Page 23 of Find Me

“Oh shit, Jax is here,” she says quietly beside me, “that can’t be good… He rarely stops in.”

“You know him?” I inquire, without looking at her.

“Yeah, he kind of owns the place.”

That gets my attention, and I turn to stare at her.

“He what?”

“He owns the place… Kinda,” she repeats.

“I thought Mike owned the place,” I press.

Red sighs and looks at me. “Technically speaking, Mike owns the place… But Jax—Mr. Turner—owns Mike, so…”

“Okay, you’ve completely lost me.” I put my drink down and turn to Red fully, hanging onto her every word.

“No one is supposed to know this, let alone talk about it, but I overheard them years ago. He got Mike out of a very sticky situation, and since then, he has had the final say in everything that goes on here. I’m not really sure what business he’s in, or how he was able to pull so many strings to help keep Mike out of trouble, but it’s nothing good, Evi. He has connections that most criminals would be envious of. So, keep your head down and focus on your work. Even if he’s easy on the eyes, do not go there. All roads lead to trouble with him,” she warns.

I nod solemnly, taking her warning seriously before I glance back at Mike, wondering just what kind of trouble his acquaintance gets into.

As I’m looking at them, lost in thought, the stranger—Mr. Turner—looks away from Mike and our eyes meet. I panic, turning around quickly to feign a conversation with Red, but to my surprise, she’s no longer standing beside me but walking back to the dressing rooms.

I drop to the floor instead, the cover of the bar and the shelving around it acting as the perfect hiding spot for now, and resume counting bottles until the coast is clear.

Shit. I think to myself. This is the second time this guy has caught me blatantly staring at him. I probably look like such a creep.

I get lost in the boring task of counting stock within the bar fridges, placing a dishcloth under my knees to dull the ache and prevent them from being too uncomfortable.

A while later, I give into my knee’s protests and slowly raise myself up to stand.

I jump back in surprise when I come face to face with Mr. Turner, who has chosen to take a seat at the bar in front of me.

“I was wondering how long you were going to spend down there hiding,” he says with a twang in his voice.

“I wasn’t hiding, I was just counting bottles and organizing,” I say, feeling my cheeks turn bright red with embarrassment.

“Is that what you’re calling it? You practically jumped for cover when I looked at you,” he says, not unkindly.

“I did no such thing,” I retort.

“If you say so, love,” he replies, his accent noticeable on his tongue as his lips form into a relaxed smile. It’s hard to believe that this is the guy Red warned me about moments before. Whatever I expected he would be like up close, it isn’t this. His body is relaxed, but I only need to look at him to know his muscles are hard under his clothes. And I can’t help but wonder what something else would look like hard.

I blush as I offer my own greeting, tentatively introducing myself to him, the stranger on the motorcycle.

“Hi, I’m Evi,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.

“Evi,” he muses, and I love the way my name rolls off his tongue.

“Is that short for something?”

“Evangeline. But everyone calls me Evi.”

“Nice to meet you Evi, I’m Jax.”

“I know.”

“Do you now?” A coy smile lights up his face.

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