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.
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.
After that night, I’d hidden behind a pile of lies. I’d shrugged his kiss off as if it meant nothing, when really it had been everything.
I could still see the look on his face—the disbelief, the disappointment.
He hadn’t believed me at first, but when it had become clear that I was turning him down for good, his hopeful gaze had turned bitter and resigned.
Then he’d left, and we’d never spoken of it again.
Yes, part of me regretted it. That small, hidden part of me that believed I deserved love and happiness thought I was throwing away my chance.
The kiss had brought me to life, and I was running away from everything that could entail. But, I knew myself. I didn’t do love. I didn’t fall for it or follow it. It wasn’t what I believed in, and not even Amos St. Clair would make me change my mind.
A black, shiny vintage car with white stripes on the sides was parked in front of our office, and I did a double take before realizing Amos was behind the wheel.
He got out of the car, coming around the back to open the trunk.
“You drive a Camaro?” I asked, dropping my sunglasses to the tip of my nose.
He gave me an uneasy smile as he opened the trunk. He took my overnight bag out of my hand before I could lift it into the car, and then he knelt to pick up the box of comics I was carrying with me.
The car was a beauty, but not at all what I’d expected.
It seemed so unlike him. Even though I didn’t know him, Amos St. Clair always struck me as a hip, modern man from Portland, but that car made him look…vintage.
Old-fashioned.
For some weird reason, I liked that. It made me smile. I glanced in his direction.
He was wearing a thin, worn-out leather jacket over a faded Batgirl t-shirt.
Cute.
Black straight jeans and Nike Air Jordans completed the look.
His eyes met mine, bright and amused, and this time the smile stretched big across my face.
“You drive, not a new, but a vintage Camaro? What year is this one? 1967?”
“It’s from 1969,” he replied, sweeping his hair across his forehead. I noticed a hint of stubble on his jaw and tried to remember if he always looked that cool and put together.
He probably did; I just avoided looking at him on a regular basis, so I wouldn’t know.
“I didn’t peg you for a vintage car type of guy. I half-expected you to show up with an electric car.”
“Yeah. I get enough shit for having this car, but it’s a family heirloom. It belonged to my grandfather. We used to work on it together.”
“Oh.”
“Shall we go?”
“Sure.”
He slammed the trunk closed and I opened the passenger door.
“So, I guess you’ve never ridden in a Camaro?”
“Nope. Never had the pleasure.”
“Well, buckle up. You’re in for a treat.”
“A treat? Well, now, calm down a notch, St. Clair.”
“You’ll see, Andrews. This car is not like any other car.”
“Not like any other car, you say.”
“This car is an experience. It’s a time machine.” His hazelnut-brown eyes brightened up as the engine came alive and he bit his lip, smiling to himself. When he turned to me, his smile was somehow even bigger. The way he smiled and looked at me made me feel things I didn’t want to feel.
Heat radiated in my chest as I reciprocated his smile uneasily.
“Buckle up,” he repeated in a commanding tone.
I did as he asked and then sat in a daze as he drove us out of Portland, headed to Seattle.