The Art of Us Read online

A beginning, and an ending. I was ready for darkness to envelop me and make me forget everything else.

  His kiss was the cure. His kiss was the poison from Romeo’s lips.

  For a few minutes, his kiss obliterated every single painful memory that weighed on my heart every minute of every day. I felt as if I were levitating.

  I had never felt such lightness, not since I was a child who couldn’t see how jaded people around her were.

  His tongue stole my breath over and over, until I was dizzy, until the more rational side of my brain reminded me I was crossing the line.

  It was too much. I was going too far.

  Despite the all-consuming, can’t-get-enough feeling of his kiss, I broke it off, and when I did, I couldn’t look at him. Even in the dark, I couldn’t bear to look at him.

  I couldn’t bear admitting to myself what his kiss had ignited.

  Staring at his heaving chest under my fingers, the fresh memory of his kiss reminded me of ocean waves crashing on the rocks on a stormy winter day.

  Too intense. Too strong.

  It was too much. It was too much for me to bear.

  His kiss was a dangerous weapon.

  It could be my salvation, or it very well could be my destruction. My chest felt heavier as the rush of adrenaline started dying down.

  The enchantment was killed once and for all when everyone outside started counting down the seconds for us to get out of there.

  “Lena,” he said in a raspy, low voice, reaching for my hand. I pulled away from him, and when the countdown was over, I stormed out of the closet.

  Everyone was laughing and joking at our expense, so I had to downplay the whole experience. I could feel his eyes on me, searching for that connection again, but now that I was out, now that my mask was back on, I was untouchable.

  My heart was safe from him, safe from his temptation.

  Safe from his earth-shattering kiss, from any type of disturbance he might cause in my boring, methodic life.

  I left Marty’s place soon after, as soon as it was safe for me to get away without anyone realizing. Just like Violet had said, I was a master escape artist, able to slip away without anyone noticing.

  My walls had come down for a stupid game of seven minutes in heaven, but I wasn’t going to let Amos St. Clair do that to me again.

  LENA

  Following our kiss, I avoided Amos at all costs.

  Elusion was my thing. I was an expert at it. I was fantastic at avoiding and alienating people. He tried over and over to talk to me, asking me out for coffee, dropping by my desk, trying to make lunch plans.

  I would make conversation, but politely shut him down each time.

  After a few weeks, he gave up trying to make small talk.

  I was thankful for it, because I didn’t trust myself around him. I was too afraid I’d succumb again, just like I had the night of the party.

  I feared I might fall for him in a way I had never fallen before.

  I couldn’t let that happen. Falling for Amos St. Clair would have been comparable to jumping out of a plane. It was far too dangerous for someone like me.

  And what would happen if my parachute didn’t open? I couldn’t survive him.

  I went about my life, and so did he.

  Two years had gone by, two years of ignoring each other. We only saw each other at the office, in passing.

  Later that day, around lunchtime, I avoided Violet once again and got out of the office to grab a sandwich. When I returned, I sat down and opened up the notebook I kept on my desk, the one I sketched in to get me going in the morning. I would sketch my characters or characters from other comics and manga I loved. It helped when I was having writer’s block, or when I was having a bad day.

  This day hadn’t started in the best of ways.

  Even before getting to work, I had been in a huge funk. I hadn’t slept well the night before. Truthfully, I hadn’t been feeling too good ever since I saw a certain alumni e-mail about an upcoming college reunion.

  Any time I had something come in from my alma mater, I was overcome with sadness and despair. College had been the best time of my life, until it wasn’t.

  Everything about college made me think of her.

  I should have just unsubscribed from the stupid emails already.

  I missed her. It had been more than ten years, and I still missed her the same way.

  Whoever said time heals wounds was out of their goddamned mind. It still hurt the same way. It hurt just as it had when I’d woken up that morning in the hospital, all black and blue. I ran my finger over the tattoo on my wrist, the only daily, physical reminder I allowed myself to have.

  I set the memory of my best friend aside. It was a defense mechanism I’d learned to use over the years. I could only think about her when it was…safe, when I could be alone.

  There was no need to lose it at work.

  I had a bad reputation to maintain. There was no need to show everyone that I was sensitive and fragile.

  I kept sketching mindlessly in my notebook. I had a deadline to meet and no time to waste, but all morning I had only been able to get a couple of sketches done. Thinking about my looming deadline made me lose my appetite, but I refused to throw away the avocado BLT I had gotten from the deli downstairs. It had cost a pretty penny, and I knew I needed some food to function, appetite or not.

  I had just taken a big bite of my sandwich when someone decided to knock on the side partition of my cubicle. I glanced over my shoulder and was surprised to see Amos’ towering figure in my personal space.

  “Hey, Lena.”

  I froze a moment and stopped sketching then grabbed a napkin and covered my mouth.

  Apparently, my day was going to be a series of awkward encounters with Amos St. Clair. He leaned one arm on the cubicle wall, and my eyes fell right on his flexed bicep.

  Violet was right—he had put on some muscle.

  He waved at me and said something I couldn’t quite grasp. My mouth was full of food, and I was this close to choking on the crispy sourdough and lettuce stuck at the back of my mouth. I lifted a finger to tell him to wait, inhaled deeply through my nose, and then chewed on the rest of my bite while covering my mouth.

  I reached for the glass of water on my desk and took a sip as I heard him say he was sorry for interrupting my lunch.

  I swiveled around in my chair to face him.

  “It’s not a problem,” I replied with a shrug and a wave of my hand, trying a little too hard to look cool. I didn’t understand why I always felt so frazzled around him.

  I didn’t need to look cool—I was cool.

  That was what everyone thought of me, even though I liked to play the role of ice queen. Despite my bitchiness, I could have had pretty much any man I wanted just with a few suggestive words and a few bats of my eyelashes.

  The calm and collected demeanor I displayed around other men disappeared when I was in Amos St. Clair’s proximity. Around him, I became the biggest dork.

  At least this is the right office for it, I thought to myself.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the comic-con in Seattle this weekend,” he said in a deep tone of voice. Not only was Amos tall, dark, and handsome, his voice was something else. It was the type of voice that belonged to a stage actor—thundering, potent, the kind of sound that could seep into the deepest part of your soul. Even though there was at least three feet of distance between us, his voice echoed inside of me, and it made me shiver. Goose bumps erupted along my exposed forearms.

  On top of having a sexy-ass voice, whenever he said my name, I remembered the way he’d said it two years before in that dark closet. My insides coiled at the thought of it.

  You’re pathetic.

  My brain finally registered what he’d said, and the little daydream about his deep, masculine voice dissolved.

  Comic-con? This weekend?

  “This weekend? Yeah, but I’m going with Alan and Stewart. I didn’t see you on the schedule.”
I was confused. I was a meticulous planner, and I sure as hell hadn’t seen his name on the list. It was only me, Alan, and Stewart. It made sense going together since they were LGBTQ authors as well as a real-life gay couple and two of my close friends.

  “Did you not see the email thread?”

  “I went out to grab some lunch,” I explained.

  “Alan and Stewart’s surrogate has had some complications…I think they mentioned preeclampsia?”

  “Oh no! Is she okay? Is the baby all right?”

  Amos’ eyes widened upon hearing my distress and he frowned.

  “What?” I asked. “Oh, I see. You probably think I’m a bitch who doesn’t care about anyone.” He opened his mouth to say something, but I waved my finger in the air, stopping him. “That, in general, is an accurate statement, but not when it comes to Alan and Stewart. I care about those two. They deserve every happiness. They’ve already overcome so much, and it took them so long to find the right surrogate.”

  A laugh escaped his lips, and the tension in his shoulders relaxed. He walked into my cubicle and sat on a corner of my L-shaped desk.

  “It’s not…”

  “What?” I insisted.

  He laughed again, and I found myself warming up to it; the rich, warm sound of his laughter was inebriating.

  Stop it. You remember what happened last time, right?

  “I just didn’t think you three were that close.” He shrugged and folded his arms, hiding his hands under his biceps.

  “Well, we’re not that close, if you know what I mean. I’m not the one carrying their child—though not for lack of them trying,” I joked, and he laughed again. The deep, hearty sound was contagious, and I had to remind myself to look away from his lips, curling into a playful grin. Still, I let out a breath and smiled at him, against my better judgment. I distracted myself by turning my screen on and reading the thread of emails I’d missed.

  “Since they can’t go, you and I are sharing a table at the convention,” he explained. “You already have a room and I’m getting Alan and Stewart’s room, but I wanted to know if you’re okay with me driving there.”

  I frowned and momentarily tuned him out to glance over the emails, which included a back and forth between Alan, Stewart, and Marty. Their surrogate did indeed have preeclampsia and was on bed rest. She was nearing the thirty-two-week mark, and in light of this new development, Alan and Stewart didn’t feel comfortable leaving for the entire weekend.

  Enter Amos St. Clair.

  He was copied on further emails in which Marty informed us that it would be Amos and me going to represent Paz Media.

  “But that doesn’t make any sense!” I let out, exasperated, forgetting Amos was standing right there in my cubicle. His eyes bugged out and a frown quickly replaced the expression of shock on his face.

  Ah, shit. I could never do the right thing around him.

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you. What I mean is…it makes sense for the two of them and me to go together. They have an LGBTQ series, and I have a transgender series. How does your work pair up with mine? Not so well.”

  To be honest, I never paid too much attention to Amos’ work. The choice to ignore him was intentional, of course. I had seen some of his stuff online before he came to work for Paz Media and had completely fallen in love. It was the classic American comic book style with a modern twist.

  Amos’ current project, In Limbo, was a Blade Runner-inspired story set in the future, with a female cyborg as its protagonist. It had been not only well received, but judging from how much it was talked about in the office by my fellow nerds, I guaranteed everyone had boners for him, male and female employees alike.

  I had only seen things in passing in Marty’s office or on random emails—like I said, I purposely tried to stay away from it—but I knew the guy was astonishingly talented.

  If I didn’t know any better, I would have started feeling insecure around him, but if there was one thing in my life I never doubted, it was my talent as an artist.

  Our stuff stood out, that much I knew. We were both good.

  But he was no better than me.

  “I get your point,” he said as he straightened up, grimace twisting his handsome features.

  “It’s not about you,” I explained.

  He turned to leave and then peeked over his shoulder.

  “Whatever. There’s nothing you or I can do about it. I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  Two years.

  I had avoided Amos St. Clair for two years, and now I was going to have to spend a whole weekend with him.

  Fuck.

  LENA

  “What the fuck, Marty? Why? I would rather go by myself.”

  “Don’t be so damn selfish, Lena. Why would I waste the opportunity to showcase another one of my artists? I’m already going to have to deal with all the people disappointed because Alan and Stewart won’t be there. At least this will give them someone nice to look at.”

  I snorted, and he narrowed his eyes at me, giving me an annoyed look. He shook his head.

  “Do you really think so poorly of our readers?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, but let’s look at the facts. There are going to be a lot of readers who were looking forward to meeting Alan and Stewart. Instead, they get to meet Amos St. Clair. He’s good-looking, and he also happens to be a motherfucking good artist. They buy his comic, they fall in love with it, more readers for us. It seems logical to me.”

  “Fine,” I said, exasperated. “But you know, you could have consulted me first.”

  “I don’t need to consult you, Lena—I’m still your boss. By the way, I did email you separately to let you know. It’s your own fault that you’ve decided to ignore my emails.”

  “You’re going to fault me for not reading your emails, now? I thought we were past that.” I wasn’t trying to be stubborn and unprofessional. Although our friendship had been born online, these days, Marty and I had the kind of relationship where we communicated everything verbally, and emails were just for funnies.

  It all started because in the beginning, Marty would flood my work email with Star Trek memes and videos, despite the fact that he knew very well where my allegiance stood.

  The only star saga in my life was Star Wars, not Star Trek.

  He had claimed that with time he’d convert me to the Live long and prosper way of life, but he’d failed. He hadn’t turned me into a Trekkie, and he was so stupidly persistent that I’d eventually stopped looking at his emails at all.

  “So, there’s nothing I can do to get out of this? Is this your final decision?” I asked, hanging on to a sliver of hope. Maybe he’d change his mind and send me alone, or just send Amos.

  “It’s my final decision,” he said in a gravelly tone.

  “Amos and I don’t get along.”

  “Says you. I disagree. I believe if you gave him a chance, you two could be great friends.”

  “I don’t need another friend. I have you.” A radiant, kiss-ass smile spread across my face. I wasn’t even sorry about it. No shame whatsoever.

  “Either way, it’s final. You two are going together.”

  AMOS

  I almost fell out of my chair when I saw Lena appear at my desk that afternoon.

  And I was only more confused when she started apologizing to me.

  “Look, I’m really sorry about earlier,” she said with a certain hesitation in her voice. “I wasn’t…I’m not used to sudden changes of plans. I don’t handle them well, and Alan and Stewart had taken care of everything down to the smallest detail. They’d already picked the best breakfast place and had a list of restaurants we were going to try on our road trip. I guess…I guess I was just a little bit disappointed, that’s all.” She avoided my eyes and traced circles on the pattern of the carpet with her right foot while keeping her hands tucked in the pockets of her jeans.

  It had to have been Marty who’d put her up to this. It couldn’t have been her idea.<
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  I stifled a laugh and licked my lips. Her eyes met mine and then traveled to my mouth. She looked down again, as if she’d been caught staring at something she wasn’t supposed to look at.

  “Well, I suppose we can ask Alan and Stewart which places they were planning to take you to.”

  That earned me a shy smile, but she still didn’t look up.

  “I would like that,” she said.

  “You have to understand…I haven’t gotten that many chances to go to comic-cons yet, so this is a big deal to me. I’m pretty psyched about it,” I explained.

  “As you should. It can be…overwhelming, but it’s a lot of fun, too.”

  “Is it okay if I drive?” I asked.

  She glanced briefly in my direction, brushing her hair to the side of her face.

  “Sure, knock yourself out.”

  “Are we leaving the evening before?”

  “That’s usually what I do.”

  “Cool. Do you want to leave from here? Say seven-ish? Avoid rush hour?”

  “Sounds perfect. Seven, here at the office, ready to roll.”

  She sounded so different from earlier, as if she were honestly sorry.

  I debated if I should say anything else or not, and before I knew it, the words had left my lips.

  “Hey, Lena?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m really glad we’re doing this. It’s going to be fun.”

  She gave me a tight-lipped nod and a small, awkward wave then turned around and walked away.

  LENA

  Fun. This was not going to be fun—not for me. I was the fool who was still affected by his presence and nearness. The two of us in a car, alone? For almost three hours?

  Oh, bliss.

  I wondered what car he had. I didn’t even have one at all because I biked everywhere. Portland was a great place for that—if you weren’t too much of a sissy to ride in the rain, that is.

  Amos. I was going on a road trip with Amos. I had avoided all contact with him for the last two years, and now…now I wasn’t going to be able to run away from him. Not like I did at work, not like I had since that night at the party.