“And cut,” a nebulous voice shouts as an army of interns swarm the room along with Seth.
“Place those flowers in the vase behind them,” he orders, giving me a sly wink. I’m totally convinced that Seth knew I was near a total meltdown just a few short minutes ago. He looked just as relieved to see Lane as I was. He steps forward and looks from Lane to me. “The object of tonight’s task is to do three paintings. You’ll work on one canvas together. The first will represent how you felt about the beginning of your relationship, the second will represent the middle, and the third—the end. The audience will be cued in on what you’re doing with text, so no need to explain any of this. Just be sure to talk through each phase. How you felt, what you remember doing, the good times and the bad. We want it all.” He claps his hands as the interns clear out. “Above all, be natural. The audience loves you.”
I look to Lane. “At least someone loves me.” I give a little wink, and he offers a playful frown back.
Lane helps set up the gargantuan-sized canvas that must be at least about three feet wide by four feet tall. He and I get right to work with me splashing the canvas with bright orange and pinks—the happy colors that exude best how he made me feel, and him dousing it with lemon yellow and reds.
“Do you remember going to that ice cream shop on Main after our first official alone date?” I ask with a gleam in my eye because it was pretty disgusting what happened next.
“Yup.” He gives a curt nod as he continues to slash the canvas with color. “You and I both ordered a triple chocolate chip fudge brownie. We went outside to eat it, and a fly landed on yours.”
“It was so hot, a giant goop of brownie fudge melted over that thing, and if we hadn’t been looking, I would have unwittingly eaten a horsefly without knowing any better. But you tossed it for me and bought me a new one.”
“That’s what I was there for.” He gives my shoulder a friendly bump.
“You’re the one who noticed it. I was too busy talking to you about how much fun that party was the night before, and you were looking out for me—protecting me.”
He stops with his hand mid-flight. “I wasn’t able to protect you last week.” He casts a heavy glance to my boot, and his affect grows hard as if he were pissed at himself.
“That was my fault. I’m forever trying to prove that I can do things that I’m clearly not qualified to do. Case in point, Widow’s Peak. I’ve successfully avoided that place for two solid decades. I should have gone for three.”
Seth pops up near the mouth of the tent and points to the second canvas, and we take the hint.
Lane moves the first one to the side and sets its successor in its place. “Middle of the relationship.” He scoots in and wraps an arm around my shoulder as natural as gravity. “You’ll have to forgive me. I have no clue what the middle could have been.”
“Are you kidding?” I lean back, pretending to be wildly insulted. “That would have been summer, Fourth of July?”
He tips back his head and winces.
“Otherwise known as the beginning of the end.” I smirk as I hand him a fresh brush. Lane and I get started in a mosaic of colors, utilizing every shade, as if our lives at that point were filled with everything we could have ever wanted, and in a strange way they were. Yes, we were close to the abyss, but we hadn’t set our feet over the edge yet. There was still hope for us. We might have been fragile, but we didn’t know it. There was still so much beauty around us.
“You know”—he starts, his voice warm and low—“when I think of that time in my life, I still feel like I did back then, satisfied and happy.” He says that last bit so low you would have thought it was a secret. “I was thinking about it the other day—how we used to go to the lake. The air was warm that summer. My favorite part was holding hands, just you and me, hanging out until the sunset.” His pale eyes meet with mine with an intensity I’ve never seen in them before. “I thought they’d last forever. I remember thinking about spending the rest of our lives like that. It was the only thing I thought possible at that time.”
Tears come to my eyes, and no matter how hard I bite down on my lower lip, I can’t stop them from falling. A smile comes to me, despite the agony, and I give a soft nod. “I told you I would have said yes if you asked me to marry you. It would have been an easy answer.”
His gaze hangs heavy over mine as we sit there a moment too long, lost in a game of what-if. The reality is we didn’t choose the matrimonial path. We chose the separation, the sting of rejecting one another with words and actions.
The third and final canvas makes its debut, and both Lane and I sigh as we stare at how stark it looks, naked without any of the horrible marks we’re about to stain it with. Lane and I choose a dark palate of umbers and grays, navy and deep purple. We paint long slashing strokes over the girth of it as if we were doling out a punishment. I despise that dark period in my life, marred with hurt feelings and broken hearts.
“I hated you that night,” I whisper without bothering to look at him. Instead, I keep my focus intently on the broad strokes my brush leaves behind. Blood red is the color of the moment for me.
“I hated me that night, too.” He dips his brush into the water aggressively and abandons it for a fresh brush instead. “I hated what I did. Still do. I was stupid and acting on anger. I should never have gone to the party that night.”
I glance to the camera with a flash of anger. At the moment, I loathe the fact Lane and I can’t have a decent conversation without five million eyes trained right on us. And I also hate the fact that I’m letting Lane take the blame for our downfall. That night on stage I wanted nothing more than to vomit up what really happened, but instead I let Lane take one for the team. I haven’t been good at many things in my life, but I have always been a master of self-sabotage. And as much as I want to clear the air, set the record straight, I’m not going there. Some things are so ugly, so vile, they demand to be kept under lock and key. Wendell knows the truth, though. Wen has never even considered throwing me under the bus, and I’m sure as hell not throwing myself under it either.
“What are you thinking?” I ask to fill the silence with just about anything.
Lane sinks his brush in the giant tub of water, leans back in his seat with his hands behind his neck as he inspects our work of art with a blank expression.
“I’m thinking I like the other two better. Not enough light and color in this one. It was a real shit ride, wasn’t it?”
“It was.” I dip my brush back into the caustic red I’m using, or abusing as it were, and paint a giant red X over the entire canvas. “There. It’s like it never happened.” I abandon my brush and scoot in close to the warmth of his body as we stare out at the catastrophe before us. “Wow, we really suck.”
“We were in pain. That last leg of our relationship is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
“Violet, Lane,” a deep voice strums over the speakers, and for some reason I find its anonymous presence comforting tonight. “There is one more canvas to your left. We’d like for the two of you to depict what the future holds for you. When you’re through, I’d like for the two of you to share your thoughts.”
Lane and I look to one another with apprehension. Lane and I are over. Our story ended in the Dark Ages. But of course, the TSE forever chasing a happily ever after demands roses and rainbows, so Lane and I get right to work. He chooses a lime green to wash the lower half of the canvas while I choose a pale celadon, the exact color of his eyes. We paint with happier shades, pastels, pinks and blues, a bright vibrant tangerine that reminds me of a sunrise. Once every inch is covered, Lane wraps an arm around my waist, and I lean against his chest as we examine it from a distance.
“It feels like we’re watching the sun rise,” I say. A nod to his burst of color on an otherwise pale Easter egg of a canvas.
“The first color I chose was the color of your eyes.” He presses his lips over the top of my head and sears my scalp with a heated kiss. I
feel the burn long after he’s gone. “I hope you’ll let me see more of them in the future.”
I look up at him to ascertain exactly how platonic that statement was meant to be.
“And I chose the color of your eyes,” I say, trying to sound like a smartass for no reason, even though it was the truth. “I’m hoping I’ll get to see them around sometime, too. It didn’t feel good trying to avoid you.”
He gives a slow nod. “It’s like we took avoiding one another to a whole new level.”
“It was pretty epic. Hall of fame stuff.” I swallow hard. “But I was convinced you hated me toward the end.” A dull laugh comes from me, because deep down, I know he should. “I remember that day we were screaming at one another, after the party incident. And you said the reason women lived longer than men was because they didn’t have to live with other women.”
We share a dark laugh. “Some of them choose to,” he corrects. “I’ll admit I was wrong.” He winces. “And I’m sorry. That was a terrible thing to say. I was pretty upset all around.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I said all of your Swedish furniture was pretty much fire starter material and called you cheap.”
“That you did.”
We share another quick chuckle.
He shakes his head, his thumb warming me over the back. “It wasn’t so funny back then, was it? But we had good times, too. Remember the music festivals? We must have gone to at least a half a dozen.”
“Yes!” My spirit soars at the mention of them. “God, how can I forget?” I lean my head over his shoulder and give a gentle scratch at his chest. “How I miss those lobster red hippies that would roll around on the grass amusing us for hours.”
“And the wannabe bikers who would pour vodka straight into their eyeballs?” He groans at the memory. We almost upchucked our dinners the first time we witnessed that unholy event.
My stomach churns at what comes next. “And then after the big fight, we downgraded all communication efforts to our social media accounts.”
He groans as if I had injured him with that one. “You do realize that Facebook interactions with an ex is the sewer of communication.”
“We were pretty brutal.” It’s easy for me to admit that now. “I remember blocking and deleting with the best of them after making my feelings known in a drunken texting spree. Facebook and alcohol should be outlawed in all fifty states.”
He gives a steady nod while coiling my hair around his finger, and my body yearns for his touch. “I was pretty torn up over some of those things you said.”
I look up at him with a devious smile. “Just some of them?”
“Full disclosure, all of them. I went to bed at seven every night after practice. I didn’t want any more of the day than was necessary.”
“At seven?” I can’t help but giggle while scratching at the scruff over his neck, and my fingers come alive with the sensation. “You were a good little grandpa.”
He makes a face, and something deep inside of me aches to touch those lips of his. Lane always had the softest lips. I used to love running my finger over them, outlining them over and over again. So I do. I brush my finger over his mouth, and a rush fills me as if touching Lane Cooper was enough to get me high. Lane always was the most potent drug, and here I had accidently taken another hit.
Lane pierces me with those candle-lit eyes and gives a dark smile. “You always were a nymphomaniac.” He takes a quick nip of my finger, and a laugh bubbles from me.
“Yeah, but admit it. At the end of the day, the nympho left me, and all you got was the maniac.”
Lane barks out a laugh. “That might be true, but you missed me. Admit it.”
“I do miss you.” I give his cheeks a quick squeeze between my fingers. “But watch your back because my aim is getting better.” Someone offstage laughs, and Seth calls cut.
The interns come in and remove our mics. Lane holds out his arms as if they were frisking him, but he never takes those eyes off mine. They burn right through me like torches. Once we’re free from the wires, and spyware in general, Lane comes over and offers a quick embrace. He buries his lips in my ear. “Meet me at Coffeeology in ten?” He pulls back, and I give the slight hint of a nod.
Lane takes off, and Seth has a couple of beefy interns help me to the elevator.
“Oh, and Violet?” Seth calls after me. “We’re bumping the dates to two a week from here on out.”
“Can’t wait,” I shout back as the elevator takes me down, out of the Tower, away from anyone associated with the TSE, and to Coffeeology where Lane Cooper is waiting for me. Lane and I are about to jump the gun and have our second date for the week right this minute.
Alone and in private.
* * *
It doesn’t take much to ditch the frat brats escorting me to the well-lit coffee shop. I could tell by their conversation about the kegger at Alpha-Something-Something that they were eager to part ways themselves. I’m just about to make my way in when I hear a whistle coming from across the way and, sure enough, Lane sprints over under the cover of darkness. His bright eyes shine like a lantern, and if I didn’t know better, his cologne calls to me a bit more pungent than it did at the Tower. If I were a betting girl, I’d lay down some cold hard cash over the fact that Lane was trying to impress me.
His dimples dig deep as he nods over to his waiting truck in the distance. “How about heading to my place instead? I don’t feel like being the center of attention anymore tonight.”
“Are you kidding? That sounds like heaven.” I move my crutches in the direction of the lot, and the left one slips out over the icy terrain.
“How about I make it simple?” Lane snatches up my crutches and hands them to me to hold. He scoops me up in his arms and trots me across the main thoroughfare of campus, across the snow-covered field, and toward the spot where his truck is creating a fog of its own from the purring engine. I laugh all the way there as he settles me into a waiting warm seat.
Lane drives us down the street over to Leland Heights, an exclusive apartment building just a stone’s throw from campus. It’s a high-rise, so it gives off a big city feel, and I’ve always admired that about it. I looked into it when I was exploring my housing options and was quickly put off by all the zeros at the end of the wild number associated with the rent. Lane once lived in the dorms when he moved to Leland, but during our breakup, he was in the process of breaking up with his dormitory as well.
Lane helps me out of the truck and into the warm building, with its marble flooring, its large paint-splattered canvases decorating the entry.
“Looks like we’ve already been here,” I tease.
Lane belts out an easy laugh. “Honey, those were done with full bodies dipped in acrylics.”
“Are you saying we’re not at that level yet?” I tease as we get onto the waiting elevator, and the doors entomb us in the stifled silence.
Lane leans in, his arm wrapped around my waist for support. “If you wanted to roll around on a canvas all day, I’m sure you could convince me to join you.” He pushes out a sad smile. “We’d have to be naked, though. You still up for it?”
“Acrylics in my girl parts? No thanks. But I’m good with food, so if you ever want to get kinky.” I catch a breath and hold it. What the hell am I saying? I glance around at the tiny, confined space, and sheer panic sweeps through me. What the hell am I doing?
We get off on the nineteenth floor, and he leads us to the room at the end. Lane opens the door, and my next breath does a disappearing act as I catch the view from a giant picture window that showcases the sparkling lights of Leland University glittering below.
“Oh my goodness!” I do my best to hobble toward the expansive window. “It’s so beautiful.” The world looks so small from this perspective. It’s as if every problem is shrunken down with it. It’s always amazed me how fragile humans look from a high vantage point like this one. We look dispensable, innumerous as ants, and just as fragile. A sigh escapes me
as I turn to inspect his apartment. Dark wood floors, large chocolate sofa, a TV the size of his ego, and secretly I love it. He’s got an all stainless eat-in kitchen with a round glass table and white granite counters. It screams both modern and underutilized all at the same time. “It’s lovely.” My voice wavers because it suddenly hits me that I’m standing in his apartment.
Lane steps in, his arms finding a home around my waist once again, and I lean my crutches against the wall. I don’t think I’ll need them tonight. I slide in close to him until our chests touch. His eyes are as round as mine, and my heart detonates every other second like a bomb. I want to say something, say anything, but a part of me doesn’t want to break the magic this moment brings.
Lane closes his eyes a moment, his shoulders sagging with defeat. “I’m sorry, Vi. About everything.”
I land a finger to his lips and shake my head. Some words just aren’t allowed in this moment, and the words he just spoke have the potential to cast a pall on the good that could come of this evening.
“Lane,” I whisper. “I don’t want our first kiss to be out there.” I nod toward campus, toward the TSE and all of their cameras trained on us like snipers. “Kiss me.”
He gives a hint of a nod, those serious eyes still pinned to mine. Lane comes in slow and easy as his lips brush gently over mine, and we both let out a hearty groan. It feels like heaven, like hell, like some nebulous place in between to revisit the feel of his lips over mine.
My fingers dig into the hair at the base of his neck as I pull him closer to me, forcing him to do it again, and my chest explodes with heat.
This time he lingers. His mouth moves over mine softer than I remember it to be, his lips fuller, his desire far more palpable. My stomach drops to my feet, my knees feel as if they could go out at any moment, and my thighs shake so hard I’m half-afraid he can feel the vibration. My mouth opens for him, slow and careful, as if offering him an invitation. My hand fans over his back as I press him in close to me. Lane plunges in with his tongue, his warm mouth suddenly enveloping mine as he makes one violent revolution after the other, scoping me out, memorizing the landscape, making sure no stone is left unturned. Lane and I make love to one another with our kisses, his strong arms supporting me as he holds me there for what feels like hours, weeks.
Bitter Exes: The Social Experiment 2 Page 8