuckle had likely been as dark as black coffee. “Yeah, I know. The Derrys are doing me a favor. I figured coffee wouldn’t hurt.” And Lydia was totally not the Derry I was after. Had been after.
Shit.
Here I was at Lydia’s door. I pressed the bell and waited. A few moments later, the door swung open, and she poked her head out. “Hi, Ian! You’re here.”
“Yup, as promised.” I handed the coffee to her. “I’m told you’ll enjoy this.”
She pushed the door open wider and ushered me in. “You didn’t have to get me coffee.”
Her smile was bright and charming, and sent warmth into my soul. “Yeah, I did. You have no idea how much you’re helping me, letting me borrow Simon.” We walked down a small corridor past what was probably her studio, given all the art I spied inside.
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.” Lydia took a sip of her coffee. “And Simon likes to be borrowed.”
I tried not to spew mine out through my nose. Does he? No, no. I was reading a little too much into that. We reached the main part of the shop and Lydia pointed the way to where Simon and I had been working before—though I’d guessed the direction. We’d come out behind the counter and I had excellent spatial memory. Had to. Kind of came with the territory.
“I suppose I’ll get to work.”
“Holler if you need anything.” She swallowed another mouthful of coffee and practically purred in pleasure before heading into the back.
Same little flutter in my soul. Yeah, the coffee had been a hit. I’d have bought Simon one too, but by the time he came in, it would have been cold. Simon hated cold coffee. The barista told me that too. “Even in the summer, he likes it blazing hot.” I had no idea what I’d do with that tidbit of information.
Nothing. I’d do nothing at all because I wouldn’t be doing anything with Simon, other than working on my set in his shop.
I needed to get my head out of my ass. After another gulp of my coffee, I took stock of what needed to be done today, and started working. Some time passed and I was deep into gluing the bark Simon had pieced back together onto the tree supports when I heard the murmur of his voice at the front of the shop. Lydia’s too. A zip of conflicting emotions went through me: Lust, jealousy, warmth, joy. I liked the Derrys. Both of them.
What a fucking hell that was.
I focused on the model and maneuvered another piece of bark into position while I listened to the soft fall of shoes on the carpet.
When I straightened, Simon spoke. “Hey.” He was clearly a bundle of nerves, bright-faced and excited.
All my buttons got pressed again and I fought to shut that shit down. As adorable as he was—Simon was Lydia’s. And she was his. They were so fucking lucky. That was enough of a rock lodged in my stomach to quell desire. “Hey. You free, or . . .”
“For the next fifteen or so, until it’s time to open. After that, it’ll be catch as catch can until Dexy comes in at two.” He scratched the back of his head. “Is there anything I can work on that I can pick up and put down?”
There was. I had Simon find the bag that held the other sculpted pieces I’d made. The altar, rocks, all the details, and asked him to inspect them for chips or missing paint. “Any piece that doesn’t look like that”—I pointed to the photos of both my undamaged set and the life-sized one—“needs to look like that.”
“So, repair and repaint?” Simon peered at the photos.
“You up for the work?”
His grin took my breath away. “Dude, you have no idea.” His smile became more serious. “I’m so glad you walked through that door.”
His expression—I knew that twist of lips and frown. The longing, the need. Maybe it was sexual or artistic. Didn’t matter. Sent blood to my cheeks . . . and lower. “Me too.” It came out too deep, but it was true. Simon was like fresh air. I wanted to breathe in as much of him as I could, while I could. And like clean, crisp air, I hadn’t known I’d needed him until I experienced his presence.
Except, of course, I couldn’t have him. Not in all the ways I wanted. “If you want help . . .”
“I’ll let you know.” He spoke quietly, and for a moment, it looked as if he’d say something else, but he furrowed his brows, and bent to study the photos instead.
I went back to putting bark onto trees.
After a piece, Simon touched my shoulder. “Hey, Ian?”
I wanted more of that hand, more of that voice saying my name. Warmth spread through me like fire. “Yeah?”
“Can you see if I did this right?” Simon pointed to the table where he’d sorted through all of the remaining bits and pieces.
I wandered over. He’d created two piles. One obviously was for repairs and a much smaller one was for items that miraculously didn’t seem to require touching up. I took a quick look through both, and damn, Simon had an eye for detail. He’d found little imperfections most people wouldn’t, but that the camera would. “Man, this is great. You have no idea how much time you’ve saved me.” Simon was so close and our hands brushed. I wondered if he felt the heat from my body too.
“Good.” Relief was written into Simon’s smile. “I have to go open, but when I get a break, I’ll start on matching the colors and touching up the ones that only need paint.”
“Sounds good.”
Simon gripped me on the shoulder again, his expression so damned complicated, I didn’t know what to make of it. Then he was gone, heading toward the front of the shop while every bit of my body tingled.
Talk about mixed signals. Or mistaken signals. I had no idea. Didn’t matter in the long run. A few breaths steadied my nerves, and I got back to work.
Simon flitted in and out as he did his job in the shop. By the time he’d sorted out the paints and started touching up the bits that needed it, I was nearly finished placing as much of the bark as I could back onto the tree bases. Now all that was necessary was to fill in the gaps and sculpt it. I stretched out my back and my stomach rumbled.
“Hungry?” Simon set down a miniature rock he’d been painting.
“Yeah.” I loathed to lose time, though. The clay would need to set before I painted it. If I didn’t get the trees done today, I wouldn’t be painting them until tomorrow. But damn did my back hurt. I’d been sitting for a good part of the work, but I’d spent too much time hunched over. “I probably should take a break for lunch. What time is it anyway?” I checked my naked wrist, then dug my phone out of my pocket.
Simon was quicker since he actually wore a watch. “Almost one thirty.”
I didn’t believe him, but my phone said the same damn time. “Fuck.” I rubbed my forehead. “I need to get the trees done today.” No lunch for me. I rolled my shoulders and tried to crack my neck. “I’ll eat later.”
Silence. When I met Simon’s gaze, he tilted his head, inspecting me. Heat flowed to my cheeks, though the down-up he gave me wasn’t sexual at all. “Did you eat breakfast?”
Coffee had been my breakfast. Always was. I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I held out my hands. “Steady as a rock.” They were. I ignored the muscle twinges in my legs and the pain in my shoulders.
“I don’t want to clean your ass off my floor when you pass out.”
Oh, the skepticism. “I’m not going to pass out.” I sank down into the chair I’d been using, because falling over would prove Simon’s point. “I don’t want to lose my momentum.” I probably should eat, but I could wait until dinner. I’d only ever passed out on the job once.
Well, twice, but the second time I’d had walking pneumonia, so that didn’t count.
He chuckled, but didn’t sound amused. “You know, I’m going to sic Lydia on you, right?”
“Dude, I’m gay. Your wife isn’t going to charm me into lunch.” Okay, that was a bit much, but after all the flirting—or not flirting—I was cranky with him. “Especially since you failed.”
Same damn snort of laughter as before. “I’m not trying to charm you. If I were, I’d be whispering in your ear.”
Oh fuck. Imagining that was such a turn-on—and from the uptick of Simon’s smile, the bastard knew. “Wanna give it a try, straight boy?” I spoke through gritted teeth.
He closed in on me, and the intensity of his stare pinned me to my chair. He swung behind me, hands on my shoulders, fingers pressing down against my sore muscles. Warm breath caressed my left ear and he whispered, “I’m not straight.”
“Married,” I said, my own voice almost air. “Married, then.”
Simon’s chuckle was wicked and sexy and made my brain melt. He kneaded my shoulders and it was heaven and hell. “It’s an open marriage.”
Unfair. Completely unfair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I glanced up, and there was Simon, close enough to kiss. All I had to do was reach up and drag his head closer.
“Not kidding. Come to lunch with us at two, Ian.” Simon pressed his lips to my forehead, then stood back.
If I hadn’t been dizzy before, I sure was now. Holy fuck. Took me a second, but I remembered how to breathe. Probably sounded like I’d run a marathon, though. Every bit of me tingled.
Not straight. Open marriage. I struggled to make sense of those two statements and of my own feelings. “I—uh. Okay.” Not like I was going to get anything done after his little announcement.
