by Lily Summers
“He’s got some pretty nice obliques,” I admit.
“Now we’re talking,” she says. “Did you lose your shirt next?”
I bite my lip and shake my head. “Not exactly.”
Audrey reaches out to touch my hand. “I take it that’s when things slowed down?”
She’s so good at making me feel like I can tell her anything, and suddenly I’m spilling more than the superficial details.
“I think something happened in his past. He closed up pretty tight when I asked about one of his tattoos,” I say.
“Hm,” Audrey muses. “Shutting up tight when someone gets too close to your history. I don’t know anyone who does that, do you?”
“Yeah, well.” I glance away from her, watching people walk by outside the window. “Sometimes things belong to you and no one else. Sometimes it’s complicated.”
She nods as she listens, idly swirling her spoon through her latte’s froth. “Yeah. And maybe his story is complicated.”
“True.” I put my elbows on the counter and look out the window. The line is only getting longer as the morning goes on. I watch a young family, the tattooed and incredibly trendy parents having a slow, sleepy conversation, the dad leaning easily against their double stroller.
“Besides,” Audrey says. “You can’t really expect Ezra to bare it all when you won’t bare anything. I mean that in the emotional sense, not the getting naked sense.”
“I figured.”
Audrey nudges me playfully. “I actually fully approve of the two of you baring it all in the naked sense. I need to live vicariously.”
I laugh and toss my napkin at her. “You go on tons of dates.”
“Lots of first dates, very few second dates.” She sighs and rests her chin in her hand. Now she watches the trendy family, and I’m pretty sure she’s checking the dad out.
“I’m sure it’s just that you haven’t met your best match yet,” I say. “Maybe the night life makes it too hard to get to know someone.”
“It’s my only chance to meet anyone new,” she says. “My job keeps me in the office all day, and the partners are all old and married. Concerts and parties at least introduce me to some new blood.” She sighs and hooks her feet around the legs of her stool. “Now I have to find the right new blood.”
I’m about to respond when my phone goes off. I dig it out of my bag and see a new text from Ezra. Audrey notices me trying to hide my grin behind my hand and laughs.
“What’s your personal Picasso have to say?” she asks.
I read, “Duke’s playing some of his original stuff tonight at the bar across from the Roseland Theater. Interested?”
Audrey’s eyes go wide.
“Duke was the cute DJ from the Catacombs party, right? Mia.” She gathers up my hands in hers, squeezing a little too hard. “Take me with you. This could be a sign leading to the end of my singledom.”
One month ago, I would have said no way. Not a chance. I hate crowds, I hate brushing elbows, I hate it all. Today, though, I’m feeling amicable. Audrey’s good to me, even when I’m being a burrito of misery on the couch. I owe her. Besides, Duke actually did seem nice.
I text Ezra back, “Okay if Audrey comes with?”
“Of course,” he responds. “I think Duke would appreciate that, actually. See you there at 9?”
“See you then.” I consider adding an emoji, but it feels too cutesy, so I let the message ride as is and hope it reads as casual-but-not-aloof.
“So?” Audrey says. “Are we going?”
“Yeah, we’re going,” I say, bracing myself for her excited squeals.
By the time we get back to the apartment, we have a few hours to kill. Audrey bustles off to work on a deposition summary and I retreat to my room.
I walk over to my bed and sink down on it, pulling my curtains aside and looking down at the street below. People mill around, going about their days or picking up lunch. Couples walk hand in hand, mothers carry their babies in wraps on their chests, and students meander past while checking their phones.
My fingers are itching to create a scene, so I dig around under my bed and pull out my latest sketchbook and a tin of pencils. The first lines come easily, and I switch between colors more rapidly than I usually do. Most of my work lately has been hard, flat, and monotone. As I blend and weave on the page, I find myself bringing out more life in my subjects, their eyes looking back out at me.
I finish portraits of passersby, of the mothers and their laughing babies and the man selling flowers from a nearby stall near the closest park. They’re all swirling together in bursts of color.
They’re happy.
I’m on a drawing high now, and it taps into part of my brain that I haven’t been able to access in a while. My pencil flies across the page, bringing two curly-haired girls to life. Music and laughter binds them together, ribbons of sunlight twining around their clasped hands. I draw and draw, shading them in and relishing their joy.
By the time I’ve finished, I’m hungry again. I sign my name at the bottom of the page, which I haven’t done in ages. I walk to my desk, laying the sketchbook down so I can really look at it.
A tear lands near one of the purple flowers at the girls’ feet and I brush it away. It leaves a streak on the paper, but it fits in with the blended watercolor pencils.
This is the first time I’ve drawn Iris in full color in over a year.
She looks alive.
15
The Bird and the Bard Pub offers everything an artsy theater patron could want – a stage for performing, booze for drinking, and characters for inspiration.
Audrey and I show our IDs to the bouncer at the door and walk immediately into a crush of people. A female DJ plays up on stage and half the crowd rocks and jumps on the dance floor to the beat pulsing through the air. Although the lights are low, I can make out quotes carved directly into the wood of the wall. One near the stage reads, “If music be the food of love, play on.” I recognize it right away as a quote from Twelfth Night. Though personally, I always preferred She’s the Man.
I spot Ezra waving us over from the far end of the bar closest to the stage. As we cross the dance floor, the current DJ ends her set and the crowd breaks up. Several people head out for some air or a smoke. More music pumps through the speakers as the stagehands start tearing down the last performer’s table and setting up what I assume is Duke’s equipment.
When we reach him, Ezra and I exchange smiles and heat creeps up my neck as I think for a second he’s going to lean down to kiss me. Memories of this morning rush over me and I press up against him. He puts an arm around my shoulders and I’m actually grateful for that. I don’t know if I’m ready for PDA yet, especially given that I’m not even sure what we are.
Still, my lips tingle and hope for more.
Duke leans around to say hello and then immediately turns his attention to Audrey, handing her a gimlet with a sprig of mint alongside the lime.
“This is my favorite drink,” she says, staring at it as though in shock. “How’d you know?”
Duke shrugs and gives her a lazy half-smile. “Remembered you drinking them at the party. The dude looked at me funny when I asked for the mint, but I swore your drink had it.”
Audrey’s face transforms, the awe warming to appreciation, to a tender sort of shyness that makes her glance at the ground and fight the grin widening across her face. “It does. I always ask for the mint extra. I can’t believe you noticed.”
“You’re pretty noticeable,” he says.
I have to admit, their flirting is pretty adorable. Ezra and I exchange a knowing look and inch away to give them a little more privacy.
Leon comes over from the bar, offering me a bottle of something by way of greeting.
“Mia, taste this.”
“Oh, you’re buying me drinks now?” I tease.
“You’ll see,” is all Leon says.
I raise an eyebrow at him and look at Ezra, who shrugs, just as clu
eless as me. I accept the bottle and, taking a sip and letting it sit in my mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. I wrinkle my nose.
“It tastes like someone burnt the hell out of the coffee they used in that stout,” I say as I hand the bottle back.
He throws his hand up and looks around incredulously like someone’s been arguing with him. “Right? Thank you! It tastes like a damn campfire. Everyone else is raving about it and I had to make sure I wasn’t in an alternate universe where shitty beer is amazing.”
Ezra shakes his head as Leon levels an accusatory glance his way. “Don’t look at me, man. I think Corona’s good.”
I put my hand over my heart. “You poor thing. Are your taste buds broken?”
“His taste buds are a damn travesty,” Leon says. “Anyway, Mia, tell me how you feel about barrel aged beers.”
“Bourbon barrels or wine barrels?” I ask.
Leon points at me with the neck of the shitty-beer bottle and says, “I love her, Ezra. I love her so much. You keep her forever.”
“Planning on it,” he says, quieter than usual, like he’s saying it just to me. I look shyly down at my feet and wrap my arm around his waist, squeezing a little.
When I look up, the sea of people in front of us is parting, and none other than Skylar comes strolling right through. Same as the party, she’s easily the most stunning girl in the room, her clothes perfectly fitted and her hair perfectly swept and her face perfectly… facing. How does someone face so perfectly?
She glides through the crowd like a swan. Almost every guy and several girls swivel their heads to watch her walk. That kind of power must be intoxicating.
“Hey,” she says, sounding bored already. She crosses her arms and nods at the guys, completely passing over Audrey and pursing her lips at me before she offers Ezra another rare smile.
I shift uncomfortably beside him and he tightens his arm around me.
“Hey. Finish your set at the Roseland?” Ezra says, polite but standoffish.
Skylar runs her fingers through the long side of her hair. “Yeah. They mixed up our amps again, so our opening song sounded like a cat going through a meat grinder.”
She gives one of those barely-audible “heh” chuckles. No one else laughs.
I guess being mind-blowingly gorgeous doesn’t necessarily mean you’re good at jokes. That’s oddly reassuring.
She shoots another look at Ezra, but he’s ordering us more drinks. Skylar looks slightly annoyed and I wonder if that’s actually her incredibly annoyed face. She comes closer and leans in to say, “Order me a rum and coke?” in his ear.
He shrugs and says “sure” without turning toward her.
That does not appear to be the reaction she wanted, so she pouts and turns her attention to Leon.
Ezra slips me an IPA and a wink as he hands Skylar her drink. Her fingers linger on his hand and he pulls back. She narrows her eyes, calculating, and attempts to loop her arm through his.
I grip my bottle tightly. Ezra isn’t responding, but I still wish she’d stop.
Then Audrey, my savior, cuts in. She brushes one of Skylar’s flowing sleeves and asks, “Is this from the new Joe’s line?”
That catches Skylar’s attention. “Yeah, it is. They sent me a few samples last week. I do fashion consulting on the side when I’m not doing gigs.”
“Those jeans make your ass look amazing. Are they hard to move in on stage?” Audrey says, and bless her, Skylar actually looks pleased.
I’m floored. Audrey has truly mastered the art of becoming anyone’s best friend.
“Skylar doesn’t move, she just stands stiff-legged behind the mic with murder in her eyes,” Duke jokes.
She shrugs. “The more you look like you want to kill them, the more people respect you.”
“You must be the most highly respected person in the room,” I hear myself say, then snap my mouth shut. Oh man. I hope that didn’t sound bitchy. I didn’t mean it in a bitchy way.
Skylar turns her head slowly toward me, her gaze unreadable.
No one in our group makes a move.
Then Skylar cracks the smallest smile and I release the breath I’m holding.
“Resting bitch face has its advantages,” Skylar says.
The tension goes out of the air and I feel instantly at ease. It’s like I actually fit somewhere in this puzzle. Duke leans in to whisper in Audrey’s ear, Leon hands me a new beer to taste, Ezra’s hand brushes down my spine, and even Skylar asks me about my earrings.
I feel alarmingly… happy.
At ten o’clock, the lights above the stage flash and Duke says, “That’s my cue.” He flips his hat around backwards and flashes us a grin before hopping up on the stage. He holds his hands above his head from behind his turntables, pumping up the crowd.
Then he starts spinning, and he’s really, really good. Better than he was at the party, even. To be honest, I really wasn’t sure I’d be into this music, but as he starts to fully sink into his set, there’s no denying it – he’s an artist. His original stuff blends multiple genres – island music, electronica, hip-hop, jazz, vocals. It weaves through the air and I’m riding the highs and lows along with everyone else. My blood thrums with it, my heart pumping in time to the bass. It makes me want to move, spin, and sway.
It makes me want to dance.
I don’t dance.
Almost like he’s reading my mind, Ezra pulls me toward the floor where a thick knot of people are already dancing. I shake my head and resist, but not very hard.
“I can’t,” I call out over the music.
“You can too,” he says. “I see you, Mia. I see the way you open up when you let the art in.”
My body is making the decision for me. I’m pulled toward him like a magnet, and I don’t think I could resist even if I wanted to. Maybe for tonight, I can borrow some of his boldness.
I take his hand and lead him to the floor.
When we disappear into the crowd, Ezra wraps an arm around my back and pulls me in close, so I throw my arms around his neck to keep my balance. He smiles against the skin of my neck and I laugh, head thrown back, veins singing with adrenaline.
The lights paint the room red, blue, purple, gold, and we rock and move beneath them. It smells like booze and sweat, which is surprisingly not unpleasant. Ezra’s hands slide down to my lower back, just above my ass, and we bend our knees, dipping low as we dance. I let one of my arms fall loose at my side and turn so my back’s up against his chest and my other hand brushes the side of his face. His hands are on my hips now, guiding me as we sway together.
His touch stokes something deep inside me. It comes roaring to life, threatening to consume me if I don’t give it what it wants, and it wants Ezra.
I want Ezra.
I’m lightheaded from the beer, but not drunk. Just warm enough to make the world shine. Duke’s music is rising, ratcheting up the tension in the room as everyone waits for the inevitable break. The muscles between my shoulders tense as I feel Ezra’s mouth on the side of my neck. I forget how to breathe for a moment.
I whirl around to look him in the face, and for one long second, we’re alone in the middle of the floor.
Then the music finally hits its peak and crashes over us, and our mouths join together like no one’s watching. Kissing him is like a shot of whiskey – my stomach warms and my limbs loosen. I feel him twine through my veins. We kiss, and kiss, and kiss.
I’m not sure how much longer we’re on the floor. It feels like a minute, or an hour. All I know is that eventually the music disappears and the lights come back up, and Ezra and I are still clinging to one another, panting. He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.
There’s a tap on my shoulder and I startle, turning to find Audrey. She hands me my bag and my sweater.
“You left these on the bar stool,” she says, her eyes roving over Ezra and me, a smile playing at her mouth. “Duke asked me to hang around after his set, so I’ll be here a
while yet. Don’t wait up.”
I mouth “thank you” to her and she winks at me before turning back to the bar. Skylar is leaning up against it next to Leon, and when she notices me looking at her, she juts her jaw out and looks down her nose at me. Then, so subtly that I almost miss it, she nods. I think that’s as close to her approval as I’m going to get.
Or maybe I’m imagining it.
Either way, I grab Ezra by the shirt collar and pull him down so I can whisper in his ear.
“We’re going to my place,” I say.
He doesn’t argue.
16
From the moment I kick the apartment door closed, Ezra’s hands are all over me. My shoes come off first, then his. I run my hands underneath his jacket until it falls off his shoulders. My sweater lands on top of it, starting a pile on the floor.
Deep in the fog of my brain, I feel slightly guilty about making a mess. Then Ezra’s planting open-mouthed kisses along my neck and all thought is wiped away. I dig my fingers into his shoulders. I want to touch every part of him. Every part.
His hands, which he’s politely kept off my ass so far, abandon their pretense and grab me tightly, pulling me up. I take the hint and jump so I can wrap my legs around his waist. Our mouths meet and there’s a fire burning me inside out.
He mumbles something into my hair.
“What?” I gasp.
“Your room?” he says, more clearly this time. “Which one’s yours?”
“That way,” I say, indicating the left-hand hallway.
He walks us both down the hall and I’m vaguely impressed at his ability not to crash into anything. When we reach my closed door, he backs me into it and groans as he presses himself between my legs. A wave of tense heat rushes through me and I want him to do that again with 100% less clothing. He readjusts his grip so he can reach the knob, but I nip his ear to stop him.
“I’ve got it,” I say, wrapping one arm around the back of his neck and using the other hand to fumble for the doorknob. At last, the door swings open, and I’m grateful that I picked up the worst of the hazards off the floor earlier.
The streetlights highlight my bed by the window, and Ezra lowers me onto the mattress. He plants a kiss on the skin at the deepest part of my V-neck and works his way my to my collarbone, then my throat, then my lips. His body presses against the length of mine. Everywhere we touch ignites a searing need just below the surface of my skin. We sigh together, our breath mingling. I want to be closer. I need to be closer.
