KNOT: A Wake Family Novel (20 page)

I wanted to pick one up and spray it, but something told me not to. That these weren’t for that.

There was one in the middle of the top shelf that looked more special than the others, and I pointed to it.

“That’s my favorite. It’s probably the most precious.” The delight they gave her was obvious as she spoke. “I found a half bottle on eBay once, but I’ve used most of it.”

Then she jogged into her bedroom and retrieved the nearly empty bottle.

“Sometimes, if I set it in the sun, I can get a little out here and there.”

I was fascinated by her enthusiasm and welcomed the change. She was animated and relaxed. “If it’s your favorite, then why not use it?”

She laughed like I was absurd.

“Because it’s rare. If I got used to it, it wouldn’t be. It would just be some nice perfume.”

Peculiarly, that made sense.

Was that what she was to me?
Rare. Would the same be true with her? Would the novelty of it all fade along with her allure?

Then, I looked into her eyes, content and unperturbed in her element.

“Smell the cap.” She popped it off and passed the crystal cap over to me, and I took it. It was the same shape as the vintage one on the shelf, but I could easily tell this one wasn’t as special.

I lifted it to my nose and breathed it in. It was a sweet lavender-like fragrance, but had a spice to it as well. Very alluring. Very her.

I quickly pulled it away.

“It’s nice,” I said. Then I made light of it for no good reason. “They all kind of smell the same.”

“No,” she argued. “They don’t.” Hastily, she left the room to put it away.

I needed something to do—a distraction—so I busied myself with opening the wine and pouring two glasses all the way to the top. Exactly how she liked it.

It was a good thing that I had five more bottles at my place, but she didn’t know that.

The pizza was excellent. She hadn’t asked what I wanted, but Neapolitan style was one of my favorites. Again she’d proven she was a true food snob.

She knew what she liked.

I wanted to know what else she preferred, and why?

We’d comfortably danced around the conversation we always seemed to work ourselves into through dinner, and I’d already made a run to my apartment for a second bottle.

“Tell me what it’s like,” I inquired as we sat on her couch, which was an incredibly comfortable piece of furniture. It looked modern, but the seats were cushy and inviting.

She was at one end with her feet hitched up beneath herself, having moved her decorative orange pillows to a neutral place in between us. Another wall.

“What’s what like?” she asked, laidback and probably a little buzzed. She’d been much more agreeable than before.

I wasn’t trying to pry, but I was desperate for understanding. “What’s it like for you being with more than one person at a time?”

Her eyes crinkled as she took a sip before answering my question with one. “You’ve never had a threesome?”

I wasn’t embarrassed, but I already felt anomalous. However, it was vital I knew what I was up against if I chose to put up any kind of fight for her attention. If I got it, I’d want to keep it.

“No, I haven’t,” I admitted.

“That’s refreshing. I thought for sure you’d say you had—at least in college,” she said and shifted, getting more comfortable.

“Why is that?”

Her grey eyes rolled to the ceiling and returned to me. “Oh, I don’t know. Back to your question, do you mean why do I
like
it?”

“Yeah, what makes it so much better than being with one person?” I leaned back into the corner of the couch and propped my ankle on my other knee.

She sat back, too, and thought, her eyes glazed over, and she was quiet. Once again, I wished I could hear what she was thinking.

Patiently, I sat there hoping for either understanding or something I could properly debate.

“I don’t know really,” she finally said, as she leaned her head on her arm. “I like the excitement of not knowing what’s going to happen. I like learning new things, discovering new things I like. I think the first time with a new lover is very erotic, nothing’s been repeated yet. Every sensation is new.”

I felt my breathing grow deeper hearing her singsong voice tell me candidly what she liked. I wanted her.

“Can’t it be like that between only two people?” I challenged.

Her tongue swept across her wine-stained bottom lip. “Yes, I guess so, but there are other things I like about it. It’s nice not being someone’s only source of pleasure. Sometimes it’s nice just being a part of it.”

I disagreed. There was nothing more arousing to me than her singular pleasure being in my hands.
Alone
.

“Are you always with a man and a woman?”

Why had I asked that? I didn’t really want to know the answer.

She didn’t look even the slightest bit ashamed when she answered, “No. I’ve been with more than one man at a time.”

Ten
.

Painfully, I needed her to keep talking, I had to know what I was up against. I also had to offer as much as I asked for. Still, I didn’t want to picture her with anyone but me. Not one other. Not two others. Not…
God, had there been three men?
The thought of it made my head swim.

“It’s not as sinister and wicked as you think, Reagan.”

My neck grew tense, and I was uncomfortable. It wasn’t that I thought it was wrong, and my mind was probably playing tricks, but all I could imagine was two guys passing her back and forth. Taking from her.

She reached over and touched my leg, trying to comfort me as she spoke. “It’s beautiful watching someone pleasure someone else right in front of you. It’s not scandalous. Not to me.”

“So you like to watch?” She was so complicated. It wasn’t something I’d even considered, outside of watching the occasional porn video.

“I
love
watching.” Her tone changed, quieted, and she’d shifted more and more as she spoke. What I’d interpreted as her getting comfortable, may have been something completely different. Hearing her say such illicit things, such private things, I couldn’t help but be turned on, too. Even though I hated the thoughts at the same time, but something about the lilt in her voice made it seem not as insidious as I perpetuated.

Her eyes glassy, she continued, “Having two sets of hands on my body, having two mouths kiss my skin…”

I only have two fucking hands and one fucking mouth.

Nine
.

I tried to steady my rapidly accelerating pulse. I’d been the one who opened Pandora’s Box.

“I don’t think you’re giving everyone else enough credit.” Maybe I couldn’t please her as much as two men.
Two anybody
. But I doubt she knew anyone who wanted to try as badly as I did.

She refocused on me. “I could say the same thing to you.”

Again, we were on the fence.

Sick of the barricade of differences we had, I sat there and counted backward, barely hearing what else she was saying.

I wanted her, and I needed her to
want me
. Just me, but she wouldn’t.

I fucking hated it.

Nora—Wednesday, July 2, 2008

I
hated how even as the words were leaving my mouth, all I could picture were his hands on me. His mouth on mine.

It drove me insane that I was thinking like such a hypocrite.

All the while, as he sat there on my couch, I spoke about how fantastic it was being with more than one person, but I wasn’t craving anything more than him at that moment.
Just him.

Never had I experienced that kind of honed-in desire for a single other person before, and it confused me.

I had to change the subject, or at least aim it at him, so I finally asked, “What makes monogamy so special?”

As was his custom, he thought before he spoke. “Being what someone else
needs
is a mighty powerful thing. Knowing one other person in a way no one else does. Earning someone’s trust, and using that to build something strong. It’s not all about the sex, Nora. It’s about being crucial to someone. Vital. Necessary.”

It was such a Reagan way to think.

He looked off behind my head and finished after taking a drink. “It’s about knowing you’re their priority. It’s about knowing they belong to me, and I belong to them.”

I wondered what that would be like.

Was he different than anyone I’d ever met before, or just different in that I actually listened to what he said because it came out of such a sexy mouth? I’d never been interested in relationships—platonic or otherwise. I didn’t even love my family like that.

I knew he’d never give in though. That he’d never change, and that was the one reason I’d never be able to change for him, or give him what he’d described.

However, didn’t he deserve it from someone? It just couldn’t be me.

And didn’t I deserve what I wanted too? Even if I wasn’t sure what that was anymore.

Regardless, it would never go both ways. There was no compromise between what we wanted. My way and his way couldn’t exist together, especially if I was the only one brave enough to give in.

The conversation fizzled out, it seemed both of us were in our heads.

I didn’t mind the company when it was peaceful. Thankfully, he was easy to be in a room with, without conversations. It had been nice, but the time for those sorts of questions had passed, and I still didn’t feel like I knew anything more than I did before.

We gradually moved on to other topics. Work. Different places we’d traveled. Wine and food.

Soon I yawned, and he looked at his watch. “I’m going to go.”

“Okay,” I agreed, both ready for sleep and disappointed it was over. I genuinely enjoyed spending time with him. He was kind of amusing—not as funny as he thought—but definitely more comical when it wasn’t intentional.

He was different than most of my other friends, and that went farther than just sexual preferences. He came from a great family, who he cherished. Loved his job. Obviously, he cared about his health and wellbeing, as fit as he was. There were many qualities about him I admired. He was attractive in ways I’d never looked for in a lover before.

I didn’t know whether feeling like that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it was new, and I loved new. Different. Unfortunately, however, it wasn’t going to happen for us.

He snuck out, and I didn’t bother going to my bedroom that night. I ended up curled up on the side of the couch he’d sat on, where his smell still lingered long after he’d gone, and woke up there Sunday morning.

I didn’t see him the next day, but he waved at me Monday morning when he drove out of the parking garage as I got into a cab.

I wondered if he’d given up already. After all, that’s what was best. For everyone.

I’d been able to arrange a charity brunch for that week, so at least I had a few things to focus on, but I was really just ready for Thursday. Ready to unwind with people who I didn’t have to explain everything to. I wanted to kick back with a cocktail and enjoy the sun. Get a little drunk. Maybe make some new friends.

The days ticked down, and I still didn’t hear anything out of him.

On Wednesday, curiosity got the best of me. We were friends after all. Maybe I was a little bored, too. Over the past few years, I hadn’t really had the luxury of being bored, so I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.

Wednesday evening, I forced myself to work out hoping I’d naturally run into him, but I didn’t. Restless, I sat in my living room and picked up the phone.

ME: I was thinking about grabbing some dinner. What are you doing?

ME: This is Nora, by the way.

I put it back down, refusing to obsess over how long it would take him to reply. That was, if he did at all.

We’d agreed to be friends, but there was something else there, and even I felt it. It was tangible, but out of my reach.

I straightened up the magazines on my coffee table, for the second time in ten minutes. Then said, “Fuck it,” and got up to open a bottle of wine.

It was pretty early, there was a chance he wasn’t even home. I wasn’t about to sit around and wait on someone’s text—no matter how attractive he was.