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 na**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.