Love On Her Terms. Jennifer Lohmann
Grab another beer and we’ll go sit in the living room while this bakes. It’s more comfortable in there.”
Mina joined Levi in the living room as soon as the lasagna was in the oven. He was on the couch, not in one of the two armchairs, and he’d sat near the middle of it. Unless she chose one of the armchairs, she’d have to sit near him.
She joined him on the couch and put her beer on the coffee table in front of them, turning her body toward him. He’d turned toward her, too. They weren’t touching, but she was close enough to smell the brisk notes of his aftershave and to see some stubble along his jawline that he’d missed. His intense gaze sent good shivers down her spine, shivers that reinforced that she hadn’t been wrong about his more intimate intentions.
After her diagnosis, Mina had become more thoughtful about her interactions with men. She hadn’t yet managed to make accurate predictions about their intentions from her careful study of their movements, but she kept trying. Trial and error would surely pay off eventually, and she’d be right about a man one day.
If nothing else, the careful study of men slowed her down a little.
“I’m glad you came over and introduced yourself,” he said, his rich voice coating her skin in warmth.
She smiled. “Me, too.”
“I checked out your website. That was the first time I’d heard about graphic novels. The drawings were neat and, uh, darker than I would have guessed.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “I’m so bubbly and short that everyone expects me to have light, fluffy drawings. Something cute, with bunnies. When I do talks and festivals, the most common comment I get after ‘I love your work’ is ‘I thought you’d be taller.’ It used to bother me, but I’ve stopped worrying about it. Honestly, my art used to be lighter.”
Levi took a drink from his beer bottle, and his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. How had she not noticed what a sexy part of the male anatomy the neck was until now? “What changed?”
She shrugged. “My drawings were always macabre and obsessed with the strange, but in college my lines got darker and thicker and I started having fewer curves in my art and more sharp corners. It’s better, actually. One of the things I tell my students is that they don’t have to be an amazing artist to write comics or graphic novels, but their art has to match their subjects. Like Kate Beaton, who draws these hilarious comics with random historical and pop-culture references. Her drawings appear to be rough sketches and, if you ignore the adult content, almost something a kid would draw. But it makes the punch of her jokes that much stronger. Or Tom Gauld, who wrote this beautiful book on Goliath, where Goliath was an innocent victim. The bare landscapes mean the reader focuses on Goliath’s simplicity and how he is used by both his friends and his enemies. Scott McCloud has this great book where he talks about comics with a focus on form versus comics with a focus on idea or purpose, and I was really so focused on form that I forgot my ideas.”
When she took a deep breath, all the words she had to say about comics clouded up her lungs, and she had to exhale slowly before she could say another word. Just to be safe, she waved all the excess words out from between them. “Anyway. Before, well, before my art and my subject matter were a mismatch. Not completely wrong for each other, but wrong enough that the stories lost their power.”
“Do you have more of your books?” he asked, his brows raised in genuine curiosity.
“Sure,” she said, pleased. “You want to see?”
“Of course. I’ve never known anyone who made money drawing pictures.”
“Oh, I don’t make much money. It’s certainly not a living.” She doubted that she’d ever make a living doing it. Russian stories were interesting to people, and people liked her art, but it wasn’t commercial, really.
She pushed herself off the couch and headed over to her bookshelf, feeling his gaze on her the entire way. When she got back, he set his beer on the table and accepted the two volumes from her.
While he examined her books, she examined him. The ridges of his spine starting at his hairline and disappearing into the neckline of his shirt. The curves of his ear and softness of his earlobe. A faint scar across his cheek that she hadn’t noticed under his previous scruff.
Her scrutiny didn’t seem to make him uneasy. He didn’t seem to notice it at all. He was a steady man, she realized, and someone could easily mistake his composure for shallowness, but his stillness suggested the lastingness of a mountain lake, not the transience of a rain puddle.
Better, he was taking the time to really study her art and the words, not just flip through and look at the pictures.
The timer beeped. Mina got up and went to the kitchen to take the lasagna out of the oven. While it rested, she set the table as Levi continued to study her books. When she called him over for dinner, he asked a few questions about her art, then sat back and let her talk. Still flattered by his interest, Mina monopolized the entire dinner talking about herself, her theories about comics and all the plans she had for books to come. And it felt right, because when she stopped chattering to take a breath, Levi asked her a question and then looked interested when she jumped back in.
She felt, well, she felt comfortable being herself with him, which was the best thing you could want in a man.
After they finished eating, Mina directed Levi around the kitchen as she washed dishes, and he dried and put them away. Then she offered him the choice of five different kinds of Sweet Peaks Ice Cream from her freezer. As he looked at the row of cartons on the countertop, he had the faintest possible smile, and she felt silly in the best, warmest possible way.
This casual, no-expectations dinner was quickly turning into something else. At least for her, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t misreading him.
Which meant it was time to relax. Be funny. Friendly. Open. Charming.
With their bowls of ice cream in hand, they returned to the living room couch, almost in the same spots that they had been sitting before. Almost, because now they sat closer to one another, their knees not quite touching as they faced each other.
There on the couch, their knees a hope and a prayer from being intertwined, Mina couldn’t hear the question Levi asked her over the beating of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears. She asked him to repeat himself. She tried to smile and tried to make it look natural. The world must be smiling down on her, because suddenly she thought of a question to ask him, something to take the pressure off her and give her time to take a deep breath.
Time to stop the panic welling up inside her.
More important, time to stop herself from acting on the panic.
“Are you okay?” Levi asked, his brows crossed in confusion over her sudden change of behavior.
“I’m fine.” Her voice sounded breathy and dismantled to her ears, but he only nodded.
“Let me take your bowl,” he said, and she released her grip on her ice cream. She wasn’t finished with it, but she had stopped tasting it several minutes ago.
Levi’s eyes had grown hot during the time they’d been sitting on the couch. Intent had softened his jaw and, she saw as he set both their bowls on the coffee table, his shoulders. As he sat back up, the coming kiss dulled the world around them. Mina stopped being able to hear the tick of the clock on her wall, and the outlines of the furniture got fuzzy.
He leaned into her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure,” she reassured him, trying to lie to them both and failing miserably.
But Levi didn’t seem to notice her failure. Or, if he did, he didn’t care. Every skin cell burned as he trailed his finger along her jawline. The panic beating inside her couldn’t hide the intensity with which she wanted his lips pressed against hers. The fear didn’t stop her from leaning into him, from meeting him halfway.
Just