Текст книги "Near and Far"

Автор книги: Nicole Williams

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

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.

“Sure, you do. You might not think you do, but somewhere deep inside of you, dreams of fame and glory are just waiting to burst free. We all have those kinds of dreams.”

“I’m an artist,” I replied.

“Then you really have dreams of fame and glory trying to bust out.”

Okay, I wasn’t going to argue. Besides, had he just said my art was going to be at the Underground . . . tonight? “I think I might have misunderstood you. It sounded like you said my art would be going up tonight? Did you mean next weekend? Or next month?” Usually, artists were commissioned for something like that months in advance to give them time to put together a balanced, cohesive display.

“I meant tonight.”

Nope, I hadn’t heard him wrong. “How in the world did that happen? Don’t people normally wait years to get their stuff into the Underground? How in the hell am I going to put together a collection in, oh . . .” I checked the time on my phone. My eyes widened. “Just about twelve hours.”

After my last outburst, Jesse came over and settled beside me on the bed, dropping his arm around my waist. I took a breath, a full one. He always managed to calm the crazy a few crazy levels.

Jax chuckled again. “The guy who was supposed to have his art on display starting tonight O.D’d last night. When the guy who owns the club called me asking for a rising star to fill in the dead tweaker’s spot, guess whose name was on the tip of my tongue?”

There was so much wrong in that sentence, I didn’t know where to begin. So I kept my reply simple. “Eh, me?”

“Yep. Rowen Sterling. Rising star. Repressed feelings of fame and glory. Worst phone conversationalist ever. You.”

The full weight of what was happening finally hit me. “Holy. Shit.”

“Yep. Holy shit is probably the best kind of response to that.”

I leaned my head onto Jesse’s shoulder, trying to determine if it was all real. When his head tilted into mine, reality hit me. I wasn’t dreaming. “So, what now?” I asked Jax, hoping he had a clue, because I had nothing.

“There’s my girl.” I heard the smile in Jax’s voice. “I’ve already pulled some of your class projects that were lying around, but we’re going to need more. We’ll need at least a dozen different pieces, and we need to be at the Underground by six to get everything set up and ready before the doors open at nine.”

My life had taken dozens of abrupt turns, so I’d think I’d be used to them. I wasn’t. “Okay. Jesse and I will get ready and head to the school as soon as we can get there—”

“Why don’t you leave the significant other behind? From my experience with my dozens of priors, they tend to get in the way and slow the process down. We’ll work faster if it’s just you and me. Not to scare you, but if we get this thing done tonight, it’s going to be the miracle of the decade.”

I grumbled, “Your confidence is inspiring.”

“I’m just great like that.”

“Letting Your Greatness go now. I’ll be there in a half hour.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Jax said before ending the call.

I tossed the phone onto the bed and tried to figure out what was happening. Then someone shifted beside me.

“Let me guess. Change of plans?” Jesse was smiling, but his voice betrayed his disappointment.

I nodded and gave him an apologetic look.

He gave the bed one longing look before cupping my face and pressing a soft kiss into my mouth. “There’s always tomorrow.”

Not that I needed a reminder, but moments like that, the unequivocal goodness that was Jesse Walker was glaringly obvious. “Tomorrow. You. Me. Bed. Not leaving it until you have to hit the road. Deal?”

Jesse’s smile tilted higher on one side. “Like you even need to ask.” One more kiss, that one lingering, and he stood up. “So. What can I do?”

My head was still reeling from that kiss, but a certain art exhibit at one of the country’s most notorious clubs rushed to the forefront of my mind. “I’ve got to hop into the shower. Can you grab me some clothes and then a dress or something nice for later tonight?”

Jesse’s eyebrows came together. I felt so transparent when I was with him that I forgot that he didn’t know everything.

“That was Jax, one of the T.A.’s at school. He managed to get my art on display at this artist’s dream of a nightclub. Tonight. And he needs me to get to the school right away and pull some things so we can get everything set up early.” I was so busy rambling and rushing around the room, chucking random things into my purse, that it took me a few moments to notice the questions on his face.

I saw so many questions there, but I had so little time to answer them. Before I’d figured out if I needed to stay and answer his unsaid questions or if I needed to rush and get my butt to the school and answer Jesse’s questions later, his face cleared. “Let me know what you need. When you can. Okay?”

I felt part relieved and part guilty that he’d shoved his questions aside. “Okay.” I blew him a kiss before rushing for the bathroom.

“Sure you don’t need any help in the shower?” I heard the hope in his tone.

Jesse was always hopeful when it came to a certain part of our relationship. “Not if I need to get to the school in under a half hour.”

A long, tortured sigh followed me into the bathroom.

I GAVE MYSELF a few minutes to mourn what-could-have-been after Rowen took off in a mad rush, then hopped into the shower . . . that was still steamy and smelt like Rowen’s herby shampoo. So I gave myself a few more pity minutes.

Then I sucked it up, told myself to stop acting like a whiny baby, and hopped out of the shower with an attitude adjustment. Really, I was happy for Rowen. Excited for her. We’d only had a few minutes to go over what had transpired on the phone, but from what she said, getting her art on display was pretty much the opportunity of a lifetime.

Barely one year in and she was already getting “opportunities of a lifetime.” To say I was proud of her would be an understatement. Not just proud of what she created—I’d known how talented she was from the first time I sneaked a peak at her sketchbook last summer—but that she’d begun to realize how talented she was.

I was going to meet Rowen later at the Underground, and since I’d insisted she drive Old Bessie instead of her bike since it was pouring outside, I’d be hitching a ride with Alex. I liked Alex and all, but I didn’t put it past her that we’d be literally “hitching a ride.”

This morning, I’d replaced all of the burnt-out bulbs in the sidewalk lights, tuned up Rowen’s bike, and fixed the dripping faucet in the kitchen. When I was done with all of that, it was only lunchtime. I still had another nine hours before I got to see Rowen again. After inhaling a couple of peanut butter sandwiches, I got creative. I didn’t do “idle time” very well.

Since there wasn’t a single thing left to do outside, I had no other choice than to get to work inside. I think I washed every piece of clothing Rowen owned. A mere five loads later, I’d folded, hung, and put away more girly clothing than I’d ever thought I could manage in a single day. When Alex stumbled into Rowen’s room asking me if I knew where the C batteries were—I didn’t, and I didn’t want to know what she needed them for, per Rowen’s warning last night—my face got red. Alex had found me layering Rowen’s bras and panties into her dresser. I don’t know why I went all “blushing school boy” because I’d been caught with a pair of panties in my hand. I mean, hell, I’d had my hands on about every single pair of panties Rowen owned, but the look Alex gave me made me feel like a particular brand of perv. Thankfully, after checking to make sure I didn’t plan on trying them on, which only made me turn about five shades redder, Alex left the room in search of her much-needed batteries.

After laundry duty, I loaded, ran, and unloaded the dishwasher. I sprayed glass cleaner on all of the windows and mirrors in the apartment. I vacuumed, mopped the kitchen and bathroom, and I even had enough time to scrub out the tub.

Other than her clothes, I didn’t touch Rowen’s room. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I knew she wouldn’t want me to. She wasn’t messy, but she wasn’t particularly organized either. She liked a little bit of chaos in her life, her room no exception. Scratch that: she liked a bit of organized chaos in her life.

I’d always been so busy doing something cattle related back at Willow Springs that I’d never delved into the domestic chores on the ranch. After that day, I had to admit the work Mom and my sisters did was harder than the work we guys did.

Actually, what they did made what I did seem like child’s play.

After all of that, I needed another shower. It was a little past eight when I headed into the living room, hoping Alex was ready to head out. Work had done a decent job of keeping my mind off of Rowen, but since my hands weren’t busy doing something, that ache of separation was coming back in full force.

Alex was sitting on the couch, one foot furiously tapping the floor, dressed in . . . well, I don’t know exactly how to classify what she was wearing. She was dressed at least. Mostly.

She took one look at me, her eyes went wide as saucers, and she shook her head. “Uh-huh. No way. Turn around and go change,” she ordered, waving me away. When I just stood there, unsure what to say or do, she added, “Now.”

I glanced down to make sure I had on what I remembered changing into. Yep. Jeans, white tee, boots, and my hat.

“Listen, Sex God, you’re fine and all, and I’m sure that look works when you’re square dancing with Norma Jean, but you have to go change. I will not be responsible for what happens to you if you go walking into that place dressed like that.”

A five-second speech from Alex was like reading Atlas Shrugged. I was left with a whole lot of questions and didn’t know which one to ask first. So instead of getting into an argument with her, I asked, “What do you want me to change into?”

“Something else. Anything else.” Her nose curled as she inspected me again. Maybe she was allergic to cowboy. Good thing Rowen hadn’t been.

Since I guessed nothing I’d packed would be up to Alex’s standards, I decided to try to save some time. “Listen, I’m good. This is what I wear everywhere and, to my knowledge, I haven’t heinously offended anyone to date.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Alex mumbled. “Now you listen to me.” She wasn’t mumbling anymore. “I’m not asking you to go change because I’m worried about you offending every Seattleite we pass—even though you would. I’m telling you to go change because if you walk into the Underground dressed like that . . . you are not coming out in one piece.” She paused long enough to take a breath but not long enough for me to get a word out. “Those skinny emo guys might seem harmless, but they’re vicious little bitches when they group together.”

Ah. I got it. She was worried I would get my ass beat by guys who shopped at a different clothing store than I did. Alex might see the world one way, but I obviously saw it another way. Guys, at least the guys I’d met, didn’t give a beating to someone else just because they didn’t agree with each other’s sense of style. If that was how it was there, I was in unchartered waters.

“Hey, I’m a lover, not a fighter. I’ll be good. Really.” I took a step for the door, hoping she’d follow me. That hope was wasted.

“Then you’re really not going in there like that, Mr. Lover Not A Fighter. You need to get at least one good punch in before they kill you. That way you can die with honor.”

She wasn’t going to let it go. Obviously. If the quickest way to get us out of there was for me to get changed, then fine. I’d go change. I hoped a darker pair of jeans and a blue shirt would work for her because that was about as versatile as my wardrobe got. “Fine. I’ll go get changed.”

“Not so fast.” She bounced up from the couch and followed me. “If you think I’m letting you dive back into that duffel filled with cowboy denim, you’re got another thing coming.” Grabbing my forearm, she steered me into her room.

It was more of a crypt than a room, and in the first few seconds, I saw so many props, costumes, and toys of a naughty nature that I doubted I’d ever be the same. As Alex tore through her closet, I did my best to focus on the empty patch of carpet in front of my boots. There were a pair of handcuffs to the left and a pair of underwear that really missed the memo on what underwear was intended to cover to the right, so I focused on that four by four inch span of carpet until I felt close to going cross-eyed.

“Here. These should work.” Alex held out an armful of guy’s clothing and waited for me to take it. “Brad wasn’t quite as beefy as you, but he was about as tall.”

“Brad?” I asked, realizing my mistake too late.

Alex sighed something that was too close to a moan for my comfort level. “My old boyfriend. Four exes ago. He was a frickin’ tomcat in the sack. He used to do this thing where he almost lifted me into the air before—”

“Thanks, Alex,” I interrupted, heading for the door. I didn’t need to hear any more about Brad and his mad tomcat skills in the sack. “I’ll try these on and meet you in the living room in five.” I was almost into the hall when Alex called after me.

“Ooooh, wait!” She rummaged around under her bed. “Boots!”

“I’ve already got boots,” I replied right before she flung a pair of black ones my way. I managed to snag them before they clocked me in the face. Okay, so they were boots, but they were basically the polar opposite to the kind I wore—round toed, scuffed up, and a buckle below the ankle. Motorcycle boots? I think?

“Not all boots are created equal,” Alex argued with my silent thoughts. “And those, Sex God, kick your boots’s ass.”

Again, I might have argued if I thought I had a remote chance of coming out the boot victor.

I FELT LIKE I’d just been held down by a boy band and a motorcycle gang and what I was wearing and the way I looked was the scary result. The jeans were looser than I was used to, the long-sleeved shirt was tighter than I was used to, and the boots . . . well, they were nothing like what I was used to.

Not to mention my hair. When Alex came at me with a bottle of goop after I’d emerged from Rowen’s room in foreign duds, I just clenched my jaw, closed my eyes, and prayed it would all be over soon. I still hadn’t chanced a look in the mirror. If my hair looked anything like it felt, I didn’t want to see it. I was clothed, but I felt naked. The missing hat might have had something to do with that feeling.

“I know you don’t believe me, but you don’t have to. Because you look hot. Like smokin’, I-just-moistened-my-panties hot,” Alex said, running a yellow light in her black El Camino. It was about as ancient as Old Bessie and had aged about as gracefully.

Some sweet, refurbished, classic cars turn every head when they pass by. Alex’s El Camino wasn’t one of those. It was rusted out, the engine made a noise like a jar of marbles had been dropped inside of it, and the rearview mirror hung on by a thread. And the interior’s smell? Let’s just say it was offensive enough that I’d been riding with my head half out the window in the chilly, rainy weather since we’d left the apartment.

“Thanks?” I replied, shifting for the hundredth time. What guys saw in loose jeans was lost on me. I’d never been in a more uncomfortable pair.

“Oh, come on, Sex God. Give it a break. The self-deprecation act is getting old fast. Just admit you dig that I decked you out in a little swagger, and let’s get on with the night.”

I knew Alex and I spoke the same language, but sometimes I wondered if we spoke different dialects because I didn’t understand half of what she said most of the time. “Alex?”

“Sex God?” she mimicked.

I exhaled out my nose. “What’s up with the nickname?”

“What nickname?” She took a corner so sharply, I checked over my shoulder to make sure we hadn’t lost the bumper or something.

“Sex God,” I muttered.

“That’s not a nickname. I thought that was your given name,” she said with an evil grin.

I shot her an exasperated look.

She basked in my discomfort a few seconds longer before shrugging. “Truthfully? Because you are one.”

My eyebrows came together. I hadn’t realized that been one of my identifiers in the Jesse Walker fine print.

Suddenly, she smacked the back of my head. Not a hold-nothing-back whack, but hard enough it stung. I was about to unleash Rowen’s favorite go-to phrase when her roommate went off the rails when she surprised me with one more whack.

Unstable was the first word that came to mind.

“Oww,” I said, twisting in my seat so she couldn’t surprise me with another one.

“I warned you to cut out the self-deprecation act. It was old two minutes ago. Now it’s just making me violent.”

I should have taken a cab. Or the bus. Or hell, hitched a ride like I was half-worried I’d be doing anyway.

“When I call you Sex God, that’s because you are one. I don’t give out compliments liberally, especially sex compliments. So stop acting like a humble douche, take Sex God like a man, and let yourself strut a bit.”

My eyebrows came together again, but when Alex lifted her hand, that crease ironed our real fast.

“Good boy,” she praised, returning her hand to the steering wheel. “Any man who can make a girl make the sounds I’ve heard coming from Rowen’s room when you’re in town is a bona fide Sex God. Any guy whose girl is still flushing the next morning is a certified Sex God. And any guy that can keep that look in Rowen’s eyes even when he’s away is the fucking king of Sex Gods.”

I didn’t know what to reply to that. That was standard when it came to my conversations with Alex.

“Any questions?” she said as I continued my temporary muteness.

“No,” I said at last, wanting to steer the conversation far away from Rowen’s and my relationship between the sheets. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Alex hearing, witnessing, and knowing the things I did to Rowen, so I decided to take . . . Sex God as a compliment and move on. Hopefully we’d stay “moved on” from that conversation for the rest of eternity.

“Good. Because we don’t really have time for questions.” Alex sped up to an old warehouse and hit the brakes at the last possible second. Good God, it was a miracle we’d arrived in one piece.

“Why’s that?”

“Because once we get inside, the music will be so loud the only way to communicate is through sign language, facial expressions, or bumping uglies.”

Chalk up yet another cringe-worthy phrase from Alex.

“We’re here?” I glanced at the warehouse again. It looked like no human had stepped foot in it in decades. No light streamed from any of the windows, and more of it seemed to be crumbling than standing. It was a horror movie director’s dream.

“Welcome to the Underground. The most prestigious club in the city.” A guy appeared at Alex’s door and opened it. Valet parking? I hadn’t seen that coming. “Not exactly what you were expecting?” Alex said before sliding out of her seat.

“Not exactly.” I opened my door and got out.

“It’s not much from the outside, but just wait until you get through the doors.” Alex came up beside me and nudged me. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s what’s on the inside that counts?”

I glanced at her. “I didn’t realize that applied to clubs.”

She wove her arm through mine and tugged me toward what I assumed was the entrance. “It applies to everything. Oh, and once we’re inside, stay close, Cowboy. You might be sporting different digs, but if the dudes even catch a whiff of cow shit on you, your ass is grass.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can handle myself. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Yeah, saying ‘rodeo’ isn’t going to make people believe you’re not a hick.”

“I’m not a hick,” I said matter-of-factly.

Alex made a sound between exasperated and irritated. “No, you’re a self-deprecating pain in my ass.”

I smiled to myself. Alex was something of a pain in my ass too, but she was growing on me. “But you put up with me because I’m a Sex God. Right?”

“You’re not my Sex God,” she huffed. “Since I’m not reaping the benefits from your mad sexual skills, you’ll only get a free pass from me for so long, so shape up or ship out, Cowboy.”

“Yeah, Alex? You calling me Cowboy isn’t going to convince anyone I’m not some dumb hick either.”

“Whatever, Pain-In-My-Ass Walker,” she muttered as the door swung open when we were a few feet in front of it. Either there was a camera on the door, a peephole, or a poltergeist was manning it. “And my warning to stay close wasn’t just because the guys might go gang-busters on you. The girls in there are the biggest threat. They catch sight of you, and their grubby little paws will be all over you like you’re a rung on the ladder to social climbing. And if anyone catches wind that you’re the Sex God you are, I hope you’ve got stamina, Cowboy, because every last cock-crazy female in there will hold you down and do filthy, filthy things to you.”

If there was a way to go back in time, I would have travelled back ten seconds and stuck my fingers in my ears before Alex got out that last bit.

Thankfully, a guy who had to be almost twice my size stopped us just inside the door. He didn’t say anything, but Alex obviously knew what he was waiting for. She fumbled around in her purse for her phone. Scrolling through her texts, she flashed one in front of the guy.

Without so much as a nod, he stepped aside and let us pass. We walked down a long, dark hall, and with every step we took, a beat that shook my insides grew heavier. I couldn’t make out the music or if it was coming from above or below us, but when it started shaking the hallway walls, I knew Alex was right. It was going to be loud.

Finally, the hall ended at a row of elevators that looked somehow even older than the building. I followed Alex into the only one available—I wasn’t sure if that was because the half dozen others were in use or because they were busted—and once I’d closed the metal screen door, Alex punched the B on the panel and the elevator jerked into motion.

“Hang on, Cowboy. We’re not in Montana anymore.”

Yep. Wherever we were, Montana felt like it was on the opposite side of the world.

The elevator screeched and jolted down for a couple more minutes. The music droned louder, and the air got heavier. Everything said that club was a place to run from, not run to, yet I was smiling. I was getting closer to Rowen. When the elevator jerked to a stop, Alex threw open the metal door, and I got a good look at the Underground. I realized that would be one of those times when I had to walk through hell to get to heaven.

“This is the place,” Alex shouted above music blasting to the point I half-expected to see blood trickling from people’s ears. I gave her a curious look. “Where the rabbit hole winds up taking you.” She waved around the room. “You’ve arrived.”

Because it felt wrong to scream at a woman, and a scream was the only way for her to hear me, I chose to flash her a thumbs-up instead. She rolled her eyes at my fake enthusiasm, grabbed my elbow, and steered us through the crowd. The Underground was . . . well, it was like nowhere I’d ever been before. Rowen had taken me to some funky, word-of-mouth places around Seattle, but nothing like that. I’d certainly never been to a place like it back in Montana. A big night out in Montana included a big barn, a rented dance floor, and a local country band.

The Underground was huge, probably the size of a couple of football fields put together. As big as it was, it still felt small since there was basically standing room only. There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of people bouncing to the music, swaying into the person next to them, moving like waves on the ocean. As if the mass of people and the volume of the music wasn’t overwhelming enough, strobe lights went off around the entire room. It was different from anywhere I’d ever been, but the verdict was still out if it was a good or bad different.

“Pick your poison!” Alex called over to me once we’d worked our way to one of the bars. The music wasn’t blasting quite as loudly there, but I still felt my brain vibrating against my skull.

“I’m only twenty.” I leaned closer to Alex so I wouldn’t have to shout. She gave me a So? look. “And I don’t have a fake I.D.”

One more So?. That one was more pronounced. After a few moments, she rolled her eyes. The way Alex had mastered the eye roll led me to the conclusion she thought humanity was clueless. Apparently she believed I was. “This isn’t the kind of place that checks I.D.s.” Indicating at the bartender who’d just meandered up to us, she winked up at him. “We’ve got an Underground first timer on our hands here.”

The bartender’s eyes sparkled as he turned his attention on me. A smile I wasn’t used to having directed at me from a guy slowly moved into position. “He’s getting his Underground cherry popped tonight, and I get the honor of serving him his first drink?” He flashed me a wink that made me guess he was more into my kind of equipment than Alex’s.

Alex nodded and shoved my arm. “He might be now, but this guy’s not leaving here a virgin.”

I thanked her with a tight smile.

“Well, paint me Judy Garland and slap on some ruby red slippers because, honey, I’ve just landed myself in Oz,” the bartender said with a wave.

I was just working through my options in the reply department—I was coming up on empty—when every nerve shot to attention. I’d been growing accustomed to that sensation, and it could only mean one thing.

Rowen was close by.

“You okay on your own for a while?” I asked Alex, who was ordering her drink.

She narrowed her eyes like my question was insulting. “Yeah, I think I can hold my own against Dorothy here.” The bartender who shot me another wink when I glanced at him.

I certainly didn’t need to worry about him taking advantage of Alex if I left the two of them alone. Me, on the other hand . . . Backing into the crowd, I waved at both of them. Their parting words?

“Hurry back.”

“Away with you.”

Spinning around, I wove through the mass of bodies, getting closer to Rowen with every step. I couldn’t see her, but I didn’t need to. The feeling inside of me told me all I needed to know. It wasn’t like an invisible rope where when she pulled, I came, or when I pulled, she came. It was more like . . . a magnetism. The closer we were, the stronger the attraction became.

I followed that attraction to the other side of the club where a smaller room was separated from the rest of the place by a pair of sheer red curtains. That room was far better lit than the main room and nowhere near as packed. A few dozen people wandered around, inspecting some familiar and some not-so-familiar paintings and drawings.

That was when I saw her. She was standing in front of one of the paintings I hadn’t seen yet talking to a middle-aged couple who was inspecting the piece like they were envisioning it above their fireplace. Rowen looked . . . well, she still made my heart hammer like she did when I first starting falling hard for her last summer. Falling like I couldn’t even stop it if I wanted to.