Near and Far
Page 7

A smile broke out on the guy’s face. I guessed he was pleased I’d agreed with the gender distinction of my name or that I didn’t take myself too seriously. “Hey, I meant no offense. Or no real offense. I like getting under Rowen’s skin, and mentioning her boyfriend with a girlfriend name really, really gets under her skin.” He shrugged and gave a quick check over his shoulder. “I forgot she wasn’t here glued to my hip the way we have been all day.”
“You’re Jax,” I said.
“The one and only.” He shook my hand when I extended it. I didn’t make it a point to notice a man’s handshake, but Dad had always told me that a man’s handshake was an extension of himself. A two-second elevator speech without using words. He said the key was to make your handshake firm enough that the other person knew you were strong, but not so firm that it was a dead giveaway you were only pretending to be strong.
Jax’s handshake was so damn firm, I felt like I was shaking a piece of wood.
He didn’t hide his smile at the completion of our handshake. I did. His dad obviously hadn’t taught him the finer points of the handshake. “Forget about the ‘glued at the hip’ comment. Don’t worry about it. We weren’t glued together at both hips.” Jax chuckled and slapped my arm. He had a bad handshake and a bad sense of humor.
“I wasn’t.”
“You wasn’t what?” Jax asked after waiting for me to elaborate.
“Worried. I wasn’t worried when you made that comment.”
“Oh?” Jax studied me again. I don’t know what he was studying me for, but he didn’t look like he was arriving at any answers. “Why not? You don’t know anything about me. Maybe I’m the kind of guy who lives for going after other guys’ girls.” He was still smiling, like he was just messing with me, but something about Jax’s eyes led me to believe he wasn’t joking.
“You’re right. I don’t know you. I don’t know what kind of guy you are.” I stepped closer, making it obvious that I had Jax by a good three inches and thirty pounds. “But I don’t need to know. Because I know what kind of girl Rowen is.”
Jax waved off the giant who looked like he was ready to play hacky-sack with my head. “Rowen told me you were deep.”
“That’s great. Would you mind going and telling Rowen her deep boyfriend is fifty feet away?” I peeked inside of the room. She was still by the same painting, talking to a new couple. I smiled.
Jax followed my gaze. “Sure, once I can pull her away for a moment, I’ll let her know you’re out here.” His gaze lingered on Rowen too, but I didn’t see the same flash in his eyes that I’d seen in the bouncer’s. There was something else, something that almost made me as uncomfortable. “I’d let you in myself, but”—Jax hitched his thumb at the bouncer as he backed into the V.I.P. room—“rules are rules.”
I flashed Jax a wave as he disappeared behind the curtains, and I waited for him to pull Rowen off to the side and tell her I was out there.
I was still waiting an hour later.
Chapter Five
WHERE WAS HE?
Those words consumed my mind as I smiled at strangers singing my pieces’ praises. That night, career wise, pretty much defined epic, but I couldn’t fully enjoy it without Jesse. The highs of life were always doubled when he was beside me experiencing them at the same time.
Alex had been texted the invite, so as long as Jesse was with her, he’d be able to get in. From there, all he’d have to do was ask around, and he’d be pointed in the right direction. If Jesse was at the Underground, he wasn’t just leaning into a bar counter or sprawled out on one of the posh chairs waiting for me to come to him.
Jesse always came and found me. I’d grown so used to it, I’d almost started taking it for granted. I might not have been lost anymore, but I still liked Jesse Walker finding me. Even if it was only in a room of people.
“What was your inspiration for this one? It’s exquisite.” The woman of the couple I’d been tuning out for . . . how long? interrupted my thoughts.
I don’t know why I glanced over my shoulder at the painting they were staring at—I knew exactly what was back there—but I still did. “Um . . . well, I guess you could say . . . me.” I studied the painting for another moment then smiled. Displaying a picture like that, one that felt like such a window to my soul, made me feel like I was the nak*d person standing in the middle of a room of people staring and pointing. I didn’t do transparent, I didn’t like transparent, but I’d learned a lot about it from Jesse. I still wasn’t big on it, but for him, I worked at it.
“How much is it going for?” the woman asked, lifting her expensive clutch like she was ready to fork out the dough right then and there.
“You’d have to check with Jax on that.” I pointed at Jax, schmoozing it up with some richie-riches, decked out in his standard Jax attire. The guy dressed like he was an honorary member of the Rat Pack. He lifted his champagne glass when he noticed me. “He said there are several interested buyers, so he’s taking bids. Or something like that.”
Truthfully, it was beyond me. When I’d painted that picture, I’d never intended it for anyone else’s eyes but mine and Jesse’s. The painting was more therapy, a healing journal entry, than a piece to be displayed and sold off to the highest bidder. When Jax and I were searching the art rooms in a crazed state earlier, praying we’d unveil some extra pieces I could display, he’d found it stuffed into the back of my storage area in the oil studio. He said it was brilliant and would have none of my pleas that it not be on display.
Jax always seemed to get his way. Or maybe I just never did. Whatever it was, the painting I’d wanted to stay hidden was the highlight of the night.
The woman grabbed her husband’s arm and nearly bolted in Jax’s direction.
I loved art. I loved studying it, pondering it, and creating it. I didn’t, however, enjoy selling it. Or rubbing elbows with a bunch of people who’d spent more on their shoes than some families lived off of all year. It was part of the deal, though. Wealthy people didn’t want to buy just a canvas; they wanted a story to go with it. They wanted to meet, shake the hand, and share the story with the artist behind the canvas. They wanted a story to tell the rest of their country club friends when they came over and coveted the canvas hanging on their wall.
Once Mr. and Mrs. Eager had scrambled over to Jax, I grabbed my phone and checked it. I didn’t know what I was expecting—there never had been or probably never would be any reception in that place—but that didn’t stop me from checking it for the four dozenth time in the past few hours.
No signal. Big surprise.
I blew out a frustrated breath and tried not to let my thoughts run away with me. The ones that suggested something had happened to him. That the brakes in Alex’s piece of crap car had gone out and they’d runaway down the streets of Seattle until the car sped into the dark water of the Sound. Or that Alex had taken a wrong turn, confused another old warehouse with the Underground, wandered inside, and been jumped by a gang of street kids.
My mind was a runaway worry train. Loving someone as much as I did Jesse meant the darkness of the world seemed so black I never wanted to walk out the front door. Around every corner was some terror threatening to take away what I held most dear. I knew it probably shouldn’t be that way, but the world had become scarier since I’d let love back into my life. Scary because of the fear of loss. Of losing him. Of waking up to discover the one light shining bright in the dark night had been extinguished.
“Where are you, Jesse?” I whispered, chewing on my lip as I bit back the worst case scenario thoughts leaping to mind.
Then I felt him. Like he’d answered my question without using words. Jesse was close by, and everything inside of me heaved a sigh of relief. Scanning the room, I saw he wasn’t there, which meant . . . My gaze shifted toward the entrance. The sheer red curtains were drawn closed, and I saw the shapes of two men standing behind them. One was the size of a damn tractor and the other was . . . a very familiar shape.
I rushed toward the entrance, avoiding eye contact with everyone I passed. I could not, I would not, answer any more questions about inspiration, where I saw my career in five years, or if I’d be interested in doing a nude of their wives. I burst through the curtains, trying to go slow since I was wearing heels. Heels and I weren’t exactly copacetic. I should have gone slower.
I somehow managed to catch my toe on the floor, perform a clumsy spin, and was about to crash land face first when a lithe and strong pair of arms caught me. Those arms, or more like the owner behind them, had saved me from so many falls I’d lost count.
“You know I love it when you go and fall into my arms.” Jesse righted me but kept me close. “It really feeds that hero complex I try to repress.” He grinned the one that had made my stomach drop the first day we’d met. Almost one year later, my stomach did the same damn thing.
“And I kind of like it when you’re around to catch me from falling. Because, don’t tell, it really feeds that distressed damsel complex I try so hard to repress.”
“Our secrets and our repressed complexes are safe with each other.”
I was going in to tap the rim of his hat when I stopped short. There was no hat. Lowering my hand to his hair, I ran my fingers through it. Did Jesse have product in his hair? I would have bet my left kidney Jesse didn’t have a clue what product was. When my eyes went lower to find him in a long-sleeved henley with the couple top buttons undone, I wasn’t sure who’d walked into an alternate reality: me or Jesse.
“What happened to you?” I ran my hands around to his back. They moved lower, and when I felt loose material around his backside, my eyes widened.
“Alex got a hold of me.” Jesse shook his head then jolted when I slapped his butt. It didn’t make the same sound, and it certainly didn’t feel the same. When it came to Jesse Walker, it was tight jeans or no jeans.
“Alex,” I said, followed by a sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone with her.”
“No worries. It was an adventure, for sure, and I learned at least a dozen new phrases and words related to the acts leading up to, the parts involved, or the actual making of sex.”
“Oh, God,” I groaned. Jesse wasn’t a prude, no where near it, but he was . . . wholesome. That was a rare trait and something to be protected. Spending an hour with Alex Diaz could obliterate that. “Next time, I promise I won’t leave you behind with her. Wait. What am I saying? There won’t be a next time. This whole night was one giant, unexpected surprise.”
That was the first time I’d had a few minutes to take a deep breath and let the last twelve hours catch up with me. Jax and I had pulled it off, barely, but sliding into the artist-of-the-month spot at the Underground as a college freshman wasn’t the kind of thing that saw an encore.