Playing Knotty by Elia Winters

because it was never long-term, and then she’d have the aftermath of that to deal with.
    â€œBut what if you don’t know whether it’s going to last? How do you know someone is in it for the long haul, or if they just want sex?”
    Bethany pursed her lips, looking up at the ceiling. “Well . . . if there’s chemistry, I usually just have sex with them right away. Then if they leave, I know they just wanted sex.” She laughed at Emma’s expression. “It’s only sex. And it’s only dating. It’s not marriage. You don’t really know until you give it a try.”
    Emma nodded, thinking. In the ensuing silence, she finished her sandwich and took a sip of water from the half-empty bottle sitting on her desk from the night before.
    Bethany watched her, probably waiting for another question. When none came, she asked one of her own. “You want to tell me what’s actually going on?”
    Emma shrugged and took a bite from her apple. Honestly, she did. Bethany was a neutral person in the situation. “Yeah, maybe. But now’s probably not a good time for it.”
    Bethany considered, head tipped to the side. “We’re both off at four. You want to go get coffee?” Then she hesitated. “Unless that would be weird for you, because you’re my boss? I don’t care if you don’t.”
    Emma shook her head. She wasn’t worried about separating business from her professional life. “It’s fine. We’re the same age.” Of course, going to Starbucks today meant she wouldn’t be able to go later in the week, but she could make that sacrifice.
    Bethany nodded. “Yeah, and you’re not crazy.” The bell dinged over the door. “Well, that’s my cue. Enjoy your break.”

    A t four, they crossed the street to Starbucks and got a table in the back corner, the same corner where Emma had browsed Ian’s website. Funny what a difference a couple of weeks could make.
    Over the rest of the workday, Emma had realized that Bethany was practically a stranger to her, though they’d been working together for almost six months. Emma knew Bethany lived in Chinatown near the Theater District, and that she usually brought lunch from the restaurant she lived above. They both liked reading everything without any real preference for one specific genre, and talked mostly about books when they worked together.
    Sure enough, Bethany’s first words to her as she slid into the seat opposite, caramel latte in hand, were about the latest novel by Barbara Kingsolver; they spent a good ten minutes waxing poetic about her descriptive style and comparing her to other authors they’d both read.
    â€œI wish I could write like her.” Bethany stared off at the painting above Emma, shaking her head in wistful contemplation. “The woman has talent.”
    â€œYou write?” Emma leaned in, interested. She’d never written anything longer than a business plan.
    Bethany shrugged. “A bit. I was really into it back in college, but not too much lately.”
    â€œFiction? Poetry? What?”
    â€œSome of both. Mostly poetry, though. I wrote a lot of poetry.” Bethany stared back up at the painting. “Got a few of them published in Clarion, the literary journal at BU.”
    â€œNo kidding.” Emma looked at Bethany. This was a side she had never seen. “Why didn’t you ever mention it? If that were me, I’d be bragging about it to anyone who’d listen.”
    â€œYeah, well, that’s not really me.” Bethany dipped her tall silver spoon into the mug and stirred in a bit of whipped cream drizzled with caramel.
    â€œYou ever think about doing more?”
    â€œMaybe.” She set the spoon aside and picked up her mug with both hands, resting her elbows on the table. After sipping, she looked down, her lips curling up a bit. “Can I be honest? Promise you