11. Gemma
Chapter eleven
Gemma
Rule #11: No snooping through other people's stuff.
I accepted a candy apple from the vendor, balancing my hand under the flimsy paper it had been sheathed in and already salivating over the bright red sheen. Beside me, Ruth nibbled at her own candy apple, staring out at the fire-lit rows of cornstalks and the milling crowd. Her eyes tracked a couple as they walked hand-in-hand toward the pumpkin patch. "Do couples actually do things like carve pumpkins?"
Ruth was supposed to be a matchmaker, but she really was clueless sometimes. "Of course," I said simply. We started walking back toward the bonfire that had been lit in the center of the autumn festival area. There was a corn maze just ahead of us, a pumpkin patch to our left, kids’ attractions behind us, and food vendors and brightly lit fires in the area ahead. Flaming trees in hues of orange, red, and yellow circled the space in cheery, muted colors, but now that the sun had fully set, it was hard to make them out. A scream echoed from the corn maze, and I rolled my eyes. It wasn't even a haunted attraction, but teenagers had a singular ability to make the most mundane activity into a dramatic spectacle.
Ruth licked the candy coating of her apple, thinking. "I think Cal would carve a pumpkin with me."
Cal would carve out the hearts of her enemies if she asked. That whipped doctor would do anything for Ruth, and she hadn't even realized it completely, yet. "We can get a pumpkin if you want. I'm sure he will."
"I'll ask him later," she smiled. "How are things with your doctor?"
"He's not my doctor," I argued. Then I took a bite of apple so I couldn't say anything more about the subject. Sweet sugar and tart apple exploded on my tongue, but even that wasn't enough to wash the sour taste of Ruth's question from my mouth.
Rook confounded me. He still never touched me, only occasionally spoke to me, and glared at me when I did anything remotely bubbly… and yet, he wasn't unkind, either. He was a perfectly polite roommate who had begun to clean up after himself more and generally stayed out of my way most of the time. We had even spent the odd night together watching TV or talking about our jobs.
The problem was, I didn't want him to be polite. I wanted him to be something else, but I couldn't figure out what that might be. What else could a girl ask from a male roommate, really?
Ruth angled her eyes over her glasses, and they glinted orange in the firelight. "That answers nothing." Ruth had tied her unruly curls up with a little, black bow, and she wore a brown and burgundy plaid peacoat that made her look every inch the doctorate-holding nerd she was. I missed her so much it hurt. We'd barely had time at work to see each other, and she'd spent most of her free time with Cal these days. I didn't blame her for it, but sometimes, I felt like I was somehow more alone than ever.
"He mostly ignores me," I said finally, swallowing my mouthful of candy apple.
"Is that… good?" she clarified slowly.
We came to a stop just in front of the fire, and we found a bench made of straw to sit on while we watched the crowd enjoy the festival. Smoke and pumpkin spice perfumed the air, and even though my nose was getting numb, and my coat wasn't quite thick enough, it was good to be out and with someone I trusted. I twirled the heavy apple thoughtfully.
"It's good, but… I don't know. It's a weird feeling. For the first time in a really long time, I'm almost never alone. Either I'm at home and he's there, or I'm at work and you all are there. I'm around people literally all the time, but I feel isolated." I'd told as much to Emma, too, and she'd agreed that she often felt the same way, which was why she liked online gaming.
Ruth sniffed against the cold. "Like an island in the middle of a busy school of fish."
"Kind of, yeah."
"I used to feel that way, too. I guess I haven't thought about it much lately," Ruth confessed, frowning.
"It's because you have Cal," I pointed out. "That boy worships the ground you walk on. Of course, you never feel alone anymore."
Ruth's cheeks went pink, and she pushed at her glasses nervously. "I guess so. But I can make more time for you. I should have anyway, but you know I'm not the best human when it comes to… human things."
I laughed, tapping her knee with mine. "That's what I love about you, Ruthie P. Don't worry about it."
"You could just come live with us," she offered for the hundredth time.
I pulled a face. "Love you both—absolutely not. I'll take my chances with the guy I'm giving back problems to."
"Back problems?"
I stretched my mouth guiltily. "He's been sleeping on the couch, and I can hear him grumbling about his back every night."
Ruth laughed. "I guess he is in his… what… late thirties?"
"He's practically geriatric," I replied seriously.
"Well," she shrugged, her sweet, heart-shaped features taking on an amused tilt. "He is being stubborn about this whole thing anyway. He chose to sleep there."
"He made his bed," I agreed. I sank my teeth into my apple. Served him right for ignoring me.
When I got back to the apartment, Mini greeted me with fast tail wagging and excited leaps that nearly toppled the couches with their intensity. As I gave Mini her usual aggressive scratches and pats, I stared at the cream-colored couch cushions. They were empty with only folded blankets and pillows on the end because Rook had gone on another trip somewhere, and he hadn't bothered to tell me when he would be back. Not that I cared. Much. It wasn't like I was unused to living on my own. I'd been on my own since I was eighteen, since I had escaped the strangling, forced happiness of my childhood home and embarked on my own adventures.
The problem was the apartment did feel empty. It groaned like a hollow stomach, and I wasn't sure how to fill the cavernous quiet. As I hooked Mini up to her leash and set out on a fast walk through the dark neighborhood, a text came through the game's messaging app. For one, traitorous second, I had hoped it was a text from Rook. I knew it wasn't because he never texted me. Also, why would he? But maybe I'd gotten used to him being in the house because I kept hoping he would come back or tell me where he was.
Emmaculate94:
Hey you getting on tonight?
I tapped out a response while I waited for Mini to pee on a grass lot only a few hundred yards from the building.
GemsNLace178576:
Yeah, I'm alone in my apt and it's weird, so let's kill goblins.
Emmaculate94:
Oh yeah. I'm alone in my house a lot. I like when Dain is here. Guess it's good u have a guy sometimes.
GemsNlace178576:
Idk. He's not the comforting type.
Emmaculate94:
Oh, gotcha, Screw him, then.
GemsNlace178576:
U still with Dain in that apt?
Emmaculate94:
Yes, with Dain but moved into a new house. It's nice. U should come visit!
GemsNlace178576
Ooh, out of the apt! Moving up! Yeah, I'll have to come visit.
I had held back with Ruth earlier. I hadn't told her how conflicted I was about being with Rook. I hadn't mentioned that he never touched me, and as a person who craved connection, that was slowly killing me. I hadn’t told her that he made me dinner when he was home early enough, and he started my coffee before he left. I hadn’t told her that Rook looked like the most delicious slice of fudge cake I'd ever seen in my life, and I wanted to absolutely devour him whenever he was near me.
Why hadn't I told her? I couldn't say. Maybe because if I said it out loud, then that would be admitting that I was in an unrequited love situation with the roommate I'd gotten stuck with. And if I said that, then I would have to admit how pathetic it was.
But I could tell Emma. Typing it wasn't the same as saying it out loud. Right?
When I got back to the apartment, I got Mini settled for the night with her stuffies, a dental chew, and plenty of pats before I peeled off my coat. A sniff revealed that I smelled like a campfire, so I hung up the coat, hoping it would air out, and meandered over to the bedroom. Rook had cleared out half his closet, and as tempted as I had been to snoop through his things, I had miraculously resisted the temptation up to this point.
As I flicked on the light in the walk-in closet, I took a second to admire how funny it looked. On the left, nicely pressed, white dress shirts marched in a row back to earth-tone sweaters and dark suit jackets. On the right, an explosion of color stood in contrast to Rook's stately wardrobe, ruffling, swishing, and draping in vibrant hues like confetti. Any chance I could douse Rook in obnoxious color was a win in my book.
I peeled off my T-shirt, tossing it into the wicker hamper I kept under my hanging shirts, and reached for a hoodie before grabbing my favorite sweats from the shelf where I kept them folded. Rook's closet really was massive. With ten-foot ceilings, stacked rows of hanging rods the full height of the space, and plenty of square footage, I had contemplated asking him to make it my bedroom. At least then we would have our own beds. But then we'd have to give up our clothing storage, and I wasn't sure how practical that was, either. As I turned to leave, I glimpsed something on his top shelf. Usually, that shelf was where he kept his suitcase, but because he'd left on a trip, the spot six feet above me was empty.
Well, almost empty. A metallic, silver bag glinted in the dim lighting. I glanced around the abandoned closet like I might find Rook there, but he was gone. And his stuff was just sitting there, defenseless and vulnerable to snooping. I knew I shouldn't look, but why would a man have a silver bag hidden in the top of his closet? Was it a sex toy? His Yu-Gi-Oh! card collection from when he was fifteen? An accumulation of fingers from his serial killing hobby?
I dropped my sweatshirt and sweats to the carpeted floor, and still in my bra and jeans, I reached up on tiptoes to grab it. No use. I couldn't even reach the highest hanger rod in the closet, let alone the top shelf. But Rook had a set of sturdy-built, thick shelves that stacked up to the ceiling, and using my tiptoes, I was able to climb the lower shelf and reach the bag with a fast vault in the air and a swipe of my hand before falling backward.
I landed awkwardly, smashing into a row of formal suits behind me. The hangers clattered, and I had to adjust a few of them, but I had acquired my prize. Knox's secrets. Or his hidden hobby. Or his super spy kit. Whatever it was, it had a bit of weight to it, and it filled the bag tightly.
I shimmied the drawstring apart and found… rope.
That was it. Just regular, black, utilitarian rope. Frowning I let the bag droop along with my arms. "Lame," I muttered to no one. I should have known that Knox wouldn't do anything interesting. It was just that there was something about him—a darkness that shimmered under his glassy, cool exterior. I had fully expected to find something naughty.
The word "naughty" pinged in my brain. I slowly raised the bag to my eye level again. Wait a minute. Rope. No way. I dug past the neatly coiled rope to the side of the bag where a flat, glossy book had been tucked between the fabric and the buttery soft rope. I fished out the book, and my eyes widened incredulously. It was an instruction manual for shibari rope ties with a busty, black-haired beauty tied with rope into a series of knots on its cover. A man stood behind her, shirtless and holding a length of rope connected to her neck.
A sly smile crept up my features. I thumbed through the book, keeping the rope wedged under my arm as I looked through images of how to tie up partners—men and women—and how to fasten each knot so the wearer wouldn't be harmed or uncomfortable. The further I went, the more complicated they got, wrapping around the wearer's breasts, in beautiful patterns down their spines, and over their thighs and arms.
I'd never really explored shibari before—it had seemed terribly complicated, and I'd never had partners who had given an indication that they would be willing to learn. As I flipped through the explicit images of women tied down and partners clearly lavishing pleasure on their willing bodies, my nipples hardened against the padded material of my bra. This was really fucking hot.
It was hard to imagine Rook doing something like this. Part of me suspected that he was either a robot or a virgin because he never seemed interested in sexual partners. When I'd made the rule about not bringing back partners to the apartment for sex, he'd rolled his eyes like that was an absurd suggestion. Looking through this book, I had to wonder if his reaction had been more about how absurd it was to expect him to not have sex, rather than my assumption that he hadn't planned on having partners here.
The wraps, harnesses, and binding patterns became more complicated as the book went on, and after perusing them all with genuine interest, I went back to the beginning. The first instruction with pictures was how to bind the wrists, and it looked pretty simple. Shrugging, I unraveled the rope from the bag and set the open book on Rook's shelf of shoes, propped up against the heels of a pair of navy sneakers. I read the instructions twice, fairly certain that it wasn't possible to do this on myself, but too curious not to try.
As I wrapped the rope around both my wrists three times, leaving four inches between my hands, I then twisted the rope around the middle portion to make them look like handcuffs with a chain. "This isn't so hard," I muttered, glancing at the book and then back down at my wrists. The tricky bit here would be threading the end of the rope through the cuff around my wrist to secure a knot. I managed to wiggle it under my left wrist, but before I could thread it all the way through, I sensed someone behind me.
A strong arm curved around me, and before I could so much as turn in surprise, he grabbed the end of the rope I had managed to wiggle through my cuffs, and with a deft tug, he pulled my hands above my head. I had the briefest awareness that it was Rook who had come home and found me tying my own hands in his closet, and then he tossed the long end of the rope over the highest hanger rod, zipped it down, and pulled it taut. My arms yanked high above my head, lifting me onto my tiptoes, and with an astonished intake of breath, I found myself bound and practically hanging from the closet, two inches from Knox.
I rotated like a pinata on a string, dancing on my tiptoes and staring up at Knox in open-mouth shock. My heart slammed against my ribs, ricocheting around like a racquetball match. He stared down at me, one corded muscle in his forearm bulging as he held the rope he'd deftly turned into a pulley. His blond hair looked disheveled, zhuzhed to the side and partially falling over one arctic blue eye. He was still wearing his black wool jacket, and in the muted lighting from the overhead lights, his sharp features cast shadows over one side of his face. He pulled a little harder, nearly lifting me off my toes. "Experimenting?"
"Uh," I choked out. I glanced up at my hands, securely held by cuffs of my own doing, and then back to him. "You're home."
One corner of his mouth twitched up. "Just in time, it seems."
I raised a look to the rope again, and then reluctantly met his darkened gaze. "I was just… testing your rope." I swallowed. "Seems sturdy."
"Hm," he hummed, his eyes dropping to my bra and bare midriff and back up. "I can think of other ways to test its strength. Are you offering to help?"
I gaped at him, my wrists already getting sore. "Are you ?"
He shrugged. "I see the merits of tying you down so you can't make trouble, Gem."
Gem . It was such a simple thing, that nickname, but he'd never said it before. He'd never done anything remotely endearing with me, come to think of it. And here he was, offering to tie me up and using a nickname. I blinked at him. "I think the elevation on the plane went to your head."
His hard features cracked, dangerously close to a smile. "Is it that crazy that I might like having you in ropes?"
"Well, you clearly like ropes," I pointed out, my voice breathy. "I wasn't sure you liked me."
That seemed to confuse him. "Why would you think I don't like you?"
I shifted a pointed look to where he had me suspended from a fucking closet. "Gee, I don't know. The scowling is a good indicator."
"I scowl at everyone." He eased up on the rope a tad, and my wrists stopped aching.
"You also touch everyone but me," I added before I could stop myself. Why did you say that ? I thought with sudden panic. I might as well have asked him why he didn't find me attractive.
Knox smelled like his cologne, masculine and woodsy, and his body drifted within a millimeter of pressing against me until I could feel the heat from his body seeping into my bare skin. He angled his head, perusing my body slowly. "Where do you want me to touch you, Gem?"
My breath clogged in my throat. I lifted my chin, putting our lips an inch away from touching. Anywhere , my thoughts sighed. Everywhere. Are your fingers calloused? Smooth? Reality squirmed under the melting pool of desire at the center of my thoughts, and with an effort, I managed to save myself from looking like an utter fool. "You could start with this rope. It's kind of chafing."
He breathed out a laugh, blue eyes dancing over my features momentarily. Then he turned his attention to the rope, and letting it slide away, he took my bound wrists between his hands. With a few masterful tugs, he had my hands free and the rope coiling between his fingers as he gathered it. His keen eyes watched me as I rubbed my skin and stepped away toward the door. "I believe we have a rule about snooping."
I cleared my throat, bending down to scoop up my hoodie from the floor. "I wasn't snooping. I was… inspecting."
"Ah, inspecting." He nodded in mock consideration. "So, then, we aren't getting married—we're legally contracting with each other. Is that how that works?"
I shoved my arms through the hoodie, glaring. "We aren't doing either of those things."
Knox looped the rope, watching me with steady confidence. "We are. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can move on from this."
With my heart sprinting in my chest and my insides liquid with desire, I couldn't deny that the sooner I put distance between myself and Knox, the better off I would be. He was dangerous. "Find another way," I suggested. I pulled the hoodie over my head, and as I tugged it down, I peeked at him again.
He was still watching me, wrapping the rope mechanically and skillfully. "And what way would you suggest?"
I had no idea. Living with Knox was becoming increasingly perilous for my sanity. Marrying him was unthinkable, even as a solution to a problem. I pulled up my hood and folded my arms. "Is blackmailing your mother an option?"
Amusement softened his features. "Tempting."
"It's too late to scheme, Rook. I'm going to bed." I turned to leave, but I paused on the threshold. With a look over my shoulder, I asked, "You wash that rope after you use it, right?"
Rook cinched a knot around the bunch of rope with a hard tug, not breaking eye contact. "This one's new."
I swallowed hard. "Oh."
"Satisfied?" he asked, one eyebrow lifting.
Not even remotely. Sadly. "I'm not sure how I feel about that," I admitted. "How many do you have?"
"Enough."
I considered the way his strong hands were tapping the rope, and my stomach did a front flip. Enough for what? For a bratty matchmaker? For an orgy? Turning away from him with one last shrewd glance, I left the closet. I guess I'll never know.