Near & Far (5 page)

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.

She was in a black and silver beaded dress, the one she’d found at an antique store on Queen Mary Hill last month when I’d been over. She’d glommed onto that dress like it was a homing beacon. After admiring it for a while, she announced she was confident she must have owned the dress in a former life—apparently she’d been a flapper in the ‘20s—and that she had to buy it. Then she checked the price tag, frowned, and put it back. We walked out of the antique store without the dress, and Rowen headed for the nearest cafe to drown her sorrows in a cappuccino and a croissant. I’d excused myself to go to the restroom, returned ten minutes later to find her picking at a second croissant, and set the dress in her lap.

The look on her face that rainy afternoon? Yeah, it was one I’d never forget.

Other than the night I’d purchased it, I hadn’t seen her in it. Even that night, the dress didn’t exactly stay in place for long. Tonight, though, seeing her in that dress, smiling, talking, and showing off her artwork, so obviously in her element . . . She stole whatever fraction of a piece of my heart I might have still possessed. Rowen Sterling had every last piece of me, and I didn’t want any of them back.