I
’ll say it. I’m not ashamed. Dungeons and Dragons is pretty fucking cool.
The moment Sarah was done giving Caleb the hefty public lecture he deserved for lying to her for months, she came to my room and dragged me back out to sit with her and watch. Sarah is not the type to leave an audience hanging, and based on all the giggling, oohs, and ahhs I could hear from down the hall—the men around the table were eating her up.
For the first ten minutes, I sat and crocheted while Sarah picked at her fingernails and sneaked pictures of Caleb, giggling to herself when it was his turn to speak.
But then, and I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment if I tried, our attention was captured. Bo was crafting a story so elaborate that Sarah and I simply gawked, passing a bowl of popcorn back and forth, while the men around the table played out a battle in which they took down a raven- feathered shapeshifter and his small army of thieves, defending a local inn.
“My husband’s a goddamn hero,” Sarah whispered to me, her lips parted in awe.
They were very convincing.
For me, it was the way Bo commanded the table that had me blushing and flustered. The ease with which he’d adapt to whatever the players decided to roleplay—the simple way he instructed and let them guide the story. And then, when he was the voice of the raven-feathered villain? Game. Over.
The haunted evil that washed over his features? The bass-deep tone to his lowered, gravel-like voice? I’d have gotten pregnant again, if such a thing was possible.
“What does this say about us?” I whispered back to Sarah when I caught her fanning herself.
“Let’s not think about it too hard,” she said, blowing a kiss to Caleb— who was clearly no longer sleeping on the couch.
Three hours passed before Bo called the time, and the men all left character and returned to the real world. Sarah and I began shouting our complaints, as we used to at the television when our telenovelas ended on a cliff-hanger.
“What about the swamp woman? Is she the dead princess? Does she have the sword of enlightenment? What happens next?” Sarah asks, eyes filled with desperation.
“I think we have an audience from here on out, lads,” Walter says, placing his dice in a small wooden box.
I yawn, stretching my arms over my head, and Bo tilts his chin up, winking at me—as if my yawn was a nonverbal cue to get everyone out. I hadn’t intended it to be, but I appreciate the concern.
“Walter, are you still okay to host next month?” Bo asks, making quick work of packing the table.
“Oh, well,” Caleb interjects, “maybe I could? Now that…” His voice trails off as he side-eyes his wife.
“Now that you’re not scared of your wife finding out?” Jer laughs out. Caleb sighs. Poor guy can’t catch a break.
“Ooh! Please, can we?” Sarah asks, jumping up and down next to Caleb, shaking his chest. “I could bring out some of the Halloween decorations! We could have ale and themed snacks.”
“Fine by me,” Walter says, admiring my best friend fondly.
Caleb smiles, kissing his wife on the forehead. He moves to turn away from her, but Sarah grips his shirt and tugs him right back, pressing her lips to his. Then they make it weird. Sarah gasps into his mouth as Caleb’s hands wander a little too low on her back.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I say, stepping forward and pushing their shoulders apart. “That’s enough of that.”
“You know, Win,” Caleb says smugly, fixing his collar, “I think you were right.” He eyes Sarah’s ass as she walks over to talk to Bo, her limbs flailing as she recalls the battle. “Sarah is into this.”
“What have I done?” I ask myself, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
Eventually, everyone makes their way outside. They commune every step of the way until Bo’s talking to them on the front step, probably freezing as he says another last goodbye.
“Those two aren’t going to make it out of the driveway,” Bo says, shutting the door. I peek out the window to see Caleb and Sarah practically dry humping on the hood of Caleb’s car.
“This is what I get for snitching, I guess. If the neighbours complain, I’ll take responsibility.” I lower into the armchair, and Bo seems to recorrect his path toward his dining room once he notices. He sits on the arm of the couch and begins rubbing his thigh, wincing slightly as he wraps both hands around where his prosthesis begins.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah, fine. It’s just a little tight right now. The volume of my stump changes throughout the day. I can change the sock I wear underneath to help, but I didn’t get a chance. Might as well wait for bed now.”
I haven’t seen Bo without his prosthesis on yet. I’ve wondered, since a quick google search told me that it was good to go without it when possible, to let everything breathe. Especially since he mentioned in passing once that his new prosthesis, resized to fit and suit him better, was coming at the end of March. He called it a belated birthday present.
“You never have to wear it for my benefit, you know. If it’s uncomfortable…”
“No? It won’t freak you out to see me hobbling around the house?” The corner of his lip rises, but his eyes give him away. A hint of hesitation, a twitch of concern.
“Not at all,” I answer. “Of course not,” I add, firmly.
He nods, but he doesn’t move to take it off. “So…” Bo says in that familiar tone of let’s talk about something else. “Sarah seemed to get on board with DND fast.”
“I bet she’s going to say some real unhinged shit in bed tonight,” I say, grimacing.
Bo huffs a laugh, turning sideways to fall backward onto the couch with a grunt, spreading all four limbs across it. I instantly envision myself lying on
top of him, the way his body could cocoon around mine so easily, and have to blink to erase it from my mind. “I’d pay good money to hear some Dungeon and Dragons themed dirty talk,” he says with a crooked smile.
“Sarah reads some filthy books—it’ll be creative, if haunting.”
“She did seem to get a kick out of him saving that barkeep,” Bo says, flashing his eyes.
“Oh yeah, she called him a hero.”
Bo laughs, his throat bobbing. “There was a side-quest in October where Caleb had to flirt with a witch to get her to—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “Never mind.”
“No, no, no… You have to tell me.” My smile bursts wide. “Please, I need to know.”
“You have to swear to me you won’t tell him I told you or tell Sarah, because there’s a decorum to these things—I can’t be caught talking shit.”
“I promise!” I mean it this time.
“He said…” Bo’s laugh is near uncontrollable, shaking his entire upper body, his hands bouncing as they rest above his abdomen. He tries to complete his sentence a few times, but his voice fails each time as laughter overtakes him.
“Spit it out, man!”
“He looked me dead in the fucking eyes and said the words, ‘not even King Arthur could pull me out of you.’”
“No!” I squeal, my hand shooting up to my mouth.
“Not even King Arthur himself…” Bo says, his face turning red as he struggles to catch his breath.
We both burst into fits of laughter so overwhelming that I truly can’t catch my breath, clutching my stomach and sputtering for relief. The
imagery of Bo roleplaying as a witch to be seduced is funny enough, but that line is possibly my new favourite quote. I’ve yet to get a tattoo, but I might consider it. In fact, I might request it as my epitaph. After all, it’ll kill me not to tell Sarah.
I’ll resist.
“Oh my god,” I say, my voice weak as I wipe away tears.
“I didn’t know what to do!” Bo says, waving his hand out to his side as he lies back down. “I rolled for it, and the witch was seduced. So I guess it worked?”
“Caleb gave it his all. I’ll give him that.” I try to take a deep inhale, but the laugh roils back up, taking my breath from me yet again.
“I thought Adamir was going to pass out. Poor thing.”
“I really like your friends,” I say on another long breath, steadying myself. “They seem great. An odd assortment, which I love.”
“Even Walter?” Bo asks. When he sits up to see me, he does a slight double take. His eyes hold on my face with a sincere appreciation that catches me off guard and has me swallowing air. I put two palms on my cheeks, feeling their warmth. Ah, that’s what he’s noticed. I’m blushing.
“Especially Walter,” I answer before clearing my throat. “Or should I call him Hamish?”
“You do that sometimes,” Bo says, touching his cheek with a quick double-tap of his finger.
“Blush?” I look away, because often it gets worse when speaking about it. Or when beautiful men point it out. Both things. “Yeah… most people do,” I say, my voice softened.
“Maybe when they’re embarrassed. But you blush a lot… like when you’re happy too.”
“It’s annoying,” I say, pulling my hair off my neck to cool down.
“I like it,” Bo says simply. I turn my face back toward him. “It feels like checking a box. It’s the only way to know for sure my joke landed, or well, you know…” He swallows, his eyes fluttering closed with a rapid series of blinks.
“Know what?” I ask, tilting my head.
Bo scratches a hand through his hair, then bends forward as he rubs the back of his neck. He looks off to the side, his face disgruntled, as if he can’t believe the words about to come out of his mouth. “You, uh, you blushed on Halloween.”
I did a lot of things on Halloween. My eyes narrow, my smile creeping up sideways.
“When you… came,” he adds, his jaw tight and eyes definitely on my neck, where there’s no doubt a lingering pink hue.
Oh.
“Sorry.” His eyebrows pinch together, creating a deep line down the centre of his forehead. “I don’t know why I said that.”
I’d tell him not to worry about it, as flippantly as I can, but my throat is quite possibly swelling up. All I can feel is the pounding of my pulse in my neck.
“We should go to bed,” Bo says, his eyes raking over me while he leans farther away from me, as if he’s resisting. Telling himself no.
I quirk an eyebrow, wondering if he knows he, perhaps subconsciously, propositioned me.
“Oh, no—not together. Sorry, not—” He drops his face into his hands, then runs them both through his hair, making it stick up funny. “Sorry,” he laughs out. “See? This is why you had to take the lead.”
Was it because of his awkwardness? I’d started to tell myself it was because he wasn’t all that interested. Still, either way, it’s not a good idea. I swallow the lump in my throat. “We, uh, haven’t really talked about that.”
Bo stares blankly back at me, his bottom lip pouted ever so slightly.
Shit, I’m really going to have to say this all out loud. Deep breath. In and out.
“I don’t think it would be wise of us to have any sort of physical relationship from here on out.” There, simple enough.
“No?” Bo says reactively.
No?
Fucking No?
What the fuck does No? mean? Does he disagree? What arrangement did he foresee us having?
“It’s already complicated…” I say slowly. “Right.”
“And sex would just complicate things more, I think.” “Right.” He wets his lips, nodding even still.
“My main concern is that sex could lead to more between us, and then if more was to end badly… that could make co-parenting or living together impossible.”
“Right,” Bo says, again.
“Right,” I echo him curtly.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking himself. “I’m catching up.” “Well, where were you?” I ask before thinking.
He looks up to the ceiling, his hands rubbing together mindlessly between his parted knees. Once he seems to collect his thoughts, he holds
eye contact with me a little too strongly for my comfort. Everywhere his eyes land on my body begins to burn. So soon enough, all of me is warm.
“Honestly,” he says, his eyes hesitant but still locked with mine. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t really thought about having rules, I guess. This is all so new, and well, if I’m being honest—”
“Rules are good, though, right?” I interrupt. If I was a betting woman, I would guess that at the end of that sentence, there’s an I’m not entirely over my ex, which, if I’m being honest, I cannot bear to hear. “It’s good we talked. Boundaries and whatever else… Designed to keep us safe.” I’m unstoppable now, talking a mile a minute, making next to no sense. “This way, our focus remains on being the best team possible for the kid. We can keep things simple in an already complicated situation. That’s the goal, yeah? Successfully co-parenting.”
“That’s the goal,” Bo agrees, pressing his lips together, nodding tightly. “Of course.”
“So it’s settled, then. Platonic friends with foetuses.” I lean back in the chair, sniffling just once. I watch as Bo brings a hand to the side of his face, his mouth leaning into it as he scratches beside his ear, smiling to himself like he’s got a secret.
“What?” I ask. “What’s that look?”
“Nothing,” he says, dropping his hand. “I heard you. Understood,” he says, voice pitching.
“Bo…” I say far too softly. Translating to him, I hope, as don’t lie to me.
He traces his bottom lip with his thumb, then stares up at the ceiling. “If our goal is platonic… could you do me a favour?”
“Sure?” I ask, obvious confusion overtaking my voice. “Could you keep it down? At night?”
“Huh?” I ask, seconds before my heart drops with realisation—nearly forcing it into my stomach. I immediately feel flushed, my face now burning red for all the usual reasons.
He notices, his lips twitching up just a little. “Old house, thin walls. Beautiful moaning coming from down the hall that makes me want to pull my hair out.”
This is not happening. I forbid this from happening.
He doesn’t look away, his eyes narrowing on me as I stare off over his shoulder, willing myself to teleport into the fucking sun.
This is actually, truly, definitely happening.
I must have been a prolific asshole in a previous life to deserve this. An oil tycoon. A corrupt dictator of a small nation. A mosquito carrying malaria. Whoever first decided to install fluorescent lighting in a changing room.
I nod, my mouth stuck open and my jaw locked into place. “Okay,” I whimper involuntarily. “Of course,” I say, standing on wobbly legs.
I’m leaving. Fleeing.
He can see the kid on their eighteenth birthday, if I somehow manage to survive this level of mortification. I refuse to acknowledge Bo as I pass him by and enter the front hall, slipping on my boots before reaching for my jacket.
“Win,” Bo laughs out my name, coming in after me. “Nope,” I say sharply, reaching for the door handle.
He places his hand on top of mine, stopping me from my escape.
I do not look up at him. The big nerd with supersonic hearing and a stupidly cute face and giant warm hands. Fuck him. I hate him.
How much did he hear?
“Win…” Bo says, his tone laced with enjoyment that I deeply resent.
“Please let me go out into the cold to die.” I drop my forehead against the door.
“I can’t let you do that, honey.” “Do not call me that,” I snap.
“Sorry,” Bo recoils, removing his hand from on top of mine and taking a step back.
I lift my forehead and let it fall against the door again, my face turned toward him slightly. “How much did you hear?” Meaning, did you happen to hear the one time I accidentally let your name slip out? Or, perhaps, the second time it did when I realised how close just saying your name got me to the finish line?
Bo braces his forearm across the top of the archway and leans into it, closing the space between us half an inch. But I feel him everywhere. “Enough to know you think about Halloween too.”
Shit, fuck, shit.
“Okay, well…” I try to formulate a defence, despite the need to shrivel up and die. “It was the last time I had sex. What else am I going to think about?”
“Your best time,” he offers, his voice taunting. “Unless…” He drops his arm and bends at the waist, smug in his approach. “That also happens to be that night.”
“You wish,” I spit.
Bo sighs, his eyes falling to the floor as he straightens, standing and wiping a hand down his face. “I think you’re right, though,” he says, his voice far off. “About the rules… moving forward. I think that’s the right thing to do.”
But…
I wait. A thin tight rope under my feet leading to his. No but follows.
I shouldn’t be disappointed, right? It’s ridiculous to be disappointed.
These are my rules. I’ve only just shared them.
“Okay…” I reply, pressing my ear against the front door, giving him a few more inches of my face, though I can’t bring myself to look at him for long.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” “And keep hearing me? No…”
Bo looks at me sympathetically, a crooked smile and a long, thoughtful breath that raises his chest. “C’mere.” He reaches out for my arm, tugging me toward him and away from the door. He wraps one arm around my shoulders, holding on to the top of my arm, and rests the other on the back of my head, pressing me to him. I grumble my annoyance, remaining stiff all over with my arms locked at my sides.
But I can’t help but breathe him in. That cinnamon, musky scent. The one that’s so distinctly him. Sweet and warm and inviting. And proving to me, once again, why we need these rules.
“We’re going to figure this out, Win,” he says, dropping his chin to the top of my head. “Rules, plans, boundaries… It’ll sort itself out.” Bo sighs, curling me closer. “I am sorry I teased you, though. I shouldn’t have done that. Whatever you need to be comfortable from here on out, I’ll do.”
“What I need is thicker walls,” I mumble against his chest.
“I’ll call a contractor,” he says, loosening his arms and stepping backward.
I still can’t bring myself to look at him, so I study the floor between us, the grooves of the dark, wooden floors.
“I’m sorry too,” I say meekly. “That you heard me. That’s not… It’s the pregnancy hormones—they’re making me…” My voice wanders off, and I shake myself. “I’m sorry.”
“Would it make you feel better or worse to know that I enjoyed it?”
Better. “Worse.”
“Well, then I hated it.” Bo reaches out, tilting up my face with his bent knuckle under my jaw and his thumb pressed to my chin. Slowly, I drag my eyes up to see him. “I truly am sorry I made you feel embarrassed. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m glad we’re on the same page now. Keeping myself away from your bedroom was nearly impossible, but now, with these rules, I—”
I interrupt him, removing his hand from my quivering chin by stepping backward, my ass hitting the wall of the entranceway, next to our coats hung on the wall. “Just…” Stop talking, I beg with my eyes. That’s not helping. I breathe in slowly, allowing my eyes to softly close as I do.
Then it’s worse.
The second my eyes are closed, my imagination is overrun with images of Bo bursting into my bedroom and pinning my hands above my head, tossing my vibrator across the room, and using his mouth in its place. His teeth tugging at my flesh, his lips kissing across the swell of my belly, his tongue lapping at my breast. I can practically hear those perfect whimpering noises he made as he came undone beneath me.
Pressing my knees together, I open my eyes with a newfound stubbornness. I try to remind myself of the reality here. What I know versus what I wish could be.
I know that Bo is a good guy.
I know, unfortunately, that Bo is great in bed.
But I also know that Bo is at least a little hung up on his ex.
And I know my heart wouldn’t be able to take having sex with him again. It’d be far too easy to fall for him now, with all these increasing layers of circumstance and proximity between us. And I don’t think he’s ready for what that could lead to. I don’t think he wants that with me. I think he wants her, even still. He’s, perhaps, loyal to a fault. Which is only more upsetting. Even his bad traits are good ones.
I cannot confuse being here with being wanted.
I cannot convince myself that he’d want me more than his ex.
I cannot let myself fall for a man whose heart belongs to someone else. “Bring a girl home,” I say with a false indifference. “A loud one,
preferably. Get even, and we can forget about the whole thing.”
His face falls, then hardens into a scowl. It’s an expression I’ve yet to see from him. I don’t like it. It doesn’t suit him at all. “That would make you feel better? Me having sex with someone else down the hall?” he asks harshly.
“Yeah, sure. Why not?” I reply, unfittingly blasé.
He brings a hand to his face, sighing out as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s late. We should get some sleep.”
I nod, folding my arms across my chest. I will my legs to move, but they refuse.
“I am sorry, Win. I didn’t mean to—”
“We’re fine,” I interrupt, standing straighter. “Tricky topic, but it’s settled now. Friends, right?”
Bo begins slowly walking backward until the backs of his legs hit the back of the couch. He lowers against it, looking rather defeated as he nods his agreement. “Friends… Always that.” Bo smiles softly, his eyes filled with equal parts discomfort and reassurance. It upsets me. Seeing that he’s trying to set me at ease.
And for the first time, I find myself wishing a man was more of a jerk. “Okay, well, good night,” I say, brushing past him toward our bedrooms.
Once in the hallway, I press the heel of my palm into my forehead, wincing on impact.
As soon as my hand reaches my bedroom’s door handle, I still.
Desperately torn between what I want and what I know, I linger. Hoping that maybe he’ll bring me that nightly glass of ice water and slip into bed next to me, harmless in his approach. Wondering, desperately, if he feels this too. This tension, like a force, like a tether, so tightly wound between us. All these strings attached that were never supposed to be there.
I remind myself of them. One by one, plucking at each string, each reason, like an instrument in my mind. Telling myself, as I have for years, that logic needs to conquer my reckless heart.
So I go to bed. Alone. Quiet as a mouse.
