Home > Near and Far (Lost and Found #2)(6)

Near and Far (Lost and Found #2)(6)
Author: Nicole Williams

I frowned when I saw who was calling. Not because I didn’t like the person on the other end, but because I knew I had to take it. I really didn’t want to have to take it.

“Ignore it.” Jesse dropped his armful of snacks and drinks on my desk.

“I can’t.” I picked up the phone when it buzzed again.

He made a sad puppy face. “Please?”

“You don’t play fair.” That look really shouldn’t have been allowed. I came so close to caving, hitting ignore, and carpe diem’ing.

“When a guy is literally two seconds from leaping into bed with his girlfriend, he doesn’t have to play fair.” Jesse settled into my desk chair, gave me a small smile, and nodded at my phone. “You better answer that.”

“This isn’t a cancellation of previously scheduled activities. It’s just a momentary delay,” I whispered right before answering the phone.

“What’s a momentary delay?” said the voice on the phone.

Okay, so I guess I didn’t get that last little bit in before answering the phone. “Errr, nothing. I was talking to someone else.” I plopped down on the end of the bed and grinned at Jesse, who was spinning slow circles in my chair and tapping his wrist.

“Who? That crazy roommate of yours?”

“No. Not Alex. Jesse’s in town. I was talking to him.”

There was silence on the other end. “Who’s Jesse?”

I sighed. Surely I’d been over it only a few dozen times that school year. “My boyfriend.”

Another silence and then a small sound of recognition. “Oh, yeah. The hick from Montana, right?” I was starting to regret answering the call for other reasons than just delayed gratification. “Isn’t Jesse a girl’s name?”

I blew out a long breath before replying. Jesse keyed in on my irritated responses, and his brows knitted together as he studied me. “Is there a reason you’re calling me a little after seven on a Saturday morning, Jax?” I asked.

Jesse’s forehead lined suddenly, but it flattened back out almost as suddenly.

“Someone’s not a morning person . . .” Jax muttered.

“Someone’s about to get hung up on.” My reply wasn’t a mutter.

Jax’s low laugh sounded. Jax Jones was a T.A. for some of the first-year art classes. He was an exceptionally talented artist who could have been studying alongside the best artists in the country. Why he’d chosen a community college in Seattle to attend, I didn’t know, but the students fortunate enough to wind up with him as a T.A. learned more from Jax than they did from the professor.

Lucky for me—or not so lucky at the moment—Jax had been the T.A. for one of my classes each quarter. I had learned more from him than any other person, so I turned a blind eye to his faults and hoped some of his art genius would rub off. Everyone on campus knew Jax Jones’s faults—he drank too much, screwed too many women, and probably did a little too much coke between classes—but he’d never crossed any of those lines with me, so I let the man have his faults. I wasn’t going to be one of those who pointed a judgey finger his way. Lord knew I was a long-shot from sainthood.

Jax Jones was on the other end of spectrum from Jesse Walker. It might have taken me eighteen years, but I’d figured out I liked the Jesse Walkers of the world.

“What plans have you got for today?” Jax asked, sounding almost excited. That got my attention. Jax did excited about as often as I did exuberant.

“Um—”

“Whatever it is, cancel it. Cancel it all,” Jax interrupted. “I was able to line up an opportunity that a first-year student would slit throats for.”

“What kind of an opportunity?” I asked slowly, keeping my eyes on Jesse. His eyes were on me, but his expression gave nothing away. He was so damn good at keeping his emotions locked away when he needed to. The only times he chose to do so were when one of those darker emotions was trying to push through.

“One of my old friends just bought the Underground. You’ve heard of the place, right?”

“Every college-aged student in the state has heard of it,” I answered. It was a true “underground” kind of place. Guests got in by invitation only. Back alleys and an old elevator was the only way to get into the place, and it served up a party to end all parties every Friday and Saturday night. I’d never been, but I’d heard my fair share and then some about it.

“Well guess what college-aged student is going to have their art on display in the V.I.P. section for an entire month starting tonight?”

“Whoa. You are? That’s huge, Jax. Congratulations.” The Underground wasn’t just a glorified meat market. It had been a springboard for dozens of artists’ careers over the past couple of decades. Given the Underground saw more millionaires in their V.I.P. section than any Vegas casino did, a lot of starving artists with talent sold their entire collection and were put on the artsy upper-crust’s radar.

“Not me, Rowen.” He chuckled while I waited. “You. You’re the budding artist whose dreams of fame and glory are about to come true.”

I was too shocked to reply right away. I ran through Jax’s words again. Had he really said my art would be on display at the Underground? Had he really said . . . “I don’t have dreams of fame and glory.” Yeah. That was the response I went with.

Jesse’s forehead went back to creased.

   
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