Jersey Six(16)

“Thanks, Max.”

Jersey’s attention shifted to Ian’s voice from the opposite side of the room where his long jeans and T-shirt-clad body engulfed a sofa as he slid off a pair of neon blue, wireless headphones. When Jersey turned back toward Max, the door was already shut with no Max in sight. The blond guy playing guitar gave Jersey a smile and polite nod as she tightened her hold on the bag and inched her way to Ian’s side of the room.

Ian sat up, stretching his arms above his head on a big yawn. Jersey remembered a guy who came into Marley’s Gym several years earlier: Racer. Ian’s body resembled his—tall, lean, and intricately cut to perfection. Racer treated his body like a million-dollar performance machine. And he was the first person to knock Jersey out in less than two minutes. He made her stronger, made her work harder and fight smarter. Then someone took him out with a single gunshot to the head on his way out of the gym on a Friday night.

Jersey remembered it was a Friday because Dena and Charles died on a Friday.

“Jersey.” Ian smiled at her like he did earlier that day. Not a you-look-better smile like the one Max gave her at the hotel, just a nice-to-see-you-again smile as if he wasn’t seeing her in a different light. No night and day.

She smiled back at him, not because she wanted to, just because she couldn’t help herself.

The grin on his face doubled. “Would you like something to eat or drink?” He nodded toward the tables of food and beverages behind her.

“We ate at the hotel.” Her lips twisted to the side. “Mind if I stick some stuff in my bag for later?”

A tiny wrinkle formed between Ian’s eyes, just below the long sweep of his black bangs. “There will be lots of food available later too. But…” he shrugged, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees “…take whatever you want.”

Jersey glanced over her shoulder at the food and the three other men in the room. She decided to wait a little while before shoving as much as possible into her bag like a free-for-all. “Thanks.” Jersey returned her attention to Ian. “So … you’re a singer. Like … are you a big deal?”

Every word she spoke seemed to feed his level of happiness. “Well …” He rubbed his chin, twisting his lips. “We play music. People like to listen to our music. But no … it’s not a big deal. We’re not saving lives or anything like that.”

She eyed him with suspicion for a few seconds. That smile of his didn’t feel worthy of complete trust. “Um … what exactly do you need me to do? What’s my job? They already took Chris. Will that big, bearded guy come for me too?” Jersey couldn’t remember his name.

“No.” Ian stood, pushing his elbows out from his shoulders, twisting side to side. “Tonight you are just going to watch the concert from backstage. Tomorrow night you’ll sell merchandise.”

“Drugs. You mean drugs, don’t you?”

Ian paused his stretching, letting his arms fall limp to his sides. “Merchandise—T-shirts, posters, keychains, phone cases, hats, guitar pics …”

“To who?”

“Fans.” Ian grinned. “Okay. I might have understated all of this to you … can you name a famous singer? Old or new. Doesn’t matter. Just a famous singer.”

“I had a foster parent who used to listen to Josh Groban.” Jersey gnashed her teeth, still feeling so much anger. Dena wasn’t just a foster parent; she was Jersey’s friend.

“Okay. Well, Josh has sold millions of records, and he’s a huge star in his genre of music. Thousands of people pack venues all over the world to see him sing live in concert. And they sell merchandise of his at those concerts.”

Jersey gazed unblinkingly at Ian as he scratched his jaw.

“Well, I sing a different genre of music, but I, too, travel the world, singing to sold-out concert venues, and I have people who sell my merchandise at these concerts.”

Jersey dropped her bag to her feet and planted her fists on her hips. “Listen, Coop. Stop talking down to me. I’m not an idiot. I know what a concert is. But earlier today you didn’t say what you did or what the job was you were offering. You bought a homeless person a hot dog and offered her a job. Of course, I’m going to think something sketchy might be involved.”

Tipping her chin up, she held her breath to puff out her chest, pretending the recent revelation of Ian Cooper being a famous singer didn’t faze her one bit. Inside, Jersey’s heart hammered into her ribcage, and her mind reeled trying to figure out the day’s events.

“Coop?” His lips twitched into a tiny grin.

“It’s short for Cooper.”

“Clearly.” Ian chuckled. “But my name is Ian. Everyone calls me Ian.”

“I busted the nose and jaw of a kid named Ian. He tried to stick his cock in my ass. I’ll call you Tom, Dick, or Harry, but I’m not calling you Ian because that makes me want to physically harm you.”

Ian’s eyebrows shot up his forehead as his head whipped back a few inches. “Coop it is.”

A knock at the door sent the other guys in the room into a frenzy, jumping to their feet.

“Let’s do this!” The messy redhead yelled as he tossed his game controller onto the sofa and chugged down the rest of his beer.

The three men filed out the door without looking in Ian’s direction.