Page 13 of Outside the Lines
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 anentire weekwith 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. Iwasn’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.”
