The Art of Us Page 5

  AMOS

  I enjoyed comic-cons as a reader and a fan.

  As an artist, however, part of me hated it.

  It made me feel vulnerable and exposed. I hated the beginning of it, when people start rushing in and it felt like a Black Friday of sorts.

  Furthermore, lately people seemed more interested in meeting TV and movie stars in exchange for a hefty fee.

  That said, at some point during the day of any event, I tended to forget about the things I didn’t like and remembered what I loved about it.

  Talking about your work or your art is never easy, and I hated that I was there to sell it. All in all, however, it wasn’t that bad. Coming to these types of events gave me the chance to talk to people who’d read my stuff and loved it, and that was the greatest feeling ever.

  I hadn’t been working on my own stuff for very long, and I had only been with Paz Media for two years, so I was still relatively unknown. There were, however, readers who remembered me from my days at Boots Comics, and they had brought along comics I had worked on years prior.

  Lena looked quite busy to my left; I had never seen her so engaged before. She seemed to really talk and listen to the kids who stopped by our table. She gave them her undivided attention, and I overheard her giving career advice to a couple of them who expressed interest in working as a comic artist.

  I was surprised by how friendly she was.

  She almost sounded sweet.

  I had never seen her like that before, and it fascinated me.

  My mind went back to the night of the stupid party, and I couldn’t help but thinking once again about how she felt in my arms…even though I shouldn’t have been thinking about that at all.

  It was wrong. I shouldn’t have thought of her that way.

  It was in the past. Lena wasn’t part of my present.

  She caught me staring at her, and instead of freezing up as I would have expected, she smiled. I smiled back just as a warm feeling spread through my chest and my heart started beating faster than it had in a long time.

  I recognized the sign.

  I had a crush on Lena Andrews.

  This is bad.

  LENA

  By the time we were done, I was exhausted. I had signed things, done some drawing, talked for hours, and taken numerous pictures.

  My right wrist hurt. I rubbed it gently, trying to ease the tension. Like many of my colleagues, I had my own “battle scars.” I suffered from carpal tunnel whenever I had a particularly stressful week and ended up working more hours than I should have. I needed to make an appointment with my acupuncturist sometime soon. I should probably put some ice on it and rest when I’d get to the hotel. I was ready to call it a day and collapse on the king-size bed like a dead weight. I couldn’t wait to get some sleep.

  Amos was talking to one of the event staff, a young guy who looked like he could be in his late teens or early twenties. He had short blond hair and the physique of an athlete. He didn’t look like your typical nerd who’d work this kind of event. They talked for a few more minutes, and when Amos noticed I was ready to go and waiting for him, they exchanged a handshake and a pat on the arm.

  He came over to our table, placing both hands on the opposite side from where I was sitting. He looked so big and tall from that angle, and my dirty mind couldn’t help imagining him on top of me in a…different situation.

  Get your mind out of the gutter, idiot.

  “Wanna go back to the hotel?” he asked with an easygoing smile.

  His words gave my dirty mind even more ammunition. I closed my eyes, trying to stop picturing him naked.

  “I do. I’m beat. I could use a nap…or twelve straight hours of sleep,” I said, letting out a breath.

  “Uhm, that’s boring, and not at all what I had in mind!” he teased.

  “What?” I studied the gleam in his eyes.

  He grinned, staring at me without saying a word.

  “Cut it out! What is it?”

  “How would you like to go to a college party tonight?”

  “I can’t believe you’re dragging me to a party on campus. We’re too old for this!” I protested.

  “Don’t be a Debbie Downer. You’re never too old to have fun. Plus, it’s my alma mater.”

  “You went to Seattle University?”

  “I did. That’s how I heard about the party. The guy working at the convention told me he knew I went there. Come on, we’ll just stay for a little bit and see how kids party these days.”

  “They probably get a lot more wasted than we used to.”

  “Where’d you go to college anyway? I don’t think I’ve asked you that.”

  “I went to Berkeley.”

  “Fancy.” He gave me a teasing smile, his eyes bright with mischief.

  “Shut up,” I replied, slapping him on his bicep. He laughed, the sound of it rich and inviting, making it impossible for me to remain serious.

  “Did Mom and Dad pay for that?”

  “Heck no, they didn’t. Turned out, my grandma had quite the stash set aside so I could go to college.”

  “That was nice of her.”

  “It was. She was the best. What about you? Did your mom and dad put you through college, or are you still paying it off?”

  “Still paying it off, but I had scholarships to help, so it wasn’t too bad.”

  We made our way up into the house where the party was in full swing. People lined the porch of the old bungalow, some sitting on the concrete steps. Inside it was dark and loud; music blasted through the speakers.

  I thought it was just a playlist on the stereo, but when we entered the next room, I realized they had a deejay playing.

  “Hey, man. You made it!” said the guy who’d invited Amos. “Come on in, let’s get you guys something to drink.” We followed the kid farther into the house, and I started taking in my surroundings. I hadn’t been part of this kind of scene for so long. No matter what Amos said, we were too old to be hanging out with kids on the cusp of their twenties. I usually didn’t feel my age, but I felt old right then.

  We shouldn’t have been there.

  What are we doing here?

  I felt like an intruder. The music, however, was good, and I was always up for a bit of people-watching.

  The party consisted of kids with all kinds of associations. There were plenty of jocks, but also nerds and intellectuals. I saw a small group of young guys and girls talking animatedly about politics in the corner of the kitchen, and others were circling the keg. I peeked outside, where another group was smoking a joint.

  I turned around and realized I had gotten separated from Amos.

  I wandered around the house until a young, handsome-looking jock started hitting on me.

  He was really cute, tall with wide shoulders and strong, lean biceps. He had short brown hair and dark-green eyes, and his skin was faintly tanned even though it was only late March. He looked like someone who spent hours exercising. I wondered what sport he played, but I didn’t care enough to ask.

  I should have turned him down immediately, but instead, I played along.

  “You go to school here? I’ve never seen you around.”

  I smiled coyly. “No, I don’t go to school here.”

  “Where do you go? What’s your name?”

  “Lena.”

  “Hey, Lena. I’m Wolf.”

  “Wolf?” I asked, stifling a laugh. “Your name is Wolf?”

  The corner of his lips tilted to the side. “It’s what they call me. My name is Walfred. I like Wolf better.”

  “You’re right, I like Wolf. It suits you.”

  “Yeah?” He circled my waist with his hands. This college kid didn’t waste time.

  Someone made their way through the crowd, and I found myself pressed against his hard chest. I couldn’t really say I disliked it.

  Still, I wondered how far he was going to go, and I wondered how far I’d let him go. Wolf gazed dreamily into my eyes, putting his moves on me.r />
  “Your eyes are beautiful, Lena. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “They have,” I replied in a soft tone.

  “Are they blue?”

  “They are.”

  “I like your lips, too.” I had to admit, he was quite smooth.

  I pursed my lips, trying not to laugh. Two could play this game.

  “I like yours. They have me wondering what kind of…things you can do with them,” I told him, cocking one eyebrow, and I almost saw a faint blush color his cheeks as a laugh escaped his lips.

  He leaned in for a kiss, and I made him believe I was about to kiss him too, right before I pulled back.

  He let out a soft laugh, his eyes lit with mischief. “Ah, I see. You’re a feisty one.”

  “You have no idea,” I whispered against his lips, and then he stole a quick kiss. I was surprised, but not too upset about it. It was tender, sweet. He didn’t push it further.

  Instead, he pulled himself back and stared at me with the utmost curiosity. Had he figured out I was much, much older than him?

  “Would you like to go up to my room?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

  I pursed my lips again.

  “I would love to, but—”

  “But she’s with me,” Amos interjected.

  LENA

  Amos handed me a cup with a brownish liquid that didn’t really look like beer.

  “It’s vodka and Coke. I mixed it myself,” he explained.

  “Thanks,” I said, raising my cup to him and taking a drink, all while Wolf stared at us confusedly.

  “Hey, man, nice to meet you. Amos,” he said, stretching out his hand.

  “Wolf.”

  “Wolf?” Amos asked, leaning in to make sure he’d heard right while I stared at the two of them, quietly sipping my drink, trying to hide a smile.

  “So…you two are together?”

  “Yes. Yes, we are,” Amos replied before I could say anything.

  Poor Wolf.

  I hid my smile behind my red Solo cup.

  “What the hell, Lena? Why didn’t you say so? You let me kiss you.”

  “You kissed him?” Amos asked in a distressed tone, his voice almost thundering over the music. When Wolf turned my way, however, I noticed Amos was on the verge of laughing. He was joking.

  “I did,” I replied, keeping up the charade. “Please don’t get mad,” I pleaded, caressing his arm. He winked at me and then looked over to Wolf, who was slowly turning green. I thought he’d have scrammed by now, but he hadn’t.

  Amos landed a heavy hand on Wolf’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, buddy. It’s all forgiven. You didn’t know, just as you didn’t know Lena is not a student here, or anywhere else. She’s much too old for you.”

  “Hey!” I protested. “You don’t get to decide if he’s too young for me.”

  “What? What do you mean? How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two—not that it means anything,” I said, poking Amos in the arm. Then, I caressed Wolf’s face and placed a not-so-chaste kiss on his cheek.

  “If I weren’t with him, I would have come upstairs with you,” I told him with a wink.

  “I almost had an older woman in my room?” he asked excitedly.

  I looked at Amos over my shoulder.

  “See? Not too old.”

  I nodded in Amos’ direction and we started to leave so Wolf could spend the rest of the evening putting the moves on girls his own age.

  “Wait, Lena!” he called back, and I turned around. “If you two break it off and you’re ever in town, hit me up! My Snapchat handle is iamthewolf!”

  I gave him a thumbs-up with my free hand.

  “Noted! Bye, Wolf!”

  Amos and I walked out of the house laughing, hardly able to contain ourselves.

  “That poor kid! You had him in the palm of your hand.”

  “I didn’t do anything. He was the one going full speed—I was just playing along.”

  We stayed on the porch for a while, drinking and talking, keeping to ourselves, staring at younger versions of us passing by. The deejay inside started playing a tune I recognized, and at the same time, Amos stood up and offered me his hand.

  “Put your cup down. Come with me,” he ordered.

  I frowned at his serious tone then downed the rest of my drink and took his hand.

  Inside, Billy Idol’s “Dancing With Myself” was in full swing. A few people were dancing in the living room, and Amos pulled me closer and started dancing with me, mouthing the words of the song.

  Surprisingly, I went along with everything, and pretty soon I was even singing with him.

  I had never seen Amos like this before.

  I liked it.

  In fact, part of me started thinking I had been missing out by staying away from Amos St. Clair. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept him at bay.

  We seemed to get along great, we had the same weird sense of humor, we liked to play pranks on innocent college kids, and we both had an appreciation for ’80s music.

  But, there was a reason I kept people away. I was trying to guard my heart. Only, that night, there was something in the air that went hand in hand with the promise of spring. There was a small voice within me that kept telling me to go for it.

  There was also a naughtier voice that said I had already sampled some of the goods. I knew how he kissed, and I was a firm believer that great kissers only made even better lovers.

  After Billy Idol’s party anthem, the deejay played a Pixies song. After that, “Modern Love” by David Bowie came on. It was, without a doubt, the “vintage” portion of the night. We danced together, with just a few inches between us. I loved seeing this wilder, looser side of Amos. I kept my eyes closed most of the time, but when I opened them up, I found him staring at me more than once.

  It should have bothered me, but it didn’t. I kept hoping he’d place his hands around my waist and kiss me just the way Wolf had a little while ago.

  When “Modern Love” ended, a slower song came on, one I didn’t recognize.

  I was waiting for a hint from Amos. Part of me wanted to wrap my arms around him and slow dance to the song, but I resisted my impulse and waited for a cue from him.

  And then I got it. He placed his hands on my hips, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. We swayed together and I rested my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, strong and steady.

  We were overheated and out of breath. As we moved back and forth, I listened to his breath slow down, just as mine was. I felt an unfamiliar sense of calm in his arms, felt safe, protected. I hardly ever felt safe with someone I didn’t know well, but for some reason, Amos St. Clair had that effect on me.

  His hands grabbed my hips just a little tighter, and I fought the impulse to look up. My senses were suddenly on high alert, my body tense, my lips begging to be kissed.

  I wanted to kiss him—very, very badly—but I was afraid of what would happen next. I had run away from him once. If I kissed him, I feared I was going to pass the point of no return.

  If I kissed him again, there would be no going back.

  If my lips touched his, I would be free falling.

  I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. I feared surrendering to Amos would mean not only give him my body—which I was capable of—but would also mean surrendering my whole self to him.

  I wasn’t sure my heart could open up to him and give him what he needed from me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of heartbreak. I had been disappointed way too many times in my life. I refused to subject myself to the pain inflicted by human relationships.

  Still, part of me wanted to believe Amos wouldn’t hurt me.

  It was the same part that firmly believed I shouldn’t have ever pushed him away.

  As if on cue, something blossomed inside of my chest.

  A small hope, rising like a tiny rosebud in the early spring.

  The slow song ended, and just like in a fairy tale, the enchantment was over. His grip around
my hips loosened. We looked at each other for a few seconds, his gaze wide and alarmed, while my eyes begged him to kiss me.

  In that moment, something shifted in me.

  My mind was made up. I was going to do it. I was going to let him in.

  I was ready for his mouth to devour me, but it didn’t. He didn’t kiss me.

  Instead, he looked away, as if looking for an out.

  He took a deep breath, brushed his hair to the side, and finally looked my way again.

  “It’s hot in here. Do you want to head out?”

  I nodded, unable to say anything.

  We left campus and headed back to the hotel. We chatted, but our conversation was strained, not easygoing like it had been all night.

  At first, I thought it must have been because we weren’t sure how to handle what was going to happen next, but then I realized something had shifted in him. There was a bit of uncertainty in his eyes, and he avoided my gaze every time we spoke.

  We’d been having so much fun all night.

  I wondered what had changed so suddenly.

  An uncomfortable silence dominated our elevator ride. Amos looked down at his shoes, hands in his pockets, avoiding any eye contact with me.

  He let out a frustrated, restless sigh, as if he were fighting some sort of internal battle. Was it because I had rejected him before? Was he trying to put some distance between us after what had happened at the party? Did he feel it, too? Did he feel the same pull I was now feeling and felt ready to give in to?

  Was he shutting me down because he thought I would push him away again?

  I didn’t know what had changed for me, but for some reason, I finally felt ready to go all in.

  Maybe we should have given things a try. I was dying to kiss him again, and I was dying to find out if he fucked the way he kissed.

  I needed to let him know I wanted him.

  The elevator doors opened, and we walked toward our rooms.

  “I had fun tonight,” I told him in a tone so chipper, I almost didn’t recognize my own voice.

  He gave me a long, uneasy look, his lips curled in a small smile.

  “I did too,” he replied, the tone of his voice low and gravelly, capable of sending shivers down my spine. His smile stretched bigger across his face, and butterflies fluttered around my stomach.