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.
“It looks like things are going great in there. I couldn’t count how many people who stopped and stared at one of your pieces for five, ten, fifteen minutes at a time. One guy looked at one for so long, I started to wonder if he’d turned into a statue.” Jesse looked at me with proud eyes. Genuine pride. I’d convinced myself for years that I didn’t need anyone’s approval or pride, but that wasn’t the truth. I did care about those things, especially when they came from someone I loved and admired.