Ian walked out of the warmth of the café into the freezing cold, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning up his coat against the wind that tunneled down the narrow streets. He’d forgotten his gloves and scarf again in his rush to get to Kate, to see her again after Evie ever-so-casually dropped that she’d heard Kate had been hanging out at this particular café since she’d returned to the city after Christmas.
She was a charming puppet master, their Evie. She’d known that of course he’d go running off to find Kate and…what? Patch things up? Get an explanation? Watch her flirt with some bearded hipster who was probably a more appropriate choice for her anyway? For all he knew, Evie’s mission had been for him to see once and for all that it was over. Over for Kate, anyway. He had yet to find a way to make it over for himself. Especially now that she was in town again. Some ridiculous animal part of him still signaled his brain to light up when she was around. Like a dog who doesn’t know its owner has left it at the shelter, who thinks his kennel is temporary, that they’re coming back. And now the pit of his stomach burned, seeing her with a new pet. God, he was pathetic. If his father could only see him now, pining at windows like a fool.
Jealousy and kink often made for impossible bedfellows—between a large contingent of the community’s natural inclinations to polyamory and the sheer impracticality of every top knowing how to wield every tool or play out every scene—rare were the two whose kinks and experience aligned so perfectly that they never so much as got a tutorial from someone else. And yet, hot, stinging jealousy had risen like bile in his throat watching Kate tilt her hips and blush at someone else.
Her round cheeks, flushed pink and tinged with freckles, were set off by her short-cropped hair. Even in dark skinny jeans and a lumpy sweater, she was the loveliest creature he’d ever seen. Sense-memory stopped him in his tracks, his fingers clutching around the mass of silky hair at her nape, guiding her mouth. His stomach churned—he’d never run his fingers through her thick mane again, never pull or tug or direct. But her short hair would afford easy access to the sensitive column of her neck, the place behind her ears that made her squeal and squirm. And those places were someone else’s to discover.
He didn’t know what he was expecting. Closure, perhaps. A chance to apologize for the damage he’d done. That desperate ache to atone had carried his feet to the shop. Where he’d invaded her space, interrupted her morning, and generally been a selfish ass all over again. He was too old to be this brokenhearted fool chasing girls into coffee shops to beg forgiveness.
And he’d made himself late for work. Again.
He strode into the building like there was a perfectly good reason for him to be forty minutes late and slipped into his office, promptly closing the door before dropping his head into his hands and tugging his hair. He could always blame it on some sort of delay with the T. Hell, a good chunk of the green line had gone out the other day mid-rush hour due to a bad bit of insulation, so it was entirely plausible at this point. When in Boston, always blame traffic, the MBTA, or both.
Except even that excuse was wearing thin for Ian’s underperformance at work. He’d never had issues. He’d always been committed, not quite first in and last to leave, but enough to have earned an office with a door and the salary and the performance bonuses that went with it. But he’d slipped, and they knew it. He was forgetful, preoccupied, late to a few too many team meetings. His last performance review had consisted largely of his sitting back in his chair cringing at the list of his failures. He hadn’t cost them clients—yet. But it was clear they were afraid he would if this kept up.
And now, Kate was back when he was finally starting to be functional again. His brain couldn’t resist thinking about her, poking at her like a sore spot in his mouth or a missing tooth. He knew how small her stipend was. He also knew she’d been able to save most of it while they were together because he’d refused her repeated offers to contribute to the mortgage and household expenses. He didn’t need her money.
But, fuck, maybe she’d needed to give it. He knew she’d promised herself she would never end up dependent on a relationship for financial solvency. He knew what her mother was like, the jabs and the guilt she spread thick in every phone call home. He’d applauded Kate’s determination, even, and told her that was exactly why she should save as much as she could, so if she ever needed to leave, she had a fuck-off fund.
Which she had. And she’d used. Goddammit.
The knock was the barest of courtesies before his boss blew through the door. Ian straightened his tie as he stood. Jeff glanced at his computer monitor, still blank because he hadn’t even booted the damn thing up for the day. Shit. Fuck. Dammit.
Jeff closed the door. This couldn’t be good. “Ian. Listen, you’ve been a tremendous asset to this company for over ten years…”
Ian’s ears rang and spots appeared in his peripheral vision. He’d been there since shortly after he completed his MS, in fact. His first and only real job, and oh, Jesus, fuck, they were firing him.
“I thought we were over this. What the hell is going on with you?”
It took him longer than it should have to recover from the version of the conversation that had already happened in his head, to shake off the tunnel vision and the beginnings of panic. “Hang on, you’re not firing me?”
“Not yet. But you missed a call this morning—Alice picked up the slack for you just fine, by the way—and I don’t believe it’s because of traffic. You look like hell.”
Ian slumped back into his chair. “Shit. I’m sorry. Alice should have taken the lead on that anyway. She’s building the specs; I’m just there to handhold while she does the heavy lifting.”
“I know. But if you let the developers become the point person for the clients, then we don’t exactly need you, do we?” Jeff sat in the chair opposite him. “Seriously, what’s going on? If you’re having problems…”
“What exactly are you asking, Jeff?” He hated the way management always wanted to toe around what they meant. He didn’t have the extra energy to spend today translating Jeff’s careful ellipses and implications. He’d been studying it for years, was fluent enough in innuendo, but he still wished people would just say what they goddamn meant. Constantly existing in a second language was exhausting.
“Listen, you don’t have to answer—you probably shouldn’t, to be honest—but the company has a strictly confidential help line and if you need to take some time off to get yourself…straightened out, you have plenty of personal time accrued.”
“I don’t need time off. I… It’s personal and I’ll get it sorted and it won’t affect my work again.” The last thing he needed was for it to get around the office that he was completely and utterly losing his shit because his ex was back in town.
Kate had made a minimum number of appearances at office functions over the years. His coworkers had known she existed, and they had known that she wasn’t at the company picnic or Christmas party last year. But like everyone else outside their closest friends, he’d simply said they’d parted ways and changed the subject.
Kate would have reminded him he had meetings in the morning. Probably would have tucked a protein bar in his bag and poured him an extra shot of espresso as he left early to prepare. She would have helped him rehearse the key talking points and phrasing that would reassure them everything was going according to plan and budget. God, he must have made her miserable. She was playing housewife and grad student, submissive and de facto personal assistant at the same time.
He would make his amends, lay his apologies at her feet. What she did with them was ultimately none of his business, but he needed to give them to her. Then, if she wanted, he would leave her alone. They could share custody of their friends, barely crossing paths, if that’s what she needed from him.
“Do whatever you have to do, Ian. I’ll leave this here, just in case.” Jeff dropped a card with the information for the company’s supposedly confidential help line on his desk.
He didn’t need that number. Just hers. Just once.
Kate sat on the floor in Jolene and Matt’s apartment with her chin propped on the coffee table, wedding magazines spread around her like so many shiny promises. Matt was working late, and Jolene had texted, begging Kate to keep her company so she wouldn’t text Matt every ten seconds asking about wedding stuff while he was in the middle of compiling data for a grant review. They’d opened a bottle of wine, but it didn’t seem to be helping Jolene at all.
“I wish we could elope. Or go to the courthouse. Anything but putting our families together in the same room.”
“So do it. I sincerely doubt Matt gives a fuck one way or the other. He just wants a ring on your finger and a collar on your neck.”
“Ugh. He has that already.” She traced her fingers over the delicate gold necklace at her throat. “And my whole family would be mad at me for being a snob and not inviting them because I was afraid they’ll embarrass me in front of Matthew’s family.”
“Which is what you’re afraid of.”
“Yeah, but they don’t need to know that.” She sighed. “Or they’ll think I got knocked up.”
“Why would they assume that?”
“Are you kidding? Do you know how much extra scrutiny my belly got at Christmas when we told them we were engaged? Or the not-so-subtle hints that I should get pregnant so I could, and I quote, ‘lock that down’?” She took a large gulp of her wine, as if to prove a point.
They both laughed, but the way Jolene drained her glass and started banging her head on the coffee table made Kate suspect it was time for a refill and to put the magazines far away.
“Do you ever wonder if you would have wanted all this if you’d never met Matt? If this is how you are or if it’s because of him?” Kate’s encounter with Owen had her wondering if she could be vanilla. Maybe she had thought she needed someone like Ian as much as she did because she was desperate for clear expectations and rules and approval when she’d had so little of it growing up.
“At first, yeah. Like, what if I’d imprinted on him somehow, or been so desperate to sleep with him I’d have done anything, no matter how off the wall. But I figured out pretty quickly that I wasn’t going to give this up even if my relationship with Matthew didn’t work out. Recall I was about to put myself out there and start looking for new people to play with when you all sprang him back on me.”
“Like you didn’t want us to.”
“I’m not saying I’m sorry you did. But what is this with you? Are you seriously thinking you’ve secretly been vanilla this whole time?”
Kate groaned. “I don’t know. Maybe? I can’t separate the sex from the relationship in my head, you know? He wasn’t my absolute first, but he was the first who knew what he was doing, both with sex and with kink. I thought I wanted it twenty-four seven. I really did. Now I can’t figure out if I want any of it at all.”
Jolene settled back into the couch with her wine glass on her sternum. “I think you have two options. You can dig down into why you thought you wanted it twenty-four seven. Why did you want to defer almost all of your power to someone else, and what changed that made you want to take some or all of it back?”
“That sounds like therapy talking.”
“Eh. Might be.”
“What’s option b?”
“You hook up with other people and play with the dynamics. Weren’t you telling me you were flirting with a cute guy at the coffee shop today? Go sleep with him, see if you like it vanilla after all.”
Jolene was the last person Kate expected to tell her to go hook up with the vanilla wafer. But she had a point. When was the last time she’d had truly vanilla sex? She’d had sex with Ian that might otherwise be classified as vanilla, if she was bruised or tired or there were time constraints, but the power dynamic was always there. Ian was always in charge, even if her ass was purple and they had to be out of the house in ten minutes, he was completely in control. What would it be like to fuck someone without the trappings of dominance and submission after years of having it no other way?
“Maybe you’re right.” It seemed like Owen had been flirting back. And he was cute, in a cuddly, non-threatening way. Then Ian had walked in glowering and ruined it. Except the glower still made Kate’s belly flutter in anticipation. “Can I ask you a question?”
Kate took a swig of her wine and held her breath, deciding if she wanted to know or if ignorance was a far better deal. Jolene raised her eyebrows for her to go on.
“What. I. Fuck.” Maybe she shouldn’t know the answer if she couldn’t even spit the words out of her mouth. “Never mind.”
Jolene’s face softened knowingly as Kate hid behind a pillow. “He hasn’t been around much. And he’s not seeing anyone as far as any of us know.”
Kate shouldn’t have felt the twinge of relief that Ian hadn’t yet replaced her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking. You’re his friend too.”
“Dude. Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to know what was going on with Matthew when I came back?”
“Yeah, but you were in love with him.”
Jolene quirked an eyebrow. She spent too much time with Matt and Sarah for her own good.
“It’s not the same thing.” Kate wasn’t in love with him anymore. She wasn’t. But she had spent five years with the man, of course she would still care a little, right? The inside of her own head sounded mighty defensive.
Jolene made a derisive little snort sound and didn’t say anything. She just kept looking at Kate like she was an idiot for missing the giant, dancing elephant in the room.
“I am not in love with Ian, Jolene.”
“Fine. Can I ask you something, then?”
Kate nodded.
“What happened? You seemed so solid together.”
“Yeah, well. Appearances. Deceiving. All that jazz.” Jolene glared, and Kate exhaled a long sigh. “I was twenty-three when we met. I’d gone straight from undergrad to grad school because I was terrified of the real world. I thought I wanted the rules, the protocols, the restrictions, and the expectations, and at the time, it worked. I guess I did need that then. It was safe that way. Then I started feeling bored and constricted and honestly, kind of taken for granted. I don’t mind serving but being furniture kind of sucks if you’re not into that. There was no one thing that happened; I outgrew him.”
“Did you outgrow Ian, or did you outgrow the dynamic? Those could be two separate issues.”
“The dynamic is Ian.”
Kate was completely certain of that, but Jolene looked at her like Kate didn’t know the man she’d spent five years with. She remembered all the times at the beginning when he’d sat her down and forced her to review their agreements, her boundaries and hard limits, encouraged her to ask for whatever she needed, whatever made her feel safe. She’d always assumed he’d done it for her sake, allowed her to think things through at her own speed, to change her mind, because she was so much younger, so inexperienced. Would he have subjugated his own needs or desires to make her happy? Did he really take his role that seriously?
But eventually he’d stopped asking, and Kate had been secure in assuming he was content with what they had. He wanted it that way. She knew that.
The apartment door swung open, and Matt dropped his messenger bag with a heavy thunk as he came to stand behind Jolene’s place on the couch. She rested her head on his thigh and kissed the inside of his knee. It was all so sweet, Kate wanted to puke. It was time for her to leave.
She got up from the couch and put their empty wine glasses on the kitchen counter while Matt and Jolene whispered their hellos. She tried and failed not to roll her eyes at them while pangs of jealousy roiled in her gut. You are happy for them, Katie. Happy, happy, happy, dammit.
Matt thanked Kate for rescuing Jolene from herself and letting him get some work done. Kate went back to her apartment and stewed over their conversation, wrestling with the idea that the entire demise of her five-year relationship could come down to each of them assuming the other would resist change and being so afraid to bring it up that they’d let the thing die instead. Goddammit, kinky people spent so much time patting themselves on the back for their communication skills; relationships like theirs were not supposed to fail for lack of fucking talking. If anything, she’d been desperate to stop talking. To stop checking in. She had wanted him to decide for her. Until she didn’t. And she didn’t tell him.
But she didn’t love Ian anymore. She didn’t want him back. It was too late for them. So she would try something else. Maybe she’d even bang the vanilla wafer.