Tell him you want him, Lena.
“This might sound dangerous and incredibly irresponsible,” I said in a light, flirty tone, “but I have a bottle of whiskey with me. Are you in for a nightcap?” I asked, hoping my words were enough to make my intentions clear.
I didn’t pussyfoot around with men, never had a problem making my intentions clear. When I wanted a man, I let him know, but I felt I had to be careful around Amos for more reasons than one. He was my coworker, first and foremost.
I knew we had history, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. I felt I had to be careful about what I said. I prided myself on generally knowing how to read men, but when it came to Amos St. Clair, my skills seem to vanish into thin air.
Thirty minutes before, I’d been convinced we were going to kiss and start making out on the way to our hotel.
Now, I wasn’t so sure. I almost regretted inviting him in.
My words were still suspended in the air, and I wished I could take them back.
He still hadn’t replied and by that point, I knew he was trying to figure out how to let me down easy.
We stopped in front of the door of my room.
He gave me a long look and frowned as I waited for his answer.
Oh no. Bad sign.
He scratched the back of his head—another bad sign.
Oh man, I’m making a fool of myself.
This was not me. I was smooth, sexy. I knew how to seduce a man.
I didn’t get rejected. I didn’t know rejection, at least when it came to fooling around. My heart sank in my stomach. I had to fix this. I had to do something.
“Listen…forget I said anything. It was a stupid idea.”
“No, Lena, it’s not that.” My heart rose from its pit of misery and I met his eyes again, hopeful. “I can’t come in for a drink because…I promised my girlfriend I would call her.”
AMOS
Shitty. That was how I felt. I felt shitty. I knew I should have brought it up sooner.
I should have told her I had a girlfriend before I insisted we go out. I should have told her I had a girlfriend before we messed with the college kid, pretending to be a couple. I should have told her before we’d started slow dancing, before she’d looked at me with her eyes full of fire and need.
I felt even worse when I did tell her, when disappointment filled her eyes just long enough for me to see it, before she concealed her emotions behind the mask she wore most of the time.
It was wrong, all of it—me not telling her, me wanting to play along with her, wanting to get close. There was no way to get close to her without hurting her, myself, and Olivia.
Shit, how could I forget about Olivia?
We’d been dating on and off for…what, a year? More than that?
God, I am such an asshole.
It was true that Olivia and I had hit a rough patch lately. She complained I wasn’t invested enough in our relationship, and part of me knew she was right.
I didn’t really make much of an effort. I’d expected her to break up with me months before, but she hadn’t pulled the trigger, and neither had I.
We were both complicit, and we kept dating because it was better to have someone than being alone.
I should have told Lena.
Unsurprisingly, she hardly spoke to me on the way back to Portland, no matter how hard I tried. I knew I’d let her down, so after the fourth attempt at a conversation, I stopped trying to make small talk.
The previous night had been the kind of night I’d wished we could have had years ago, when we first met. The light, the fire in her eyes was one I hadn’t seen before.
I wasn’t the kind of ass to believe it was exclusively because of me, but we’d had a good day and were genuinely having fun together. Then, when we were dancing, when I put my arms around her, something shifted.
I got a taste of that same irrefutable, electric connection we’d had before, when we were skin to skin in Marty’s closet.
I got a glimpse of how things could have been between us, but we’d missed our chance. Back then, she was the one who’d done me wrong; now, I was the one guilty of pushing her away.
LENA
“So, how was it? Did you have a good time?” Violet asked. “From the pictures, it looked like you guys were having fun.”
“What pictures?” I asked.
“The ones on the comic-con site,” she replied. “There are some of you and Amos smiling together. You guys look super cute.”
“The comic-con was fun. Good attendance, nice people.” I shrugged.
“And the rest of the weekend was…?”
“Forgettable,” I replied, raising my eyebrows, hoping Violet would leave me alone. Amos’ rejection still stung. Leave it to me to get crushed the one time I tried to open the door of my heart.
Big mistake.
“You lie! That’s your lying face,” Violet exclaimed.
“I have a lying face?”
“Bitch, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You and Amos, alone…all weekend…in Seattle,” she said in a singsongy voice.
I rolled my eyes and let out a frustrated breath as I sat down in my chair.
Unfortunately, the expression on her face told me I couldn’t fool her.
“You like him!”
“Stop it. I do not.”
“Yes, you do. You wouldn’t get so worked up otherwise.”
“Hmph.”
“So, how is he? Nice package?”
“For fuck’s sake, Violet. Nothing happened. He has a girlfriend.”
“He does? Well, shoot.” She scrunched her nose up in disdain.
“Yeah, and I…I kind of made a fool of myself. I thought…never mind.”
“You thought what? What happened? Oh shit, please don’t tell me you threw yourself at him.”
“Fuck off!” I dismissed her words with a playful glare. “You know I don’t throw myself at guys.”
“That’s right—you seduce them with your sexy, mysterious eyes and no-fucks-given attitude,” she teased, batting her eyelashes.
“Well, not this time, apparently.”
“Sorry, honey.”
“It’s okay. We were flirting, and then out of the blue he tells me he has a girlfriend. Fuckface.”
“Screw him,” Violet chimed in supportively.
“Seriously. What a loser.”
Violet gave me a commiserating look, lips pursed together. Oh, no. I didn’t have enough patience for that right then—or ever.
“Can I be alone now that I filled you in on my weekend? I’m not in the best mood, as you can see.”
“Pfff. When are you ever in a good mood?” she joked, and that earned her a scowl. “Fine, I’m leaving.”
I turned around just in time to see the pissed look on her face.
“Sorry, okay? I just got back and have a lot to do. I can’t spend the rest of my day discussing Amos’ package.”
“Which you haven’t even seen.”
“Correct.”
“Whose package are you guys discussing?” Marty asked as he joined us.
“No one’s,” I said just as Violet said, “Amos’.”
I rolled my eyes in annoyance, but Marty was completely unfazed by the conversation. The corners of his lips turned down and he shrugged his shoulders a little, as if he had no problem whatsoever with the topic of our conversation.
It was wrong on so many levels.
“Oh, come on, Marty, don’t encourage her! I got work to do, boss. Can you rescue me from accounting, please?”
“My pleasure, cranky pants. Let’s go, love. Can we break one of your rules and do it in the janitor’s closet?” She laughed, amused by her fiancé’s words, but then said, “Absolutely not. You know how seriously I take my job.”
“Oh yeah, very seriously,” Marty teased her with a voice loaded with innuendos.
Violet had been an accountant for Paz Media since the very beginning, although her position was only
a part-time one for the first couple of years. Back when things were still very much up in the air, she’d kept her day job at an accounting firm.
Ugh. Those two.
“Get a room!” I mumbled, but then I smiled, thinking how glad I was that things had worked out for my friend.
When Marty and I had first started talking, he was dating a girl he was very much in love with. Months later, he found out she was cheating on him with a coworker at the restaurant where she worked.
Marty was crushed, obviously. It took him months to recover from his girlfriend’s betrayal. I remembered trying to console him, promising him that one day he’d find the one person deserving of his love, even if I didn’t believe in love.
Sometimes, the best thing you can do is tell someone the words they need to hear, the words that can offer them solace during a dark time, even if you don’t necessarily believe in them yourself.
As I watched Marty and Violet walk down the hall wrapped in a loving embrace, I smiled. Maybe I hadn’t been so far off in my prediction, after all. He’d proposed after four years living together, and they were going to get married in a couple months.
Marty had such a special place in my heart, and I could never forget what he’d done for me. He was the one who had singlehandedly lifted me during the worst time of my life, when I’d been broken and felt I had lost everything.
Sometimes I wondered where I’d be if Marty hadn’t been such a constant in my life. Maybe I wouldn’t have become a comic book artist at all.
Maybe I wouldn’t even be alive.
AMOS
The week after the comic-con was hell. I wanted to apologize to Lena, but I was afraid that would piss her off even more. I didn’t want her to be mad at me, even though I shouldn’t have worried about it so much.
Part of me still wanted to be her friend, even though she had been far from friendly for the last two years.
Part of me wanted to tell her the truth. I was dying to let her know that yes, I did feel the same pull she did. I could feel the spark between us. It had been there since the beginning, but what would I accomplish by telling her that?
What good would that do us? And what about Olivia?
Olivia.
I had been talking to her on the phone, but we hadn’t seen each other yet. It had been days, and I had been making up excuses to avoid seeing her.
I needed clarity, and I thought putting some distance between us might do us some good.
They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but if I were really in love with her, could I go days without seeing her? Shouldn’t I have been impatient to see her, to hold her again?
It had been like that once upon a time. We’d been inseparable in the beginning, crazy about each other, spending every waking hour, every free moment together.
We’d met at a party through mutual friends and had been together ever since, but our biggest problem was that besides being sexually compatible, we hardly had anything in common.
She was a bright girl and worked for a local nonprofit, but had no interest whatsoever in what I did. It was one of the biggest complaints I had about her.
When it came to work, she just didn’t seem to listen or care, so after a while, I stopped trying. Being with Olivia was sometimes as easy as breathing, but the rest of the time I questioned my reasons for staying with her.
It had been three days since that awkward Sunday when we’d gotten back from Seattle, and all I could think about was apologizing to Lena.
So many times I got up from my desk with the intention of walking over to her cubicle and apologizing, but every single time I stopped in my tracks and traced my steps back.
I was a coward.
I was a coward for staying in a relationship with Olivia.
I was a coward for not being able to talk to Lena the way I wanted to.
Am I ever going to be able to sort out my feelings for her?
LENA
Besides Marty and Violet, and the occasional hookup, I didn’t have much of a social life. I was one of those people who claimed to be married to their job.
The good news was that I loved my job, even when I drove myself crazy thinking about it so much. Comic book artists are just like writers: stressed and riddled with self-doubt. It happened to everyone, me included. When I was in the midst of the creative process, I seemed to lose all my confidence. Even though I usually believed in myself and I knew I had talent, from time to time I would second-guess myself and I’d start thinking my drawings or storyline weren’t good enough.
In general, I could work from home if I had a deadline, but I preferred to get my work done at the office. Paz Media’s employees usually left around six or seven at the latest, but most days I liked to stay past eight or nine, until it was dark outside and I could see my gangly reflection in the windows, under the bright neon office lights. I almost looked and felt like a ghost, roaming around the empty office.
When I suffered from writer’s block, I liked walking around the office undisturbed and sometimes I’d peek at everyone’s leftover mess.
Usually, I would wait for the cleaning crew to leave, and then I’d put on my headphones, listen to music…and dance.
It was so liberating. I was alone, in my favorite place, and nobody could see me or touch me. I felt more at home at the office than I did at my own place.
I felt safer there. I felt like I belonged.
Marty had eventually found out about my pastime from the security footage.
He insisted I shouldn’t be up at the office by myself, that it wasn’t safe, that I was always too distracted with my head in the clouds. He told me to be careful in case someone tried to approach me, but I never listened to him.
Besides, he may have been right about that in our old office, but the newer one had much better security.
I had good reason to feel safe there.
Whenever I had a bad day, when I’d get sad thinking of Maggie or would feel bitter about my wretched parents and sad upbringing, I’d feel my anxiety worsen.
I knew I needed to let loose in some way, so I’d put my headphones in, turn the music all the way up, and dance my heart out.
I had done this for years. It felt as liberating as screaming out loud or jumping off a cliff. It was one of the few times I felt free and my soul wasn’t crushed by the burden of my mistakes.
Eyes closed, I’d move my body and feel the music. In that moment, I was able to forgive myself, forget the pain, and tell myself everything would be all right.
Dancing at the end of a bad day was one of the best ways to cope.
I had been doing it for a while now; I always made sure I was alone in the office.
Therefore, the last thing I expected was to open my eyes and find Amos right in front of me, his face a mix of stupor and amusement.
“Ahhhhhhh!” The scream I let out surprised even me—I felt paralyzed by the shock of seeing him and didn’t think I was able to emit any sound. He raised his hands up in surrender, trying to tell me through his alarmed eyes and moving lips that he wasn’t there to harm me.
I took my headphones off, my cheeks heated with embarrassment. I was mortified. I had been busted during my reckless, crazy dancing.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Why was it that every single time I was around him my confidence would vanish? Why did I always manage to act like an embarrassed teenager? It was as if Amos’ eyes were able to strip me of all the external layers I’d been building up for years.
Around him, I opened up like a lotus flower.
“What are you doing here on a Friday night?” he asked.
I ignored his question. What was I doing there on a Friday night? It was obvious that I had no life, no plans in sight for the night.
“What are you doing here on a Friday night?” I retorted, almost wanting to ask why he wasn’t out with his girlfriend.
He let out a breath, and his eyes grew softer.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I reali
zed I forgot my phone and had to come get it.”
“I didn’t mean to scream at you.”
He nodded and I gave him a half-smile. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and then images of the two of us in Seattle the previous week flashed across my eyes—our flirting, my invitation, his rejection…my want, my need for him.
The stupid yearning I had for something that was never going to happen.
The memory of his lips, of his kiss sent my heart into overdrive, and I was overcome by a fresh wave of embarrassment.
Childishly, I ran away, ignoring him as he kept calling my name. I ran to my desk and grabbed my things, shoving them in my bag quick as a thief running from the police. I put my jacket on, left my cubicle, and ran without paying any attention to where I was going. My nose smashed against Amos’ chest just as I made it to the elevator.
“What the hell!” I yelled out in frustration.
“Lena, stop. I need to talk to you. Stop running away from me.”
Yes, I knew I was being stupid, but…
The stairs.
I was going to make a run for it. I couldn’t face him. I didn’t want to have to explain. I couldn’t even look into his eyes. Unfortunately, he grabbed me by my arms, holding me in place. I stared at his large hand on my arm, avoiding his gaze. I felt uncomfortable enough with him scrutinizing me so closely.
“I won’t tell anyone,” he said in a tone of voice so low and soft, for a moment I thought I must have imagined it. Then he repeated the words, a little bit louder this time. “I won’t tell anyone, Lena. Your secret is safe with me.”
“You’re lying,” I replied, disgruntled. “You’ll tell everyone what a nutjob I am.”
“No, I won’t,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. I looked up and locked eyes with him. Amos was on the verge of losing that sliver of seriousness that was keeping him from bursting into laughter. He pressed his lips together, but a half-guffaw still came out. I narrowed my eyes at him and tried to get out of his hold, but he wouldn’t let me go.
“I won’t tell anyone, Lena, even though…”
“Even though what?” I asked in a suspicious tone.
The Art of Us Page 6
