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.