Never Marry Your Brother's Best Friend (Never Say Never, #1)(3)
Alphena is the headlining character in the graphic novel I’ve been drawing since I was in high school, though she’s taken on a life of her own more recently. A little Alpha bitch, a bit of Greek goddess Athena, and a lot of me blend to create a character that attacks the patriarchy and makes the world her oyster.
If only I were this bold in real life, but that’s never been the case. In reality, I’m quiet, almost shy. Even when my mind is throwing out ideas about what I should have said, my mouth stays tight-lipped. My art is where I can let loose, where my mousy becomes mighty.
On this page, Alphena is smack-talking a guy who’s mansplaining the electoral college . . . incorrectly. “No, Braaad. That’s actually not how it works, in fact. Try a basic Google search and you’ll see that I know more than cooking and cleaning. I retained my sixth-grade government education, something you seem to have forgotten.” I’m in the zone, so when my phone rings next to me, I ignore it. Then my text alarm goes off, and I narrow my eyes, staying focused on the tablet screen. When it rings again, I groan in irritation and set down my pen.
My eyes roll of their own volition at my annoying brother’s name on the caller ID. For all the sass Alphena has, I answer the phone relatively politely. “What?”
“Good to talk to you too, dear sister,” Zack responds dryly.
“Mm-hmm. What do you want?” My brain is ninety percent work and only ten percent paying attention to Zack.
“What makes you think I want something?”
“Call. Text. Call. Unless something’s wrong with Mom—which I know it’s not because I talked to her earlier today and she was lamenting that you never call—you want something.”
He can’t fault my logic. “Valid. I want to take you to dinner tonight. I have something I’d like to talk about.”
“I’m busy. Maybe next week?” I’m putting him off for tonight, and then next week, I can do it again. It’s not that I don’t want to see Zack, but he always picks fancy places where I’m uncomfortable and then plies me with unsolicited advice about how I should work with him. For some reason, he wants to shape me into a miniature version of himself, despite being well-aware that I would consider that a painful realm of hell. All the hand shaking, brown nosing, and negotiating he does? I would live in a panicked state.
My life is art, not in a poetic sense but a literal way.
To pay the bills, I work at the local museum doing tours of their collections and occasionally teaching a community outreach program class. It’s enough social interaction to last me a lifetime and works because I only have to talk about what I love. Besides, the tour is mostly scripted, and I have it memorized.
To feed my soul, I create Alphena. Between the two, I don’t have time to care about much more, especially whatever angle my brother’s working.
“Tonight, Luna. You name the place.”
Interesting. And suspicious. “Anywhere? My choice?” After a beat, I clarify, “And you’re paying?”
“Yeah, of course.” The small chuckle he swallows down is one I’ve heard before, when he’s commenting on my lack of salary compared to him. That’s more like Zack.
“Fine. I’ll meet you at Fairy Tales, then.” I can already taste the coffee and sandwiches, and most importantly, smell the books in my greedy little hands.
“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I’ll buy dinner anywhere you’d like, and you want to go to a cheap café you eat at once a week?”
I smile an evil smile as I reveal my plan. “I’m going to add a significant stack of art hardcovers to that dinner bill you’re footing.”
“Deal. I’ll see you there at seven,” Zack answers too easily. “Bye, Sis.”
I look down at the phone in my hand, noting apprehensively that Zack has already hung up. He’s up to something, clearly. But I’m getting books I could never afford out of the deal, so it can’t be too bad of an arrangement. It’s only dinner, right?
I go back to page sixteen after setting an alarm to remind me to stop working to get to Fairy Tales on time.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot.” My alarm went off, but I only had a tiny bit left so I kept working, and now I’m late. Not that Zack will be surprised that I got lost in my art again. He’s used to my ‘five minutes’ being more like thirty. Or more.
I swing the door open and run smack into a guy carrying a huge paper bag of books. “Oops, sorry,” I tell him, already ducking inside and away from the guy’s scowl as I push my glasses back into position. The smell of books rushes through my nose and straight into my blood. I feel . . . at home here.
In the café, Zack is sitting at a table in the middle of all the action, staring at his phone. A definite change from my usual hidey-hole in the corner where no one interrupts my reading and quiet dinners, but I’m not going to ask him to move because he’d totally give me a hard time about it. Leaning against the chair across from him, I drawl out, “What’s so important that you’re willing to come here to see me?”
Unbothered, Zack looks up with a smile. “Have a seat.”
He kicks the chair out next to him, but I see the flash of disappointment on his face when he takes me in. My baggy overalls, tank top, and Converse aren’t exactly Zack’s style. In contrast, his hair is styled perfectly, his glasses spotless, his button-up shirt tucked in, and though the rest of him is beneath the table, I know he’s wearing slacks and dress shoes. The quintessential businessman to my creative artist. For siblings, we couldn’t be more different.