Outside the Lines

by Anna Zabo

  Simon’s smile was blinding. “I need to cash out the register before Dexy comes in. Come up when you’re ready.”

  I nodded, since I didn’t have any words left in my short-circuited head. I checked my phone again. Only a few minutes had passed, but the world had tilted sideways in that time.

  At least my gaydar was working. Or bi-dar. Whatever. I stared at the Wolf’s Landing model, and Lydia’s earlier comment—that Simon liked to be borrowed—bounced through my head. Holy shit.

  I’d spent years in Hollywood, so I’d seen the whole poly thing before. I’d dated a few guys who’d been dating other guys, but never anyone married. How’d that work? Did I want to get involved?

  Did Simon?

  I suppose his kiss on my forehead was answer enough.

  Shit, yeah. I wanted involved. Tangled. Entwined. Guy like that? Sign me up.

  I pushed back from the model and stood. First, find the modeling clay, then I could sculpt after lunch. I also cleaned up what we wouldn’t need. I had no doubt Dexy would keep prying customers away, though a thought niggled. Eventually, the model would look less like a pile of crap and more like a Wolf’s Landing set . . . and that might attract attention. I’d have to talk to Simon about a sheet or something to cover the grove when we weren’t here.

  I stopped short. Simon and sheets. Simon on a sheet, under me. Not the first time that thought had coursed through my body, but now there was actually a chance. Maybe. If this whole open marriage scenario were true.

  Dexy’s hello rang through the shop, and I swallowed hard against my desire and need. I’d worn my crappy loose jeans for painting, which in retrospect had been a good plan. By the time I made it to the front of the store, I was only semi-hard.

  There stood the Derrys and Dexy. Simon had the expression of a cat who’d caught a bird. Lydia wore amusement.

  Dexy plunked a cash drawer into the register. “Hey, Ian.”

  “Hey.” I still sounded out of breath, but Dexy didn’t seem to notice.

  “If you guys go to Raven’s Flight, the soup of the day is French Onion. And they’ve got that salmon burger of theirs on special.”

  The mere mention of a burger had my stomach growling. I pressed a hand over my belly. “Shush,” I said to my gut.

  “I thought you weren’t hungry?” Simon’s voice was like velvet.

  I tried not to shiver, especially since Dexy and Lydia were both there. With my hand still pressed over my middle, I answered, “Never said I wasn’t—just that I’d eat later.”

  Lydia looked for all the world like she was trying not to burst into laughter. She took a breath, but the smile didn’t fade one bit. “Shall we head out?”

  Simon rounded the counter and headed for the door. “Let’s.”

  I followed, as did Lydia.

  Once again, I was sandwiched between the Derrys as we walked down the street, only it wasn’t quite as awkward as it had been the previous night. So much made sense now. “I guess we should have a conversation.”

  They both grinned, and my stomach flipped due to an entirely different hunger.

  I should have kissed Ian on the mouth. Cupped his neck, leaned down, and done it. I hadn’t, because Lydia and I tried to keep our poly life on the down-low. Who knew what the hell he thought of polyamory, or my clumsy flirting, or Lydia’s smile.

  But he hadn’t run. Hadn’t turned down our offer of lunch. Then again, his set was sitting in our store, so this could be a captive-audience thing. Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.

  I stole a glance at Ian, but couldn’t read him at all. “Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

  He pursed his lips. “I’m fine with Raven’s Flight. They’ve got great burgers.”

  “You like burgers, huh?” He’d had one last night, as well.

  Ian glanced over. “I do. I’m also very fond of sausage.” He said it in a totally deadpan manner, but there was an evil glint in his eyes.

  Lydia snort-laughed while I reddened. But hey, he was flirting. That was a good sign. My insides tumbled.

  At Raven’s Flight, they sat us in a booth in the back, away from others and it was pretty private. Good. Lydia and I sat opposite Ian. After we got our waters and menus, Ian folded his hands and placed them on the table. “So,” he said. “Open marriage?”

  “Yup,” Lydia said. “For all ten years.”

  Ian seemed to chew on that. “But still married.”

  “We love each other,” I murmured. “Clicked exactly right. And since we were both poly before . . .” I shrugged. “We got married. Didn’t change who we were.”

  Ian studied each of us in turn. “I’ve done poly, but usually it’s been guys who like dating a lot of other guys, not—” He waved between the two of us. “A married couple. That’s usually monogamy.”

  “You’d be surprised,” I said.

  “Maybe I would be.” He read the menu for a moment before those deep brown eyes met mine again. “Why me?”

  Lydia sat back and picked up the menu. I caught her little smile. Ian did too. Yeah, on the surface the reason why I was interested was obvious. Ian was hot. “Could ask you the same question.”

  He nodded and ran a finger down the lunch specials. “Well, aside from being sexier than sin, you’re not Wolf’s Landing, but you’re a geek so you understand me.” He looked up. “And you’re really talented.”

  I hadn’t considered that. I was a comics guy and a townie. But talented? “I—uh.” I reached for my water. “I do paint by numbers, Ian. I’m not . . .”

  His raised eyebrows stopped my breath. “Dude. I watched you working on my set. I’m letting you work on my set. Trust me. You’ve the skills of a pro.”

  Lydia flipped over the menu, then set it on the table. “He’s got you there, Si.”

  “Is he always like this?” Ian sounded exasperated.

  “Totally unaware of how awesome he is?” Lydia chuckled. “Yup. Always.”

  Well, now my face was burning. “I—um.” I had nothing. Thankfully, the waitress came to take our orders. I quickly scanned the list and ended up ordering the salmon burger. Lydia got a steak salad, and damn him to hell, Ian ordered a sausage on a bun.

  After the waitress left, Ian had the devil’s grin when he picked up his water. “You didn’t answer my question, you know.”

  Lydia snickered and leaned back. My lovely wife. Abandoning me.

  Only one option: I told the truth. “You’re stunning.” I took a breath. “And you have a job I can only dream about. That you trust me to help—”

  “Si, I told you—”

  “It means something to me. You’re witty, hard-working, and kind. You like comics and Stargate and . . .” I shrugged. “We clicked.”

  He took a sip of his water and set it down, but didn’t say anything.

  “Look,” I said. “I know this is a different situation than maybe you’re used to, but . . . I’d like to see where it goes.”

  “It is different.” He studied me from across the table. “I’ve never had a guy ask me out with his wife sitting next to him.”

  Lydia shrugged. “At least you know he’s on the up and up.” Her smile faded to seriousness. “I have absolutely no issues with it.”

  Ian laughed and seemed to take stock of us both. “See, that’s the thing. I’ve also dated married guys who pretended to be single. And pretended to be straight to their wives.”

  “Cheaters,” I said. “Closeted.”

  He nodded. “You’re not that. I like that you’re not that.”

  “No. I’m bi. I’m married. I’m poly. I don’t hide any of that from my partners.” Never had, and I wasn’t about to start now. I hated lying. And keeping secrets. “I get it, though. A lot of the guys I dated before I met Lydia were men who wanted a little meat on the side, but loved living the het lifestyle.”

  He sat forward. “You dated dudes?”

  I rolled my eyes, and Ian had the wherewithal to look sheepish.

  “Okay,” he sai
d. “So, how does this work?”

  “Have you dated guys before?” I loved the taken-aback expression carved into Ian. “Dating me works the same way.”

  “But—” He eyed Lydia.

  She shrugged. “Anything goes. Just don’t break him.”

  He blinked a few times and a grin that boiled my blood appeared. “Could you define break . . . for me?”

  “Oh,” Lydia said in that lovely sultry voice of hers, “you two are going to have so much fun.”

  Ian’s chuckle curled my toes, as did the sparkle in his eyes. Yeah. Lydia was probably right about that. She usually was.

  After lunch, we all headed back to the shop, and Lydia checked in with Dexy to see if she needed anything.

  “I’ve got about another hour’s worth of work in the studio, but if you want help, give a call.” Lydia nodded at me and Ian. “Don’t bother the boys unless it’s modeling-related.”

  Dexy nodded. “Figured that might be the case.” Once Lydia had vanished into the back, she shuffled some papers and gave me a coy once-over. “You guys going to be working on that Wolf’s Landing thing?”

  “Probably going to be the schedule here until . . .” I met Ian’s gaze.

  “. . . Tuesday,” Ian said. “Anna wants to do the shoot Wednesday night.”

  A flicker of envy danced through me. Ian got to see Wolf’s Landing shoots. “So, not too long, then all will be back to normal.”

  “Well, most nights when you’ve worked the morning shift, you paint anyway.” Her smile was sly. “The only difference is you have a partner now.”

  Such innocuous words, but yeah, she knew something was up. She was a smart kid. Next to me, Ian shifted, his shoes scraping against the industrial carpeting. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to work.”

  When we settled back in around the grove, he fiddled with the base for a second. “Does she know?”

  “About us?” I shrugged. “She’s good at deduction, and she’s aware Lydia and I have an open arrangement.”

  “You, umm . . .” He glanced back at Dexy, then at me with a mixture of horror and curiosity.

  Oh my God. “No! She’s nineteen. I have T-shirts older than her!” I was thirty-five. Yes, it was legal, but I’d known Dexy since she was twelve. Did not compute. Nope. Nope.

  The relief in Ian was palpable. He coughed. “Sorry, I . . . but she knows.”

  I suppose me having dated Dexy was one conclusion you could draw from that, even if it did freak me out. “Lydia had a relationship with Dexy’s father a few years back. They were pretty serious, so we all talked about how that would work, and told Dexy what was going on.”

  Ian looked like I’d hit him in the head with a brick. “Oh.” He chewed on his thumb, which was endearing, but man, I hoped he didn’t do that while playing with paints.

  “She knows to keep it quiet, and she can also read me like a book.” I plopped into the chair by the pieces of the model I’d been repairing. There were a few rocks to touch up, and I wanted to tackle those before starting on the important parts, like the altar.

  There was Ian’s sexy laugh. “You haven’t exactly been subtle about your interest in me.” He spoke low and damn close to my ear. His fingers brushed the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine, straight to my balls.

  “I—I’m bad at flirting.” The words tumbled from my mouth. I was screwing up horribly.

  “Liar,” he whispered. His lips replaced his fingers and I clung to the table, and tried not to moan. “The things I want to do to you.”

  I was rock-hard and he could’ve convinced me to bend over right there—if we hadn’t been in the middle of my shop. “The things I want you to do.” I swallowed. “In private.”

  He sighed and stepped back. “I know. And if I don’t get this set done, Anna will eat me, and not in the pleasant way.”

  I’d heard about Anna Maxwell, the Wolf’s Landing director. “So, these good?”

  “They’re fantastic. Keep going.”

  I did, all while trying to get my dick back down. Hell, I couldn’t wait to tumble into bed with him.

  Ian got out some kind of clay and started patching the tree bark together. At first, it looked like shit, and I bit my tongue. But as he worked and sculpted, the bark took on a life of its own. Even without the paint, the trees went from pathetic to realistic. I couldn’t help staring at his hands as he pushed and prodded with a tiny sculpting tool.

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  He paused and glanced over, all smile and light. “I took sculpture and pottery in college to get the basics, but most of this, you learn on the job. All the tricks and shortcuts and shit like that.”

  “Do you do any art outside of Wolf’s Landing?”

  Ian straightened slowly. “You’re the first person to ask me that.”

  “Really?”

  Something grim appeared in his face. “Guys I’ve dated from the show mostly wanna fuck and not talk about anything vaguely related. Guys outside the show only want to know about the show.”

  “Groupies.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “I mean, I appreciate the fans. They’re why I have a job—but I don’t want someone sleeping with me to get on set, you know?”

  A pang for my earlier thoughts. I wanted Ian. I also wanted on set . . . but no. I wouldn’t ever use him for that. “So, art outside of the show?”

  He nodded, his smile wistful. “Dragons,” he said. “And gryphons. Used to do wolves, but I stopped when I got this gig.” He set down his tool. “Wait, I have a few photos on my phone.” After he pulled his phone out, he played with it for a second, and handed it over.

  The photo was of a sculpture of a gold, red, and black dragon, launching itself into the air. Detailed and beautiful. I wanted to reach through the tiny screen and touch it. “That’s amazing. That’s . . . holy shit.”

  He reddened and put the phone back into his pocket. “The few friends I’ve shown keep telling me I should sell them.”

  “You should.” Hell, we could move them in a heartbeat.

  “Yeah, but . . .” Trepidation seeped into his voice. “This is going to sound strange, but I want to make sure they go to the right homes.”

  Beautiful works of art like that? Understandable. “Someone who’d appreciate them and not waste them?”

  A croak of a laugh. “That desire is hubris, though. People are free to do what they want with ’em . . . but I put so much time into creating them.”

  “I get it.” Without thinking, I took his hand. “You pour out your heart and soul.” I gazed up into his eyes.

  His lips parted and we stood like that for what felt like hours, but was likely a second. He squeezed my hand back, then disengaged. “I think you do that too.” He nodded at the table, but I got the distinct impression he wasn’t talking about my model painting.

  “Sometimes. Maybe.” Certainly with Lydia. I wanted that with Ian as well. I was an incurable romantic.

  His smile was everything I needed to breathe. He shuffled his legs. “I should—” He pointed at the set.

  “Yeah.” When I turned back to my work, I spied the altar with the bit of the base missing. “Hey, Ian?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What should I do about this?” I held up the altar.

  “I thought that was fine.” He squinted at the faux stone block.

  I rotated it to show where part of the base had been chipped. “Nearly fine, but . . .”

  “Nearly won’t do.” He pulled his chair over and sat. “Want to learn how to fix that?”

  Tips for repairing a model from Ian? I could mainline that shit. “Sure. If you’re willing.”

  He scooted his chair closer. “So, paint isn’t going to cut it, because there’s never been a chunk missing from the altar on the large set,” he said, and pointed at the plans and photos, “as you can see. Leave it like that and the prop director will have my head.”

  “So, fill it in like you did the trees?”
>
  “Since we don’t have the missing bit, yeah.” He grabbed some of the clay he’d been using, and set it down next to me. Our arms brushed. “Use self-hardening clay to fill in the missing part, then make sure you feather over the edges of the repair, and you’re good.”

  I eyed him. “That easy, huh?”

  He laughed. “Well, in theory. Want to try it in practice?”

  Hell yes! But . . . “What if I fuck it up?”

  “This stuff takes forever to completely dry, so if you screw it up, I can fix it.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “But you’ll do fine. I know you will.”

  That Ian remained shoulder to shoulder with me made my bones hum. I swallowed and picked up the altar. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

  Ian laid out his sculpting tools and pointed out which ones I should use. First, I didn’t take enough clay—then too much, but eventually I scraped off enough and the altar started to look whole again. A bit of simple sculpting later, and I was done. “Like this?”

  Ian had returned to his trees, but put down his tool and came over. He clasped me on the shoulder and leaned in, his face far too near to mine. “Exactly like that.”

  Warm breath. Lovely eyes. His lips parted and he moved closer and the world narrowed down to me and Ian. Inches apart.

  Voices from the front of the store jolted us both—especially when they came this way. Dexy spoke loudly, more so than normal, bless her. “If you want to know more about models and miniatures, you should talk to Simon. He’s back here, working on a project with a friend.”

  By the time Dexy and the customer—an older gentleman with glasses and a thin face—cleared the rows of shelving, Ian had returned to his spot by the base of the set. I set down the altar.

  Fear had done wonders on reducing my desire, though with Ian, that fire seemed to always be there, an undercurrent to our every interaction. Still, I was the consummate professional shop owner. “What can I help you with?”

  Turned out, Mr. Sato had built models as a young man, but had stopped when family and work became his priorities. “Now that I’m retired, my wife wants me to get a hobby.” There was a gleam in his eyes.