Page 2 of A Man To Remember
I allow myself three grounding breaths before the guilt gets me up on my feet and across the staff room to where Sawyercontinues to perform his subtle dance between our two posts like the absolute champion he is.
CHAPTER 2
AUSTIN
GODDAMN, THAT'S ONE heavy door.
I dig my heel into the burgundy carpet and try again, pushing with my shoulder to get it open, making sure not to look back to where the bouncer is undoubtedly snickering at me.
It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Between that and my squinting to block out the blasting music—because logic—it's not until I'm several steps into the crowd that I realize I'm mostly surrounded by bare skin. And lots of it. Whoever named this joint was spot on.
I stand on my toes and look around before finally locating the bar stretched across the entirety of the far wall. Adjusting the strap of one of the three gear bags I'm hauling, I pick up my pace as much as I can without bumping against the sweaty bodies that surround me like an ocean. All the while, I try not to stare too much, which proves difficult, becausedamn.
Once I finally make it through the crowd and across the room that might as well be divided into thirty smaller spaces stilllarge enough to pass for concert venues, I grip the edge of the bar top and look over people's shoulders to locate my two models who are probably here by now, given that I'm late.
"Austin!"
My head snaps around to the source of the pleasant, somewhat sluggish voice coming from the other side of the bar. Once my eyes land on the man it belongs to, I almost drop one of my three bags. Which would be tragic, because I could probably trade their contents for a small apartment, or at least a decent car.
He'snothow I remember him. Or rather, he's not how I imagined he would be ten years later.
He looks... healthy. Surprisingly so. And somehow even blonder than I remember. Save for a few deep-etched lines across his forehead, Jesse looks like his past belongs to someone else entirely, his eyes full of life, fuller than I'd ever seen them.
And yes, Jamie had mentioned here and there how his brother finally managed to get his life together. I remember having these conversations. What I don't remember is believing them. As if a part of me had been dissociating every time I heard his name, nodding politely and passing on insincere congratulations, Chinese whispers fashion, hoping by the time they got to him they would have morphed into something else entirely. Something I'dactuallymean.
"Austin?" he repeats, brows raising high above the deep green of his eyes, making his forehead slightly more lined.
I force a smile and relax my eyes to get him out of focus. That's better.
"Jesse! Good to see you, man." I'm a lying liar who lies.
I reach across the bar, the strap of my bag digging mercilessly into my shoulder. An unpleasant jolt pinches my stomach when he shakes my hand, his grip firm and self-assured. Jesse flashes way too many teeth and it surprises me that they're not rotten. They should be.
When he finally lets go of my hand, he places his forearms on the bar top, leaning in. "Look at you, Mr. Hot-Shot Photographer," he quips, eyeing my gear. I can't say whether it's genuine or an attempted jab. Not that it makes a difference. "Gotta say, when Jamie said you wanted to use this place I assumed the Nevada heat had gotten into your head. But then I looked up your work online, and... Well. Seems like a match made in heaven."
I force a quick chuckle. "I'm not here for the lighting, that's for sure."
Someone bumps against me from behind, my ribs pressing against the sharp ridge of the bar, and I do my best not to glance to my left where a couple is aggressively making out and I'm pretty sure their hands are in each other's pants. Instead, I zero in on Jesse's grin that hasn't left his face.
"Let it be a bonus, then. The lighting here is great," he states like he has any idea what he's talking about. Like I'm not hauling four studio lamps in my bag. "Anyway. I set you up with one of the biggest private rooms we have. Well, the biggest one that wasn't booked, that is." He straightens up and reaches into his back pocket before placing a plastic card on the bar and sliding it toward me. "Here's the key. The rooms aren't labeled, but it's the only blue door in that hallway, you can't miss it. After you squeeze your way there," he points behind me and I turn my head to see wherethereis, but I can't see much except for the churning ocean of people. "Take the middle hallway. Go to the end and make a right, then another right, then— Actually, wait."His sudden silence is music to my ears and I reluctantly turn my attention back to him.
Jesse conjures a pen from his back pocket, because apparently his back pockets are more spacious than a woman's purse, and stretches his entire upper body to reach for a napkin. "I'll make you a cheat sheet," he says and begins drawing—or rather scribbling—something akin to a map.
My gaze follows the tip of the pen as it scratches the surface, breaking the fabric here and there. I sigh and pull out my phone to check the time. The clock readslate. Meanwhile, Jesse's still scribbling, his tongue touching the corner of his mouth like a very focused preschooler, and he's only reached the middle of the napkin. "Why don't you just finish explaining? I'm good with directions."
He breathes out a small laugh like I've just said something silly. "Trust me," he says as he draws what looks to be the last hallway, which incidentally looks five times as wide as all the other hallways he's drawn and takes up almost half the space, "you'll need it." He drops the pen and tilts his head, as if admiring his handiwork before turning the napkin around and sliding it to me.
Damn, that's a lot of turns.
I grab it and give him a nod. "Thanks. Well then, I'm gonna—"
"So how long are you planning on staying?"
I force a smile and will my jaw to unclench and not show exactly how I feel about chit-chat right now. Withhim. "About three weeks. A month, tops. I have a couple of potential models that are still tentative."
He grins. "No, I meant tonight."
Oh. So I just laid out my career plans unnecessarily. Cool. "Right. Um, I'm not sure, exactly. At least four hours, maybe more." I lift my bag-wearing shoulder up. "I haven't even set up yet."Get a fucking hint.
