The Art of Us Read online

“Let’s talk about Amos,” she said abruptly, leaning against the partition of my cubicle.

  “Let’s not,” I retorted, leaning against the back of my chair. I hadn’t even had any coffee. It was way too early for this shit, especially without any type of alcohol involved.

  “Do you remember that night at Marty’s? He and I had just started dating and we had a party to celebrate the new hires. Someone suggested we start playing seven minutes in heaven…whose idea was it?”

  “I don’t know.” Yeah, whose idea was it? What a dumb idea that was.

  I stretched my arms up and yawned, hoping she’d drop the subject. She’d tried before, and I never let her have it.

  But no such luck.

  “If I remember correctly, you and Amos kissed, didn’t you?” Her tone was playful and snarky. She didn’t need to ask; she remembered perfectly well. I narrowed my eyes at her, feigning annoyance.

  “You’re wrong. You were so drunk that night you ended up sleeping at Marty’s for the first time. Remember that?”

  “No, missy. I’ve heard the story from other people. You were one of the first couples to go in and after you came out, you didn’t look like yourself at all. That’s what I remember, and that’s what everyone else said. And then you managed to slip away like you often do. You’re a master escape artist when it comes to fleeing a party.”

  “The party was about dead when I left,” I told her, raising my eyebrows in an effort to look confident about my words.

  Violet could sometimes see right through me.

  “How was the kiss?” The look on her face showed just as much determination as the tone of her voice did.

  “There was no kiss.”

  “You’re lying. I know you well enough by now to know when you’re lying, Lena,” she pleaded. “Tell me the truth, once and for all.”

  “Fine. The kiss was…” Mind-bending, soul-crushing, the best kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life. “It was…inconsequential.” Unforgettable. I licked my lips and swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. She eyed me questioningly, and I shrugged. “It was nothing special, which is why I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Lena.”

  “Violet,” I said, mimicking her tone. “If you don’t drop the subject, I will drop out of your wedding.”

  Her eyes widened in shock, but she quickly recovered.

  “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t do something like that to me, or to Marty.”

  “Try me.”

  She let out a deep breath, exasperated. “Fine. I’ll stop asking you about it.”

  “Good.”

  “Jeez. If only your fans knew how you are in real life,” she said in a sarcastic tone, cocking one eyebrow at me.

  I shot her an annoyed look. “You wouldn’t.”

  “No. You’re lucky, I won’t. I know you don’t even want to have anything to do with that. That’s all Marty. I know he makes you guys play nice on social media.”

  “Yeah, the asshole,” I said seriously, but when I looked at her, we both pursed our lips, stifling a laugh.

  “So…the kiss was nothing special, was it? Completely terrible?”

  “Violet!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m going to go back to my numbers now. You be good. See you at lunch?”

  “Maybe…if you’re lucky.”

  “You always say that, and then I never see you.”

  “Because I don’t do lunch.”

  “So stop saying I might see you.”

  “So stop asking,” I retorted.

  “Bye, friend. See you later.”

  Despite the frequent bickering, Violet was one of my best friends. The other one was Marty, of course. They were the only people I shared anything with, the only ones I cared about.

  I’d met Marty fresh out of college, during the darkest time of my life. He was a random online connection that turned out to be a true friendship, a lifeline. We met in real life after months of chatting in an anime chatroom, having long, detailed conversations about our favorite artists and our love of comics, and we’d been friends ever since. Although we enjoyed each other’s company, and even though I found him to be cute in that certain geeky way with his unruly light-brown hair and wide-rimmed glasses that partially hid his soulful blue eyes, there was never a physical attraction between us.

  Ours had always been a cerebral one.

  His screen name had been McFly1985, an homage to his favorite childhood movie, Back to the Future, and I’d called him McFly ever since. We’d been friends for years, and he was the one who’d kept me alive during those terrible months.

  Months…

  They always felt like years, the excruciating pain making that time seem so much longer.

  Still running empty on caffeine, I walked to the breakroom in a daze, thinking about Marty and his visionary entrepreneurship, about him and Violet, a comic book-worthy couple.

  I pressed the button of the Keurig and stood leaning against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. I tuned out the conversation a couple of techs were having and brought the cup to my lips, pressing them against the mug, taking the first sip.

  It warmed me up, and then Marty and Amos entered the room.

  I jumped, almost spilling the coffee on myself. I straightened up and gave Marty a half-smile.

  “At ease, soldier,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  “Har har. See you around, boss,” I replied as I moved to leave.

  “Lena.” I turned around to look at my friend, who knew entirely too well how fidgety I got when trying to hide my distress.

  “Come see me later, okay?” He gave me a warm smile, and I smiled back.

  “Of course.” I nodded in agreement.

  As I turned to leave, Amos St. Clair was right in front of me. Our gazes locked, and my eyes fell to his lips.

  Don’t go there. Don’t think about it.

  But then his smell enveloped me, reaching my nostrils, forcing me to remember.

  The way he felt…the way he tasted. I needed to walk away and forget about all of it.

  Damn Violet for even talking about something that happened two years ago.

  I tried to sidestep to the right to get out of his way, but he mirrored my movement and did the same when I moved to the left, stuck in an awkward dance.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled as I finally got out of his way. I stepped out of the breakroom as fast as I could without spilling my hot coffee and rushed back to my desk.

  Don’t think about it.

  It was easy to say, not easy to do.

  I thought about it often, despite knowing I shouldn’t.

  The truth was, I did remember. I remembered everything about that night.

  I remembered everything about his kiss, because it was the best kiss I’d ever had.

  No one had ever kissed me like that, not before him, and not since.

  Stop thinking about it.

  But I couldn’t. I could never stop thinking about it. I hadn’t been able to do so for the last two years.

  AMOS

  After she left the kitchen, I waited for my turn to use the Keurig as Marty talked to someone else in the breakroom. I stared at my cup of coffee as it filled up, aggravated by my two recent encounters with Lena.

  Based on the way she always acted when I was around, she hated my guts. That much was obvious—or maybe she just wanted to make me believe she hated me. I didn’t know which one it was, and I didn’t understand why I cared to begin with, honestly.

  She didn’t mean anything to me, and I hadn’t done anything to her to justify her treating me the way she did, which made the whole situation even more childish and appalling.

  She’s just another bitch, I thought to myself, but part of me wasn’t so easily convinced. I didn’t understand why Lena acted the way she did when I was around.

  She was usually distant and lost in thought with everyone, but never mean. When I was around, however, her walls went up, as if I had done something to her.

  I h
adn’t.

  And yet, part of me was still confused, two years later.

  I knew it hadn’t been just me that night. I knew she’d felt it, too.

  I still remembered the mix of euphoria and nervousness I’d felt that night. I was one of the new guys hired by a small press full of promise. I had been following Marty’s efforts for a while, and I was thrilled to be able to work for him.

  I was a fan of Lena’s work, too. At the time, she had just started publishing her comic, Switch. Not only was Switch a poignant story, but I was a fan of her drawing style, a bit of a hybrid style between American and Japanese style comics. Between Paz Media’s recent releases and the new artists they’d hired along with me, the excitement in the room was palpable.

  Before someone decided to liven up the party with a game of seven minutes in heaven, we’d chatted for a bit. She was smart and beautiful, a sexy nerd who spoke the same language as me, with bright blue eyes glimmering with mischief and pink lips I was dying to taste.

  I fantasized about kissing her even before we were given the opportunity.

  I could still remember how it felt to have her in my arms, to kiss her and feel her skin on mine.

  It had been seven minutes in heaven, indeed.

  I knew she’d felt the same raw, unadulterated passion I’d felt.

  To me, it had been a revelation. Lena, on the other hand, had a different reaction.

  She got scared and bolted out of Marty’s house as soon as she could.

  I should have left her alone, shouldn’t have sought her out, but I had never felt anything so intense, anything so…electric with anyone before. I couldn’t bear it.

  I had to talk to her. I had to kiss her again.

  But my efforts to get close to her didn’t work. In fact, they had the opposite effect.

  She shut me out completely, until finally she told me plain and simple that it wouldn’t be a good idea to seek each other out since we were working together.

  She was right. I was the newcomer, and it wasn’t the best idea to get involved with a coworker, but still, I knew she was lying. I knew that wasn’t the reason she was trying to keep me away, at least not the main reason.

  She was simply scared shitless. Deep inside of me, I knew she’d felt it too.

  I knew kissing me had meant as much for her as it had for me.

  Even so, she didn’t want to admit it, so there was nothing else I could do. I accepted her excuses and kept my distance.

  For two years.

  I shouldn’t have been as bothered as I was by her silence, but it infuriated me.

  Why couldn’t she talk to me? Why couldn’t she at least be nice to me?

  She didn’t want to date me, fine, but why couldn’t she be civil?

  LENA

  Back at my desk, I touched my lips with two fingers, thinking about his kiss.

  It had all started with the stupidest game of seven minutes in heaven.

  The. Stupidest.

  That was what I got for even agreeing to participate in one of their dumb game nights.

  Nerds.

  Middle school-level nerds.

  This was why I never hung out with them, never played videogames or Dungeons & Dragons with them.

  But that night, I had been persuaded to be a team player, for the sake of the company.

  Paz Media—named after one of Marty’s favorite comic book artists, the late Andrea Pazienza—had been founded a few years back, during the booming age of social media. Marty was one of the first small publishers to use MySpace as a platform to create buzz around the company. At the time, the company wasn’t really founded, or funded; Marty was just trying to get the ball rolling.

  The publishing industry had already been suffering for decades, and it wasn’t easy to find someone crazy enough to invest in a niche publication like comics. After the crash of the markets in late 2008, it seemed like everything was lost. For a time, I didn’t know if Marty was ever going to be able to pull it off. I was working for another publishing company in Portland at the time, one that no longer existed.

  Thankfully, Marty was smart and patient. He kept working at his day job for an online startup while studying the markets and the trends. He applied for a small business loan and used his marketing experience to his advantage, establishing Paz Media’s reach through platforms like Facebook and Twitter. He’d been a Twitter enthusiast from the get-go, when people were making fun of a platform that relied on a hundred and forty characters.

  Over time, his intuition paid off.

  Paz Media had made a name for itself as a forward-thinking small press in Portland. As the company kept growing, Marty decided to hire a couple of new people.

  He wanted to expand and start publishing more titles.

  Our online sales were the strongest they’d ever been, and our paper sales were as steady as they could be in the current market. Year after year, we were able to grow a substantial audience, which was vital for a company like ours, but that didn’t mean our job was easier. Our income was provided mainly by digital sales, but the publishing world was cutthroat when it came to books, and even more so when it came to comics.

  However, six years in, Paz Media was going strong.

  Tomorrow, who knew? No one knew if we’d be able to stay afloat. No one knew if Marty would have to fold in a few years.

  We weren’t a big publisher. Our resources were limited, which was why everyone at Paz made even more of an effort to go the extra mile and keep the readers engaged on social media. We, unlike other big publishing companies or the traditional big names of the comic industry, tended to establish real connections and relationships with our readers. For that reason, we also covered a lot of the comic-con events around the US. I wasn’t very good with people, but I could turn my charm on when required.

  As much as I liked to consider myself socially awkward, I made an effort to be more outgoing when it came to engaging readers and being nice to them. Besides, I saw so much of myself in most of them. I saw that same kind of love, the same kind of passion for comics that had nurtured me during my darkest time, during my most difficult years.

  For the time being, things were going well, but who knew what the next day would bring.

  I had been reminded too many times in my life that making plans for the future is futile.

  You don’t hold the reins of your life.

  Fate does.

  That night, Marty insisted I come to the party for the sake of camaraderie, and apparently fate had wanted to mess with me just a little bit.

  I could admit I wasn’t the best or friendliest team player. I shied away from social engagements if I could. Even though I might have looked plain bitchy rather than socially awkward, the majority of the time I felt out of place. I’d felt that way my entire life.

  The only time I felt completely comfortable with myself was when I was alone, preferably sketching.

  That night, I said yes to Marty, and I agreed to go to his stupid party. I somehow got involved in participating in stupid, childish games, too.

  That was how I ended up kissing Amos St. Clair, one of the new people. At least he was the most attractive out of the three of them. The other guy was scraggly-looking, and the third graphic artist was a girl. Even though she was really cute, I’d never been one to kiss girls.

  I liked men, in small doses.

  Amos and I had been shoved rather unceremoniously into a narrow closet. At first, we didn’t speak. We’d both had a couple drinks so we were buzzed, and it felt awkward as hell to be so close to each other. The closet light was on, and that was when I really saw him for the first time.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off what I saw. He was so handsome.

  His profile was stunning. His black, longish hair that cascaded down the side of his face, his high forehead and straight nose that led to luscious lips framed by a hint of scruff.

  When he turned, his brown eyes pinned me as he studied my face.

  I still remembered feeli
ng tethered to his lips like a fool, like a hopeless romantic would.

  As if his kiss was the cure. As if his kiss could erase years of loneliness. As if with his tongue, he could erase every bad memory.

  In a way, for those few minutes, it felt true. I felt as if he was erasing all of my past.

  The pain, the heartbreak, the guilt, the feelings of neglect all but disappeared as he held me in his arms.

  Despite my better judgment, I clung to him as if my life depended on it.

  His kiss was that good…that intense…that pure.

  It was the type of kiss that sweeps you off your feet, the kind you can’t stop thinking about, the kind you can’t forget.

  And I hadn’t. I hadn’t forgotten it, as much as I’d tried to.

  It didn’t matter how many men I had kissed since—no one came close to the passion and the raw intensity of that one kiss.

  Seven minutes in heaven…almost five of them kissing him.

  We’d talked for a minute, joking about the absurdity of the situation.

  We mumbled something to each other, something about how the situation was so stupid.

  So stupid.

  Awkward silence followed and a couple of seconds later, he reached for the light and turned it off. In the darkness of Marty’s closet, our eyes focused on each other’s face, the sudden electric current between us almost unbearable.

  Seconds later, we were in each other’s arms, lips clashing, our hands frantic, needing to feel the other’s body.

  Neither of us was thinking, that much was obvious.

  Inebriated by the nearness of each other, we acted like euphoric drunks.

  In the darkness, we collided like meteors and succumbed to the strange pull we had, to the need to feel.

  We needed to feel someone’s touch, needed to feel a connection.

  Seven minutes in heaven was our deus ex machina and our downfall.

  We were steadying each other and yet we were both unraveling, overcome by a power too strong for either of us.

  His kiss was so intense that in that moment, I believed I could walk through fire. I would have been ready to fall into an abyss with him, if necessary. Hand in hand, mouth to mouth.

  I was ready for anything.