Almost Like Love

by Abigail Strom

  She nodded again.

  “Okay, so, here’s my idea. There’s this guy who can give you any superpower you want, for a price. But you can only pick one, and you can’t ever change it, and he won’t tell you the price until after you agree to the deal. So you might have to steal the Hope Diamond or something, and you won’t know until you’ve already said yes.”

  Kate was impressed. “That’s a really cool idea, Jacob.”

  He bounced a little on the bed, and she remembered his bouncing like that at the baseball game. “That’s not even the cool part. The cool part is, the people who get the superpowers they’ve always wanted don’t always like the way it turns out. Sometimes they do, but not always, because there are—”

  “Unintended consequences?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Exactly. So . . . do you want to see it?”

  “Of course!”

  She took the book from Jacob, settled back against the headboard, and started to read.

  She would have found something nice to say even if it had been the worst thing she’d ever seen, but it was wonderful. The drawing was rough, but Jacob had a real instinct for line and form, and there was an energy to the panels that made up for their lack of polish. She almost forgot he was there, waiting with bated breath for her verdict, as she turned the pages and met the five main characters whose lives would change by the end of the story.

  “Oh, Jacob. It’s fantastic.”

  He flushed up to the roots of his hair. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

  “Absolutely not.” She closed the book and handed it back to him. “This is incredible. In fact . . .”

  And just like that, inspiration struck. She actually felt goose bumps on her arms.

  “In fact, I have a proposal for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “You don’t have to answer right now. But I’ve got an appointment at a network next week, and I haven’t decided what to pitch yet. The development executive I’m meeting with is known for taking risks with quirky, original projects. I want to pitch him your idea.”

  His eyes were huge behind his glasses. “You mean . . . you think it could be a TV show?”

  “Yes—or a movie or miniseries. I should warn you, though, that networks say no to most of the projects they look at. And if they do pick it up, you should also know that you’d be giving up creative control. They’d have the rights to develop the story in whatever way they choose.”

  “Would you be a part of it, though? Like, as a writer or director or whatever?”

  “Yes, if we get that far. But we probably won’t. Even if they like the initial pitch, the project would still have to make it all the way up the chain of production approvals. In other words, Jacob, don’t get your hopes up.”

  “It’s totally too late for that,” he said, and she laughed.

  “Okay, I guess that’s too much to expect. But even though you’re excited now, I want you to think about it for a few days. There are a lot of things to consider. You might decide that TV is too commercial for you, and that you’d rather keep your idea as a graphic novel. You could submit it to a publisher or even self-publish it when you decide it’s ready. I could help you do that.”

  He was bouncing on the bed again. “I’ll think about it, but I already know my answer. I want you to pitch it at your appointment. Can we talk more about it when I get back?”

  “Of course. That’ll give you time to talk to Ian, too.”

  He stopped bouncing. “About that,” he said, his tone more subdued.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to tell Ian. Not yet, anyway. When I first moved here, I used to work on my book out in the living room, and he’d say I should be outside in the fresh air, instead of cooped up inside, drawing. So then I started working on it in my room, so I could say I was doing homework if he knocked on the door.” He paused. “It’s just . . . I know he thinks comic books are stupid and he wishes I’d spend more time doing sports or whatever. So I don’t want to say anything to him unless this actually turns into something. You know?”

  She knew, all right. Jacob was afraid his uncle wouldn’t take him or his work seriously. It was hard to show a creative project to the world—and sometimes it was easier to show total strangers than your own family.

  On the other hand, she didn’t feel comfortable keeping anything about Jacob from his uncle.

  Still, what she’d told Jacob was true—only a small percentage of projects pitched to networks ever got picked up. Chances were, nothing would come of this anyway. “I guess we don’t have to tell him right now. But if this actually ends up going somewhere, your uncle will have to be involved.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  They heard the intercom buzz in the living room, and Jacob sprang to his feet. “They’re here! Will you come down with me and meet them?”

  “Sure. It’s time for me to head home anyway.”

  She carried his suitcase down and shook hands with Jacob’s grandparents, who seemed very nice—and were obviously crazy about their grandson.

  She walked home, taking it slowly and thinking about Jacob’s story. One of his main characters was a teenage boy who’d lost both his parents. The parallels were obvious and made her think of the stories she’d written over the years that echoed her own dreams and fears and subconscious hauntings.

  She remembered telling a fan at a convention that people have been telling stories for as long as language has existed, and that stories are one of the most powerful tools we have for navigating the pain and joy of being alive.

  Apparently Jacob had already figured that out. Pretty impressive for an eleven-year-old. Of course, he was a pretty impressive kid in general.

  And his uncle, she was starting to think, wasn’t too bad himself.

  The next day, Kate woke up feeling like a kid on the first day of summer vacation. At first there was just a vague sensation of happiness without a particular cause, but when she rolled onto her side to pet Gallifrey, memory returned.

  Ian was coming over tonight.

  Not for a date, of course. For a game of Dungeons & Dragons, of all things. It didn’t get much more un-date-like than that.

  So there was no reason for her to spend two hours that day cleaning her apartment, which was already pretty clean. But as she ran a dust cloth over her furniture, relishing the smooth patina of the different woods and the faint lemon scent of the cleaner she used, she found herself smiling like a teenage girl on the day of her prom.

  She felt less like a teenager and more like a woman when she changed her sheets. It was impossible not to imagine Ian lying there, his big body dominating her queen-size bed.

  Of course, she’d never see him here in real life. A game of Dungeons & Dragons was the least likely scenario for foreplay ever, which was probably why Ian had chosen that particular activity. She’d made such a point of clarifying the boundaries between them there was no chance he’d try to cross the line.

  As she acknowledged that fact to herself, she straightened her blue silk comforter over the clean white sheets and smoothed out the wrinkles.

  The silk felt good under her hands, like most of the things in her apartment. She always paid attention to texture when she was decorating, choosing to fill her home with things she enjoyed touching.

  Thoughts of touching led inevitably to thoughts of Ian. Ian dancing with her . . . Ian driving her home on a motorcycle . . . Ian pushing her back against the wall and kissing her like some kind of barbarian conqueror.

  All at once she gave in to fantasy. She threw herself onto the bed and rolled onto her back, closing her eyes and imagining Ian on top of her, pressing her into the mattress.

  God, that big body. Chris was a couple of inches shorter than she was, and though that fact had never bothered her, she suspected it had bothered him. The few times s
he’d put on high heels for a special occasion, he’d always suggested she change into flats—so she’d be more comfortable.

  But Ian was taller than she even when she wore four-inch spikes. It might not be politically correct to relish his physical dominance, but the truth was, when she remembered how easily he’d pushed her against the wall and how the breadth of his shoulders had blocked everything else from her view, she felt like a Victorian maiden in need of lavender water and a fainting couch.

  Of course, fantasy was one thing and reality another. The list of cons for letting anything happen with Ian was pretty long.

  Maybe Simone was right about her clinging to this one a little too hard, but the fact was, he had cancelled her show.

  The two of them were polar opposites in a lot of ways, with different priorities, talents, interests, and values.

  He was a Yankees fan.

  She’d just broken up with her fiancé and needed time to recover from that before she even thought about getting involved with someone new.

  When she was ready to go out again, Ian was the last man in the world she should consider dating. This was because:

  He was not a guy who did relationships. It was widely known that when Ian hooked up, it was just that—a hookup. His liaisons rarely lasted more than a few weeks.

  Ian’s aversion to relationships occasionally made the jump from her con list to her pro list. As Simone said, every woman was entitled to a hot rebound fling once in her life. And what better candidate for that kind of relationship than Ian Hart?

  But every time she considered that point, she always ended up putting the item back on her con list. The truth was, despite her aborted quest for rebound sex that night at the club, she knew in her heart that one-night stands were not her thing.

  Another item on the con list: she was actually starting to think that she and Ian could be friends. Letting something happen between them would only screw that up.

  There was Jacob to consider, too. Muddying things between her and Ian couldn’t possibly be good for his nephew.

  Her pro list, on the other hand, consisted of only one item.

  Ian was the sexiest man she’d ever known, and the chemistry she felt when she was with him was like nothing she’d ever experienced.

  Funny how sometimes that one item seemed to outweigh everything on her con list.

  But the part of her that wanted to jump Ian’s bones was the crazy part, and not to be encouraged.

  Simone employed several strategies when she didn’t want to sleep with a guy but needed help to bolster her willpower. Her favorite was the wear-hideous-underwear strategy—the idea being that a woman in granny panties will never risk their being seen.

  Kate decided to go with a different approach. Thinking about Ian made her feel sexy, and even though she wasn’t going to act on it, she enjoyed the feeling so much that she didn’t want to ruin it by wearing ratty underwear.

  So instead she put on her best lingerie. The effect would be the same, since if Ian ever saw what she was wearing under her clothes, he’d conclude that she’d been expecting him to disrobe her at some point during the evening, which would be even more humiliating than letting him see her in granny panties.

  So she put on the birthday present she’d gotten this year from Simone. It had been something of a gag gift, since Kate wasn’t the sexy-lingerie type, but she secretly adored the black lace set. It fit exquisitely, and the bra and panties were so delicate and impractical that Kate had always thought of them as objects to look at, rather than wear. She’d never even taken the tags off . . . until now.

  Ian was coming over at eight with Oreos, milk, and Dungeons & Dragons. A very unromantic setup, which was definitely for the best—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge herself beforehand. Ian didn’t need to know that she took a jasmine-scented bubble bath before putting on gossamer-fine lingerie—especially since it was hidden under jeans and a tee shirt.

  But she would know . . . and she’d enjoy the secret.

  Ever since that night at the club, she’d been taking more pleasure in her physicality: standing up straighter, wearing her hair down every so often, even making an appointment for a leg wax the week before. Part of it was undoubtedly a reaction to her breakup with Chris, but it was also the realization that a man like Ian Hart could be attracted to her.

  One dance and one kiss had done wonders for her self-esteem.

  By the time Andreas sent him up that night, she was confident that she’d gotten her fantasies out of her system and was ready to enjoy a relaxed, platonic evening.

  Then she opened the door.

  Ian stood there in faded jeans and a black button-down shirt, looking sexy and powerful and good enough to eat. There was stubble on his jaw and a half smile on his face, and Kate wondered if it was possible for any woman to be friends with this man. She could see being his colleague or his enemy or his sex toy, but his friend?

  Then he held up the Dungeons & Dragons box and a bag of Oreos, and her heart rate slowed a little. A man who’d once played a fantasy adventure game had more layers to his personality than were immediately apparent. He might even be friend material after all.

  “Ready for milk and cookies and sword fighting?” he asked.

  She stood back to let him in. “Absolutely. Although I also have wine or beer if you want something stronger.”

  She’d been on the fence about suggesting alcohol, but a glass of wine would help her relax—and it was Saturday night, after all.

  But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she worried that Ian would misinterpret her intentions. Maybe he’d think she was trying to get him drunk so she could take advantage of him.

  “Sure, wine sounds great.”

  He spoke casually, so she figured it was okay.

  “You can set up the game on the coffee table,” she said as she headed for the kitchen. “Do you prefer red or white?”

  “Red.”

  Her grandparents had been wine connoisseurs, and she’d been working her way through their collection over the last few years. She hesitated a moment, wondering what to choose, then decided on a Château Lafite Rothschild. She filled two glasses but left the bottle in the kitchen, not wanting to be accused of wine snobbery. If Ian knew anything about the subject, he’d know this particular vintage would fetch well over $3,000 at auction.

  Ian was sitting on the living room floor with his back against the sofa. There was a collection of multicolored polyhedral dice on the coffee table, along with a handful of miniatures and several sheets of paper.

  She set the wineglasses down before sitting on the floor on the other side of the table. When he lifted his glass, she lifted hers, too.

  “To friendship,” he said, and she felt a rush of relief—and a twinge of disappointment she immediately repressed.

  “To friendship,” she echoed, and they both drank.

  Ian’s eyes widened. “Holy hell,” he said, staring at the glass in his hand before taking another sip. “You have a whole bottle of this?”

  She nodded. “My grandparents loved wine, and they left me their collection.”

  “Damn,” he said appreciatively, inhaling the aroma. “I didn’t realize you knew anything about wine. I never saw you drink at a network party.”

  “I don’t like to drink at work, even if it’s a social event. It’s too easy to have one too many and say something stupid.”

  “You like to stay in control,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Well, sure. At work, anyway. Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Probably,” he agreed, taking one more sip, then setting his glass down. “Are you ready to get started?”

  She nodded. “I played a little in high school, but I don’t remember much. I know you use the dice to create your character, though.”

  “You can—but sometimes a Dungeon Master rol
ls characters in advance for a particular adventure.” He slid one of the sheets of paper over to her. “I created one for you, but if you don’t like her, we can roll one from scratch.”

  Character Name: Red Sonja

  Race: Human

  Class: Fighter

  There were several other details listed, including the armor she wore and the weapons she fought with.

  Kate looked up from the sheet with a grin. “You’re letting me be Red Sonja? I’m surprised you even know who she is.”

  “I didn’t before that night at the club when Arthur announced that you were a dead ringer for her.” He nodded towards the framed print on the wall. “I have to admit, I can see the resemblance.”

  “Thank you, kind sir. And I’d love to play this character. Role-playing games are all about wish fulfillment, right? And I always wanted to be a warrior.”

  “You’ve never been a warrior in real life?”

  “I assume you mean metaphorically, and no. I create stories about heroes and heroines who fight evil, but in my own life I’ve never been very brave.”

  Ian started to speak but then stopped himself. Kate wondered what he’d been about to say. She almost asked him, but then Gallifrey jumped up on the coffee table and swatted at one of the dice.

  Ian picked it up from the floor as Gallifrey knocked another one off the table, and Kate scrambled to her feet.

  “He’s looking for dinner,” she explained, and went to the kitchen to feed him.

  “Explain to me why people like cats so much?” Ian asked when she came back.

  She sat on the floor again, cross-legged this time. “Do you know what Jean Cocteau said about cats?”

  “No, but I bet you’re about to change that.”

  “He said, ‘I love cats because I love my home, and after a while they become its visible soul.’ ”