Outside the Lines Read online

  She needed both of us. When I’d talked to her upstairs, one of her biggest fears had been that her inability to cope would drive Ian away. I didn’t believe that was true at all, but his going home tonight would only fan that fear higher. “She doesn’t want you to leave.” I spoke against his finger.

  His brows creased, not in consternation, but thought. “I suspect neither of us is up for sex.”

  I gave a hollow laugh. “I’m sure my dick would be into it, but not my mind.”

  “I’m far more interested in your mind.” Ian hadn’t removed his finger. “Especially for what I want to do.”

  I felt the hint of a shiver, the seed of desire. Yeah, I liked Ian’s games and he liked mine. Now was not the time at all. “I love you.”

  A smile and he leaned down for a quick kiss. “Ditto.” When he sat back, he pointed the remote at the TV and turned it off. “Be with Lydia tonight.”

  “Ian . . .”

  “I’ll stay. I’ve got a change of clothes in the guest room. We can all have breakfast together in the morning.”

  Oh. That might work. Goodness knows I wanted to comfort my wife, but I didn’t want to do it at the expense of losing my boyfriend. And Lydia feared Ian’s loss just as much. “How is it that you’ve taken to this so easily?”

  His huff of laughter loosened a tightness in my chest. “I don’t know. I’m doing what seems natural and right.” That cocky smile returned. “I’m sure there’s gonna be a day when you two have to deal with me falling apart.”

  Probably. That’s how relationships worked. That’s how love worked.

  “True.” We both rose and headed upstairs and Ian came with me to the master bedroom. Lydia was tucked under the covers, reading, her eyes still rimmed with red and a tissue nearby. I sat down at her side.

  “I’m trying to distract myself.” She waved at her Kindle. “You two heading to bed?”

  “Kind of.” I explained Ian’s suggestion.

  Lydia peered past me to where he stood, leaning against the doorframe. “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. It’s the three of us, right? That’s what we decided the other day.”

  She nodded.

  “You need Simon right now. And I need you both well.” He shrugged. “Call me selfish.”

  Tears welled in Lydia’s eyes and she scrubbed at them. “Fuck. You’re making me cry. And you’re the least selfish guy I know, Ian.”

  “Thank you.” Color on his cheeks. He pushed himself off the doorframe and strode to the bed. “I’m still convinced we’ll figure this out.” He brushed Lydia’s hair off her forehead and pressed a quick kiss there. “You’ll see.”

  He had the confidence I lacked. Without Lydia outing herself, there was no way to stop the thief. I held out my hand to Ian. He took it, and bent down to kiss me—a gentle one on the lips. “You two get some sleep.”

  Ian’s smile was lovely, heartening, and warm, and we both watched him blow us a collective kiss before he slipped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  When the latch clicked, Lydia breathed out. “How did he end up in our lives, Si? We totally don’t deserve him.”

  “I have no idea. But I hope to God we can keep him with us. I can’t imagine a future without him.”

  Same thing had happened with me and Lydia. Now it was happening with Ian—for both of us.

  I woke to only Larry Purrbutt as a companion, which wasn’t that unusual. Lydia said I could sleep through a ferry horn going off next to my head. She often got up before me, got dressed, and made coffee. What wasn’t usual were the soft strains of conversation floating up from downstairs. Lydia’s sweet voice coupled with Ian’s deeper one.

  Our fluffy kitty padded across the bed and flopped down for scritchies, and I indulged, enjoying the sounds of my lovers talking.

  I had to be the luckiest man alive. Had to be. Still couldn’t wrap my head around Ian, his agreeing to a relationship, and how quickly and easily he’d slipped into our lives, especially to support Lydia. If only there’d been a better, less heartbreaking reason for his understanding. But I’d take this, especially since it only highlighted the type of man Ian was, now that we were all on the same page.

  I checked the clock and groaned. A few minutes before seven. How the heck do they get up this early? I pushed myself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Shop opened at ten and both Lydia and I were scheduled to work, me in the morning, and her in the evening. But dollars to donuts she’d be catching up on her freelance work. The whole stolen-art situation had slowed her down something awful, which I understood, but deadlines were far less forgiving.

  A half hour later, I made my way downstairs and was greeted by two smiles. My heart did one of those little flips you read about in books. Lydia was relaxed for the first time in days, her eyes no longer red and the lines of worry that had been there were nearly gone. I’d done that. But so had Ian. “Hi, guys.”

  “Hey there, sleepy head,” she said.

  Ian chuckled and sipped his coffee.

  “Hey there yourself.” I leaned in and claimed a kiss from her, then another from Ian that tasted of coffee and milk.

  His cheeks were ruddy.

  I couldn’t tell if his expression was surprise or gratitude, only that he, too, was happy. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I always do here.”

  Lydia bumped him on the shoulder. “You know you’re welcome any time.”

  “I—yeah?” His face lit up like a Christmas tree. That expression was gratitude.

  One of the great things about being married for ten years is that Lydia and I had developed a way of communicating without speaking. I raised my eyebrow and tilted my head. May I?

  Her smirk and tiny nod were the reply.

  “In fact . . .” On my route to the coffee pot, I pulled a set of spare keys off a hook on the wall. “Catch.” I threw them to Ian, who deftly snatched them out of the air.

  Then I poured myself a cup of coffee, leaned back against the counter, and watched as he stared at the keys in his hands. So many emotions played over his face that I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His shoulders eased down when he finally met my gaze, and his eyes were a little too shiny. “Thank you. You have no idea—” His voice cracked and he shook his head.

  I had some idea. So did Lydia, who leaned her head on his shoulder. “We mean it.”

  A faint, but joyful smile from Ian. “I know.”

  I took a long sip of coffee. Perfect. Almost everything was perfect.

  We only needed to fix the part that wasn’t.

  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. “Everyone knows 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 on that something awful. I pushed my hand through my hair. “It’s no
t 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 working for Wolf’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 if he thought Ian had been the issue . . . “Can you help with the rumor mill?”

  A laugh. “Yeah, I know a bit about managing that.”

  One less thing to worry about.

  Saturday was rainy as all hell, so I stayed at home during the morning and worked on some sculpting. In the back of my mind, I was thinking about Simon, the dragon I’d given him, and the relationship that had developed out of the mess I’d made, and somehow, those thoughts and feelings turned into a gryphon with wings of flame throwing itself up into the air from a rocky outcropping. I was putting the finishing touches on the wings when my cell phone blasted out the ring tone I’d set for Simon.

  Shit. Too many of my fingers were covered in clay slurry. I managed to answer with my pinky and set the phone to speaker mode. “Hey, Si.”

  “Hi there.” It came out as a weary sigh, and I held my breath. Something was most definitely not right.

  “You okay?”

  His grunt was answer enough. Nope. Not okay. “I’m fine, but I have to cancel tonight. I need to take Lydia’s shift.”

  We were supposed to have a date tonight. Dinner, a movie, then he was coming over here. My heart sank, but not at the loss of the date. “Is Lydia all right?”

  A heartbreaking pause, then a whisper that sounded too loud over the speaker. “Not really.”

  The slurry had started drying, and I picked bits off and let them fall to the table.

  “What happened?”

  “She was feeling better. Seeing the shirts was hard, but it wasn’t killing her like it had been. Then, a new design came out.”

  Fuck. “Another one of hers?”

  “Yeah. The last piece of art she put up before this all began—it was actually a take-off on wolf T-shirt designs from the eighties. And everyone is going fucking nuts over it, like it’s the greatest thing ever.”

  Lydia’s art was the greatest thing ever. “Si, Wolf’s Landing owes her for saving our asses over the whole altar and rune mistake. Please let me say something?”

  “God, Ian, I want you to. But I—we—can’t go behind her back on this.” There was pain in his voice.

  While I wanted to rub my face with my hands, I resisted the urge. I already had enough clay on my face, in my hair, and on the drop cloth beneath my feet. “I know, I know.” I couldn’t break Lydia’s trust any more than Simon could. “What else can I do?”

  Simon blew out a breath. “Maybe she can be your date tonight?”

  “What, dinner and a movie?”

  “Pretty sure she doesn’t want to go out.” His voice dropped. “I’d feel better if she weren’t alone tonight. She’s . . . not doing well at all.”

  My heart fell straight to the floor. “I’ll come over.” Anything for Lydia. For Simon. If I could ease their pain and worry, I’d walk to the moon.

  “God, Ian, I love you.”

  My throat tightened as my soul sang. “I love you too.” Both of you.

  We set a time for me to come over, and after Simon hung up, I gave up on sculpting and cleaned up the work area and then myself. I knew better than to badger Lydia to fight with Wolf’s Landing’s merchandizing partner, but I wanted to make her feel better and take her mind off the issue for one evening.

  A plan took form in my head. It was silly and cheesy, and exactly what Lydia needed. At least, it was an evening that I wouldn’t have minded when I was down. On my way out the door, I grabbed a couple of old movies. I swung by the grocery store on the way to Simon and Lydia’s, then arrived at their doorstep a few minutes before Simon had asked me to arrive. My finger hovered over the doorbell, then dropped.

  In my pocket were the keys they’d given me. Seemed appropriate to use them, so I did. When I walked into the kitchen, they were both there. “Hi honeys, I’m home!”

  Damn if that didn’t get me two smiles. Lydia’s was full of tears and sadness, while Simon’s was filled with hope. He crossed over the room and pulled me into a kiss that was both sweet and scorching hot. I had no idea how he managed to be lovely and dirty with a press of his lips and a quick swipe of his tongue. He left me breathless. Someday soon, I’d put him on his knees again, and do exactly what I wanted to do to that mouth.

  But not tonight.

  When we broke the kiss, Lydia was smirking a tiny bit, and there was a hell of a lot less sadness on her face. I lifted my grocery bag. “Don’t worry. I have something for you, Lyds.” All of us gathered around the kitchen island and I pulled out a half gallon of vanilla ice cream—the good kind, not the cheap imitation crap.

  Lydia tilted her head. Simon snorted. “I never pictured you into vanilla.”

  “Si, ice cream is like having sex,” I said. “It’s all about how you do it.” Next, I pulled out a bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur and a bottle of Chambord.

  Lydia exhaled. “Well, that’s better.”

  “It’s mildly kinky.” I set a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips down next to the bottles. “I mean, I could have gotten Fireball or something like that, but I wasn’t sure if you were into pain play with your ice cream.”

  I think Simon tried to swallow his tongue. Lydia burst out laughing.

  Finally, I pulled out the movies I’d grabbed from my collection—my set of cheesy eighties fantasy movies.

  Simon flipped through them. “Now this is pain play.”

  Lydia punched him in the arm. “Hey now! I like those! Besides, this is my date night with Ian.”

  He held up my copy of Ladyhawke. “But the music!”

  Okay. He had me there. Prog-rock didn’t exactly scream me
dieval period, but I loved the movie anyway. “It’s a product of its time.”

  He set the case down. “You realize we were all toddlers when these movies came out, right?”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He gets a boner for the Fifth Element.”

  Simon tossed his hands up in the air in mock disgust, then laughed. “I’d better get to the shop.” He kissed each of us goodbye, and this time, the peck didn’t make me want to tie him up and fuck him—though that was still on my to-do list for the near future.

  When the front door clicked closed, the smile slipped from Lydia’s face. “Thanks for coming over. I know Si’s worried and I’m—” Her voice cracked and she choked back the sob. I wrapped her in my arms and she pressed her face against my chest. “I’m a fucking mess,” she said.

  I stroked her back. “It’s been a rough couple of days, that’s all.”

  “I’m gonna lose him.” Scared words spoken into the weave of my shirt.

  “No, you’re not. You’ve been married for ten years, and he loves you to pieces. You’re not losing him. You’re not losing me. Not anyone.”

  We stood there while Lydia tried not to cry and failed. “Yeah, but this is hurting him so much. I know what he wants me to do. I . . . can’t, Ian.”

  “He realizes that. And he loves you, Lyds. You’re not gonna lose him.”

  This would hurt for a good long time if things dragged out, but I wasn’t going to say that. Not now.

  She shook, then her breathing eased out. “Logically, I know that, but my heart . . .” She paused. “He’s such a good man. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  He was a good man, but there was more she wasn’t seeing. “And you’re a fantastic woman. You don’t deserve this, either.” A bark of a laugh escaped me. “Besides, he put up with my sorry ass. You both did. And you let me stay.”

  She hugged me tighter, but didn’t speak for a good long time. Finally, she pulled away. “Ice cream’s gonna melt.”

  “Mm-hmm. Would you like a bowl with the works?”