Drawn To You

by Lily Summers

  Once we’re fully clothed and buttoned again, I lay beside him in the grass and we stare up at the blue-black sky. The leaves whisper in the breeze, sending the scent of hawthorn trees our way. Aside from the waterfall, it’s the only sound in the clearing. Some people are afraid of silence, but as it settles over us, it feels comforting.

  I’m not sure how long it’s been before Ezra says, “You really think my work is that powerful?”

  “Unequivocally yes,” I respond.

  “And you think I’m good enough to hold my own in that contest?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I feel his hand brush mine and we cling to one another, two people alone in the middle of a dark forest.

  “I guess I can’t claim to be brave unless I do the things that scare me,” he says. I can hear the resolve in his voice. “I’ll enter.”

  I squeeze his hand. “I’ll be there, cheering you on every step of the way.”

  We turn our heads to look at one another and he leans in to kiss my forehead. “I’m glad you caught me that night, Autumn,” he says.

  “Me too, Summer,” I say, and I mean it.

  We keep watching the stars until the moon starts to set.

  20

  I’m completely dragging ass this morning, but it was worth it.

  We snuck out of the park before first light and avoided the morning ranger by minutes – we actually passed his marked car as we drove past the entrance. If we’d left any later, he would have caught us red-handed. Normally, that’d send me into fluttery panic mode.

  This morning, it felt like a rush.

  We spent a solid twenty minutes making out in Leon’s car before I said good night (good morning?) and headed up to the apartment. It’s a good thing I’m working a later shift today because at least it gave me a few extra hours to pass the hell out. Magical, romantic, star-lit evenings only come along so often, but they do leave you completely exhausted.

  On a whim, I pick up my sketchbook and flip to the latest drawing – the colorful one with the two girls. Carefully, I tear it out and hang it over the headboard with pushpins. I sit back on my heels and look at it.

  Usually looking at my sketches of Iris brings up a lot of sadness and guilt. Looking at this one makes me feel strangely light.

  When I go to grab breakfast, I find a note.

  “Don’t think you’re getting away without telling me about last night,” it says in Audrey’s surprisingly utilitarian handwriting. “I expect you to give me at least one good tidbit on the back of this note to tide me over until you’re home from work. This is nonnegotiable. I’m a sort-of-lawyer and I say so.”

  I shake my head and chuckle, obliging her by writing a suitably purple description of the clearing with the waterfall.

  I’m actually the teensiest bit early for work today, so I take a moment to stop and admire Ezra’s painting before continuing on to the shop. It’s as bright and brilliant as the first time I saw it. I hope Ezra picks up an application.

  Turns out I don’t have to hope for very long. I’m about three hours into my shift when someone pushes their way through the door and slaps a piece of paper and several photos down on the counter next to me. I look up and find Ezra, looking stunningly handsome and unusually skittish. He rocks back and forth on his heels and taps his fingers against the counter

  “I thought it would be easy to do this,” he says. “I was wrong.”

  His nervous energy comes off him in waves. I want to soothe him and ease his mind. I want to do a lot more than that, to be honest, but I figure I’ll start with some support.

  “Relax,” I say, squeezing his hand before I pick up the application. “You’ve got everything filled out and it looks fine. You can do this.”

  He’s still fidgeting. “You don’t think I picked the wrong samples?”

  I flip through them. He’s printed out pictures of the walls of his apartment to show his work. It’s a good range of his skill, from skyline pieces to emotional scenes. There’s a man on fire that brings to mind an image of being reborn, of starting over. I can certainly relate to that. Another features the woman from his other paintings. She’s holding a wrapped bundle, but it’s slipping through her fingers like water and she’s howling her sorrow. That one kicks me right in the chest – I can feel the mother’s pain, the raw horror of losing her baby. All of this work shows Ezra’s heart and true style, since these are the paintings he keeps for himself.

  “They’re perfect,” I say. “You have this way of giving emotion a form. It’s incredible.”

  He fiddles with the pockets of his hoodie. “You don’t think these are too, I don’t know, amateurish?”

  He’s vulnerable again, just like before, and I want to ease his mind. I think I have an idea how. As I remember how we spent last night, heat rises up my neck and I bite my lip, overcome with the desire to touch him.

  I grab his hoodie and pull him in for a kiss. The shop’s mostly empty now, so there’s no one nearby to see.

  Even if there were, I don’t think I’d care.

  “I wasn’t lying when I told you that you were an artist,” I say, my voice low.

  He sighs against me. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to have actual nerves.”

  I lower my eyes, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as I even consider what I’m about to say next.

  “There’s an old trick some of my theater buddies used to use before a show,” I say.

  “Yeah?” Ezra licks his bottom lip and it makes me want to do the same. To him. “What’s that?”

  I lean around him and call out, “Sampson?”

  There’s a slightly muffled response of, “Yeah?” from somewhere near the cookbooks.

  “I’m taking my break now.”

  Before I change my mind, I grab Ezra’s hand, leading him to the back rooms. The smell of paper and wood surrounds us. I poke my head through the rooms to make sure they’re empty, which they always are if Sampson or I aren’t back here. Good.

  “Mia, what…?”

  I yank him along and hurry him into the storage closet. I leave the door cracked enough to let in the light.

  “I’m confused,” Ezra says as I put my hands around his waist and draw him in close.

  “We’re getting rid of your nerves.” I roll up onto my tiptoes and kiss him. He responds in kind. I move my hand down to his back pocket and slip it inside.

  “Are you grabbing my ass?” he mumbles against my lips, clearly amused.

  “I’m looking for your wallet,” I tell him while I kick off my shoes.

  He gasps in mock offense, jerking back. “After me for my money all this time?”

  I nip at his neck. “You chased after me, remember? I’m actually hoping you remembered to replenish your condom stash this morning.”

  There’s a long second of silence and I worry that I went too far.

  Ezra’s voice is husky when he says, “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  That’s all the affirmation I need. I dig through the wallet until I find the condom and pull it out. Ezra’s already hiking up my skirt, and I’m glad I opted for knee socks today instead of leggings. His fingers find the waistband of my panties and pull them down past my thighs. They hit the floor and I step out of them, fumbling with the front of his jeans to find his belt buckle.

  He grips me tight behind my neck and kisses me hard. Everything’s faster and needier, including the tight ball of hot tension in my lower belly. With his free hand, he finds a switch, making the dull bulb above us spring to life. He pulls the door the rest of the way closed and backs me up against it. I spread my legs enough for him to grind up against my heat. Pleasure pulses through me and I want more.

  I’ve only managed to get his belt buckle loose so far.

  “Lose your pants,” I say. “Or so help me.”

  The pants are lost in seconds. I hear them hit the floor and then he rolls on the condom. Once that’s done, he cups my bare ass with both hands, lifting me, and I let him.
>
  Without even giving me a second to catch my breath, he pushes into me and I groan, locking my arms around his neck as he fills me. His hips roll, gentle at first but rapidly picking up speed until I can barely keep myself together. I’m digging my nails into his shoulders, but if it hurts, he doesn’t say so.

  My climax surprises me, coming so hard and so suddenly that I don’t even have time to cry out as I shudder against Ezra. He notices, gripping me tighter as I ride it out. He grinds into me a few more times before his low moan in my ear lets me know he’s arrived.

  Our movements slow to a stop, our breaths long and ragged as we lean into one another for support.

  “Better?” I ask when I can finally speak again.

  “Definitely more relaxed than I was ten minutes ago,” he wheezes. “You use this trick a lot?”

  “Only in special circumstances,” I say.

  “I’ll have to come down with a bad case of nerves more often.”

  Break’s over, so we straighten ourselves up as best we can and make our way back into the shop. I try to smooth my obvious we-just-boned hair, but I’m pretty sure it’s a lost cause. The customers don’t pay much attention, but Sampson gives me a stern look that plainly says he recognizes a backroom quickie when he sees one.

  “You’ll be fantastic,” I tell Ezra. “Go. Be brave.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” he says, leaning in for a kiss before he leaves.

  Back at the checkout counter, Sampson’s scowling with his arms crossed.

  “Did you at least sanitize all surfaces?” he says.

  “We performed an elaborate cleansing ritual and made sure to burn extra sage,” I retort.

  “That sounds like a fire hazard.”

  “You have no idea.”

  21

  Later in the week, there’s another burst of autumn sunshine, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to squirrel myself away indoors for what might be the last few nice days of the season. I’ve got my bag of art supplies on my shoulder and a sketchbook tucked under my arm. My plan is to make my way to the Pearl District to do some people watching and sketching.

  Also, I’d be a stone-cold liar if I said I hadn’t contemplated stopping by Ezra’s apartment.

  He’s been stressed and distant since he turned in his application. I’d love to relieve some of his tension like we did in the bookshop – the memory of it makes my stomach do a swoopy thing every time I think about it – but we haven’t even had that much time together. I can’t help the creeping doubt that comes over me.

  Hopefully seeing him today will ease it.

  I step off the bus and make my way toward Ezra’s building. I’m about to buzz his loft when the door opens and, lo and behold, he comes out. His brow’s so furrowed in concentration that he doesn’t notice me right away.

  “Hey,” I say, reaching out to tug his sleeve. “You lost in space?”

  He starts under my touch, relaxing when he realizes it’s me. I can see the tight coils of his muscles start to unfurl as his hunched shoulders loosen. I let him pull me in for a kiss. It’s affectionate but distracted, and I want more. Now that my dry spell’s been broken, it seems like I’m always thirsty.

  Doesn’t hurt to have a superhot partner around to quench my thirst.

  He breaks our kiss with a sigh. “What’re you doing here? Not that I’m complaining.”

  “I came down to enjoy the sun and do some sketching at the park. I figured I’d see if I could catch you. You busy?” I hope I don’t sound clingy, but part of me doesn’t care if I do. I want to be around him.

  “I’m late for helping Leon out with inventory,” he says reluctantly. “But this? I miss this. We should do this again. Soon.”

  Disappointment weighs on me. ”Yeah, we really should. Any word on the contest?”

  His tension comes back and he shifts from foot to foot, looking away. “Not yet. Possibly never.”

  “You’ll get it,” I say, and I hope he hears something soon. I desperately want more than an absent-minded kiss. Part of me worries this distance is more than stress.

  His smile is tight. “You’re the best person I know, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up. Text you later?”

  I nod. “As long as you promise.”

  “Will do,” he says, squeezing my hand before heading off down the road.

  I never pictured myself much as a girl who looks wistfully after a guy, but Ezra brings it out in me. It’d be gross if it didn’t make me feel so damn giddy inside. It’s hard to trust that this weirdness will fade. For my peace of mind, I pray Angela makes her selection soon.

  Since I came here to draw, I shake the uneasy feelings creeping up on me and walk the rest of the way to the park. No families playing today, but the leaves sing softly overhead and that’s plenty of inspiration. I plop down on the grass, dig out my pencils, and get to work.

  Two hours later, Audrey calls.

  “I told you I’d text you a high five if I got lucky, and no, I won’t describe the details to you again,” I say when I answer. “People will think we’re having phone sex.” I’m still on edge from Ezra’s distractedness earlier. I know it wasn’t a brush off, but it sure felt like one.

  “You’re no fun,” Audrey responds. “But that’s actually not why I’m calling. Duke just invited me to some brewery and says the whole gang will be there. Are you part of the gang? Are we a gang now? Do I need to practice dance steps for a rumble?”

  “What are you talking about?” My heart dips down into my stomach like a stone.

  She’s quiet for a moment. “Get together tonight at the brewery? Did Ezra not tell you?”

  The stone in my stomach gets heavier. “Uh, no. He didn’t mention it when I saw him earlier.”

  Maybe it was a brush off. Am I that clueless?

  “Oh,” Audrey says. “Based on what Duke said, it sounds like they just decided on it. Some kind of celebration for something, he didn’t say. I’m sure Ezra will call soon.”

  “Sure,” I say. I sound like a robot.

  There’s some indistinguishable chatter on her end and she says, “My break’s almost over, I have to get back to work. See you tonight?”

  “Maybe,” I say, but she’s already gone. I set my phone down on the grass beside me and lean back on my hands, my mind automatically delving into its darkest thoughts.

  Duke must really like Audrey to call and invite her directly. Maybe Ezra doesn’t like me as much as I thought. Or am I being dramatic? No, I’m sure Ezra has a perfectly good reason for not telling me about the party tonight. Come on, Mia. He’s not Damien.

  Right?

  There’s another buzz from my phone and I pick it up expecting to see a text from Audrey, but it’s Ezra calling instead. I answer immediately.

  “Hello?”

  “I got it,” he says, breathless. “I got the spot. Angela just called. I can’t believe it.” He laughs.

  I sit bolt up on the grass. Relief and pride flood through me. “Of course you got the spot! I told you that you were amazing.” I can’t stop smiling. He’s finally going to get the recognition he deserves.

  “You did tell me, you amazing, beautiful person,” he says. “I feel like my heart’s going to beat out of my chest. Does excess serotonin constitute a medical emergency?”

  “Only if you hate happiness,” I say. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “This wouldn’t have happened without you. Leon’s insisting on a celebratory dinner at Underweather tonight. Beer’s on the house. Will you come?”

  “Hm. You know I don’t know anything about microbrews.”

  “No teasing. Leon will be heartbroken if you don’t show. So will I, in fact.”

  Those words ease the sinking feeling that’s been pulling at me all afternoon. “Of course I’ll come. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Good. Oh, and bring Audrey? I think she and Duke —”

  “Duke already invited her.”

  “Awesome. See you soon?”

  �
�Absolutely.”

  We hang up and I drop my hand to my lap, smiling down at my phone. See, brain? You didn’t have to worry.

  I pack up my things and decide to swing by Audrey’s office. She should be off soon and someone’s got to make sure she doesn’t stay overtime.

  Audrey and I push our way through the doors of Underweather to find the place absolutely packed. We sidestep around a large group to get to the host stand.

  “We’re here for a party?” Audrey says.

  While the host checks the ledger, I notice every table is full of people chatting and enjoying the gastropub fare. The line for the bar is at least two people deep, with groups clustered together every few feet.

  The host frowns. “I don’t have a party scheduled tonight. Do you have a name?”

  Leon emerges from the nearby crowd and comes up to clap the guy on the shoulder. “They’re with me in the private room,” he says. He beckons for us to follow and we do.

  Like many establishments in Portland, Underweather’s got that old-factory-industrial vibe, but whoever Leon hired for design warmed the place up with rich woods and bright, modern paintings. One of the paintings – a tagged mural painted directly on the wall – is obviously Ezra’s handiwork. Indie rock and 90’s alternative play on speakers throughout the place.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” Leon calls over the noise. “I’m dying for you to try next month’s release.”

  We finally make it back to a large banquet room and Leon closes the door behind us. Before I can take in my surroundings, I’m gathered up off the floor in a huge hug. Ezra spins me around and kisses me hard enough to make me dizzy. I shout, first from the surprise and then from the euphoria of sharing Ezra’s success. Pressed against me, his arms strong and eyes lit up, he’s a beacon of joy. I giggle against his shoulder, so proud of him I can hardly stand it. I’ve missed this.

  “Thank you for pushing me,” he says so only I can hear.

  “I’ll push your art on anyone and everyone,” I say.

  He takes my hand and we join the others near the large table in the center of the room. It’s already loaded with all sorts of goodies – bacon-wrapped dates, soft pretzels with mustard, beer-battered pickles, and other pub fare. A bartender hands me one of Leon’s hand-labeled bottles.