More Than Comics (3 page)

“Good question,” Tara said, turning to me. “I’m curious about this, too.”

Damn, these people didn’t mess around. They couldn’t have started me off with an easy one?

His question was something I’d started to worry about with the band going on tour this month and preparing to record our second album soon. Tara and I hadn’t discussed it, but with her starting a new job too it was something we’d have to address at some point if we wanted to do more than three books.

“They’re equally important to me. I don’t consider myself a drummer first and an artist second, or vice versa. I’m both all the time. Sometimes it’s tough to find time to do both, and maybe it’ll be even harder now, but I’ll always find a way to make them each a priority. If you love doing something, if you feel drawn to it above everything else, nothing can stop you from pursuing it. I’m just weird because I feel that way about two things.” I rubbed the back of my neck. I hadn’t meant to talk so much, and worried I’d sounded stupid or boring. “I hope that answers your question.”

“Thank you,” the guy said, and was replaced at the mic by a girl in a Villain Complex shirt.

“Hi Hector! I just wanted to know, what is Jared like in person? And is he here, by any chance?”

In the back of the room, Jared sank lower in his chair and covered his mouth, trying not to laugh. Of course he would love that question, damn egomaniac. I wanted to roll my eyes but I kept my expression as neutral as I could while I answered. “Jared is a great guy and a very talented musician. Next question.”

The girl looked disappointed but the Comic-Con volunteer shuffled her off and brought up the next girl, this one in a
Sailor Moon
costume.

“So now that Jared’s taken, you’re the only single guy in the band, right?” She batted her eyelashes at me suggestively, and a few people in the audience hooted.

I stared at her for a beat. “Is that really your question?”

She giggled. “Well, if you
are
single, do you want to go out later?”

I had no response to this. I wasn’t used to being hit on like Jared or Kyle. My eyes found my friends again, who all looked like they were trying not to die of laughter. Yeah, laugh it up, assholes.

Tara patted me on the arm while smiling at the audience, as though she was amused by the question. “He’s single and he’s quite a catch, but I suspect you’ll have to fight off a lot of girls for him.”

I stared at her, wishing she hadn’t said that. I didn’t want to be single. I didn’t want girls fighting over me. I wanted to be
hers
.

Sailor Moon was replaced by a girl in a tight, colorful dress. I couldn’t tell if it was a costume or just how she dressed. “My question is um…what was it
really
like being on
The Sound
?”

Give me a fucking break.

I leaned forward, close to the mic. “Okay, I’m going to answer one more question about my band and that’s it, so listen up. Being on
The Sound
was an amazing experience and did great things for our band, but it was also the craziest and most stressful and exhausting month of my entire life. It’s awesome that so many of you are fans of the band, but this panel isn’t about that. We’re here to talk about
Misfit Squad
, so no more questions about the band or the show or my fucking personal life. You can come to our signing and ask me whatever you want there. But right now, someone needs to ask Tara a question.”

So much for not swearing. I sat back and crossed my arms, and Tara gave me a reassuring smile. A huge chunk of the line left and went back to their seats, which made me even more annoyed. I hated that they’d made this about me and not about her, or what we’d created together.

“Yes, please keep your questions focused on the book,” Christie said. She turned to the two of us, with a teasing smile. “Though I think we’re all wondering—
is
there something going on between you two?”

Oh, shit.

CHAPTER THREE
TARA

“S
orry about that,” Hector said when the panel was over and we were leaving the room to head to our signing. “I didn’t realize they’d just want to ask about the show and all that.”

Oh, thank god. I thought he was apologizing for that
other
question. But if he was ignoring it, then so was I. Especially after he’d so quickly denied that we were anything more than friends.

Which was true, of course.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind. Your success with the band sold lots of copies of our book, so I can’t complain.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want people to see
Misfit Squad
as ‘that graphic novel by the drummer in the band on
The Sound
.’ I want them to see it as this kick-ass book you wrote and I happened to do the art for.”

“Why can’t it be both? If your band’s popularity introduced more people to our book, then that’s great. Really, I don’t mind. I think it’s good for us. It might mean we can do a fourth book, thanks to you.”

He stopped in the middle of the busy hallway and turned to face me, his expression serious. “I just don’t want to steal your spotlight. When Jared and I were on
The Sound,
the show made it all about him and it drove me crazy. I don’t ever want to take this away from you.”

I placed my hand on his forearm and smiled up at him. “You’re not. I promise.”

His body relaxed and he nodded. I wasn’t sure why he was so worried about this, but it touched me that he cared so much. That he wanted this to be special for me. He had no idea that just meeting him in person had already made it special.

We caught up with Miguel and he led us through a giant, bright room packed with people in costumes rushing around or taking photos of each other. Our signing table was against one wall and there was already an enormous line beside it. I should have expected it, with the huge turnout for the panel, but I was still blown away seeing so many people waiting for us. There had to be hundreds of them there, all waiting for our signatures.

One end of the table had boxes with copies of
Misfit Squad
in it, ready to be sold to people in line. I’d brought special pens for our signing, pretty metallic ones in different colors, but Miguel also provided some boring, black Sharpies. As we sat, Hector picked one up and twirled it, like I’d seen him do with his drumsticks. He didn’t even look at the pen, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. Under the table his left leg bounced, very close to my own. I had the sudden urge to put my hand on his thigh, to see if it would relax him. Or to see if it felt as muscular as it looked. Luckily the first people in line rushed forward before I could do it.

A girl in a Captain Marvel shirt shoved a well-read copy of
Misfit Squad
at me with a smile. I opened it to the title page. My first signed book. How mind-blowing was that? It still shocked me to see the book in person, this thing that Hector and I had spent three years working on together. It was even more incredible seeing actual proof that strangers were reading it and not just my friends.

“I love this book so much,” the girl said. “When’s the next one coming out?”

“Thanks! The second one’s out in September.” I finished signing my name, with a signature I’d practiced for a week to make sure it looked cool and was different from the one I used on checks and stuff. I pushed the book over to Hector and his arm brushed against mine as he signed. I watched his wrist flex as the pen moved, momentarily stunned by how he could make something so basic look so sexy.

He was left handed. How had I never known that before?

The line continued forward, until a guy with black-rimmed glasses and blond hair poking out of a beanie slid a book in front of me, along with a business card. “Hi Tara. I work for Giselle Roberts, the producer. She’d like to set up a meeting with you during Comic-Con, if you have time.”

I blinked at him, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. Giselle Roberts was the biggest female producer and showrunner around. She was known for bringing diverse TV shows to the major networks and then dominating the ratings with them. She’d also created many popular reality TV shows like
Behind The Seams, American Supermodel,
and
Road Trip Race
.

“I’d love to,” I said. “Do you know why?”

He pulled out his phone, checking something on it. “She didn’t tell me, but I know she’s a fan. Can you sign the book to her? And are you free tomorrow at all?”

“Sure.” I raised an eyebrow at Hector, who shrugged. We both signed the book while the guy set up a meeting before walking away, leaving me completely baffled.

“What was that about?” Hector asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Hmm. Maybe she wants to turn
Misfit Squad
into a TV show?”

“No, then she’d want to meet with you, too.” I couldn’t figure it out, but the line moved at a brisk pace and I didn’t have any more time to ponder it.

For the next hour we signed so many books my wrist began to throb. By the end of it I could barely move my hand and we’d run out of books to sell, although many fans had brought their own copies, too. And though some people were there because they’d seen Hector on
The Sound
, others seemed to genuinely love the book and were excited for the next one.

When it was over we said goodbye to Miguel and headed for the lobby of the convention center. “That was crazy,” Hector said, running a hand through his short curls before covering them with his hat again. “I never expected so many people to show up.”

“Me either. It was such a rush.” I flexed my wrist. “Except now my hand hurts.”

“It does? Mine seems okay.”

“You’re always using your hands, what with drawing and playing the drums. This was probably nothing to you.”

He offered me his hand. “Let me help.”

I rested my palm flat against his and little tingles shot through me. We were so close to holding hands. Touching like this was still in the realm of friendship, but at the same time, so incredibly intimate.

“Your hands are so tiny,” he said, examining them.

“Or yours are just really big,” I teased.

It was true, his were much larger than mine and his long, rough fingers completely dominated my own. What did they say about guys with big hands? Or was that feet? A quick glance down showed that those were big, too. I had to forcibly stop myself from checking the front of his jeans next.

He began to massage my wrist and his touch was firm but gentle. It was all I could do not to melt into a puddle right there. Time seemed to slip away, the crowd around us vanished, and I never wanted him to stop what he was doing.

“How’s that?” he asked, releasing my hand and jolting me out of my trance.

I flexed my wrist and the pain was gone. His fingers were magic. I briefly wondered what else they could do. God, I needed to get my mind out of the gutter. “Much better. Thank you.”

He nodded and glanced around the lobby, but didn’t take another step. This was where we were supposed to split up and go our separate ways, but I got the feeling we were both stalling. I didn’t want to say goodbye to him just yet either.

“Do you want to get coffee or something?” I asked. “A late lunch?”

He gave me another of his elusive smiles. “I’d like that.”

We exited the convention center and joined the sea of people outside. The Gaslamp Quarter of downtown San Diego was almost as packed as inside the exhibit hall, with people hanging out in front of bars and restaurants, walking down the sidewalk to get to their hotels or one of the many off-site events, or standing around handing out flyers or trying to sell water bottles. The sun beat down on us, and I wasn’t envious of anyone in costume in this heat.

We didn’t talk much as we walked through the crowded streets other than to point out some of the things we saw, like cops pretending to make arrests for charity so people could take photos to send to friends or post online. Or the hundreds of ads and billboards for movies, TV shows, and video games that covered everything from the sides of buildings to the pedicabs and taxis in the street. Or the restaurants that had been completely taken over and transformed for the week, such as a café that had been redone for an upcoming zombie TV show, complete with undead servers and food made to look like brains and other mangled body parts. The menu alone made me want to gag. Needless to say, we decided not to eat there.

Every time I glanced at Hector, he met my gaze and his lips twitched into a small grin. Nope, we’d definitely had nothing to be nervous about. Being with him in person, even if we weren’t saying a word, was just as easy as being with him online.

“How about here?” he asked, stopping outside a restaurant that looked fairly empty, possibly because it hadn’t bothered with a fun theme. “Thai food is your favorite, right?”

“It is. How did you know?”

“You always eat it when we’re on deadline and all stressed out, so I figured….” He shrugged.

“Huh. I never realized that, but you’re right. It
is
my go-to comfort food.” I tilted my head, smiling at him. “I’m impressed. But hey,
I
know you’re allergic to seafood and you hate bananas and coconut. Oh, and your favorite food is your grandmother’s tres leches cake.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s true. But I know
you’re
addicted to Diet Coke.”

“That’s an easy one. Everyone knows that.”

“Okay, how about this: you love chocolate but hate chocolate-flavored things. Chocolate cake, ice cream, milkshakes—all of those are out. The one exception is hot chocolate. Oh, and brownies. Can’t forget those either.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine, I admit that you know me pretty well, too.”

“Damn straight I do.”

We got a table and ordered some food to share—he let me pick, since it was my favorite—and then launched right into easy conversation. He told me all about being on
The Sound
, since we hadn’t been able to talk much while he was on it. It had only ended a week ago, and now he gave me all the behind-the-scenes scoop—how the producers had manipulated the results so Villain Complex couldn’t win, how Jared and Maddie had carried on a secret relationship that nearly broke up the band, and how even though they hadn’t won the show they’d gotten offers from multiple record labels for their second album.