Page 72 of Outside the Lines
I tried not to curse in front of my employees, and especially not in front of my customers, but it was getting harder and harder, because so many of them were walking in wearing those fucking T-shirts. Enough that I abandoned my model painting halfway through Thursday evening, and took back over from Lydia as the Derry on shift.
She hadn’t said anything, but her smile was forced and her voice a little too singsong. Her shoulders were so tense, you could cut diamonds with her muscles. Lydia gave my hand a squeeze, murmured her thanks, and vanished into the back.
Jesse worked with a brow furrowed into an expression I’d never seen on him before. When the shop emptied for a moment, he’d faced me, and it was like a mask had been ripped off the joking, jovial employee I’d always known. “Simon,” he said. “What’s going on?”
I stared at him. Jesse never used my name, in all the years he’d worked at the shop.
“This better not be about your new boy toy, because I swear—”
“You know about Ian?” It came out as a squeak.
He tossed his head. “Everyoneknows about Ian. You guys fuck with your eyes every time you see each other.”
Oh.
“Also, Lydia had it out with him inside Stomping Grounds.”
Oh. And now Lydia was falling apart.Holy shit. The rumor mill must be grinding onthatsomething awful. I pushed my hand through my hair. “It’s not about Ian.”
Jesse watched me in a way that I both appreciated and feared, because he stood like he would punch me, boss be damned. He might have been a twink with a penchant for putting on fabulous smoky eyes, but I had no doubt he could hold his own in a fight. There was only one course of action for me: tell the truth.
“It’s not Ian.” I held up my hands. “Look, we don’t talk about it, but Lydia and I are poly. She’s known about Ian from the start, she’s fine with it, and they’re good friends.”
“And yet—” He gestured to the back, still eyeing me like Lydia was his sister and I was the jerk breaking her heart.
“You can’t tell anyone this,” I said. “Hell, Lydia will kill me for telling you.”
Jesse’s obvious anger softened to confusion.
“You know those new T-shirts from Howling Moon?”
Greater confusion. “Yeah? They’re pretty cool.”
Though we were the only two people in the store, I lowered my voice. “Some of them are stolen fan art.”
Jesse’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced at the door that led to the back rooms, obviously doing the math. “Are you telling me—you’re telling me some of those shirts have Lydia’s art?”
“Yup.”
His turn to rake fingers through his hair. “I didn’t know she drew Wolf’s Landing stuff.”
“No one does. She only posts at one place, and uses a pseudonym.”
Jesse might have been a smartass, but he was also legit smart. “Is it because she lives here? Shit. You can make a huge name for yourself in fandom if you’re good. And she’s better than good.” He glanced at the door again. “Hunter Easton encourages fan works . . .”
I nodded. Hell, Hunter married a slash writer. “She doesn’t want to complicate our lives here.”
“You mean, other than you two having an open marriage and you shacking up with a guy workingforWolf’s Landing?”
I chuckled at that, but sobered fast. “It’s her art, Jesse.” I leaned on the counter. “I’d love for her to fight, but I can’t make her.”
He nodded sadly. “Yeah, I know.”
Another crop of people walked in the door, and we both looked up. More customers. More T-shirts. We let them browse for a bit. Comics people hate when you jump on them as soon as they walk in.
“I’ll help in whatever way I can,” Jesse said.
Lydia’s art was out of both our hands. But ifhethoughtIanhad been the issue . . . “Can you help with the rumor mill?”
