Jersey Six(19)

“Spring water.” He took a few gulps.

“You don’t drink?”

He shrugged, twisting the lid back on the bottle and folding his tired body onto the sectional, stretching out his long legs on the coffee table. “Occasionally.”

“Sooo …” Jersey set her bag on the floor and perused the room. “You’re a star. A really big deal. Incredibly popular. Rich, I’d imagine.” Her nose wrinkled as her gaze landed on him.

He laced his hands behind his head.

“Yet, you picked me up off the street and offered me a job, but I didn’t actually work tonight like Chris did. And now I’m in your hotel room … alone with you.” She balled her hands, cracking her knuckles.

“I sense a burning question coming.”

“Am I here for sex?”

Ian willed his face to remain stoic, but he inwardly cringed. “No.” He narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Would you have agreed to the job had that been what I was asking?” The possibility that her answer could be yes made him nauseous.

Jersey held eye contact for several unblinking seconds before averting her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know.” Her shoulders lifted into a slight shrug.

“I’m sorry. I should have been more clear. Instead, you’ve been thinking I befriended you to sell drugs and have sex.” He tried to chuckle, but it came out as a disgusted grunt. How many people had asked her to sell drugs or her body?

“Befriended?” She squinted at him. “We’re friends? Why? Why me? The sex actually makes sense; the friendship does not. And really, for someone with as much money in the bank as you probably have, I’m not sure the sex really makes sense. Who drives to Newark to pick up a homeless person for sex?” A ball of nerves, she paced the room, hugging her arms to her body, fingers digging into her skin.

He watched her, the moment blindingly surreal. A tiny body with a big punch. A young woman sculpted from bones, skin, and a few defined muscles. Every edge rough. A hundred years of wear on a twenty-something body. Tiny scars scattered along her skin, ghosts of the past.

Jersey had a story to tell, a story Ian needed to learn to silence the voice in his head.

He sighed. “Why me is my favorite question in the world, but only when asked after something good happens. You know … there’s the glass-half-empty people who always ask why me whenever something goes wrong, like they are more deserving of a flawless life than some other person. But when someone asks why me because something good has happened to them, it just makes the answer that much sweeter.”

Jersey stopped pacing. “What’s the answer?”

Ian smiled. “Why not you? That’s the answer. Today I stumbled across a young woman in need of lunch, some money, a place to live, a job … a chance. So I offered what I had to offer. So why me? Why would I do that?” He shrugged. “Well, why not me? I have the means.”

She eased onto the opposite end of the U-shaped sectional, sitting on her hands, shoulders next to her ears. “You do this a lot?”

“Help people?”

“Hire homeless people.”

“I do have a few people working for me that were jobless before I hired them, but I don’t think anyone before you and your friend was homeless.”

“So let’s go back … why am I here? In your hotel room? Don’t you have parties? Don’t you hang out with your band members?”

“Sometimes I go to parties. Sometimes I hang out with my bandmates. But I’ve been doing this for over ten years now. My buddies in the band have wives and kids that sometimes travel with them. The party scene takes a toll on you after a while. And it’s late, as you can see, but the adrenaline won’t let me sleep, so adding any sort of stimulation isn’t a good idea. Also, I like my privacy. When I’m on tour, there’s always someone demanding my time, talking at me, touching me, dragging me where I need to be. So I take my alone time when I can get it.”

“Why me?”

He knew what she meant with the repeated why me. But he couldn’t share the answer. Not yet.

“Why do some people run into burning buildings to save complete strangers? It’s just an instinct—an impulse.”

“I’m an impulse?”

He laughed, rubbing his face and his tired eyes. “Ask Max. She’ll confirm you were definitely an impulse.”

“Last time …” She sighed with a little more aggravation. “Why am I here in your hotel room? Are you fucked up? I’ve met a lot of fucked-up people. You said no to sex, but there’s a lot of weird shit you might have in your head that’s not exactly sex. Your wealth and status don’t fool me. Mental illness doesn’t give a shit about social status.”

“Jersey—”

“And just so you know, I was kind to those two assholes tonight. I could break you. And after I’m done breaking you, I will literally carve your fucking heart out of your chest with my knife.”

Ian waited until the muscles in Jersey’s fists and jaw relaxed. Then he nodded several times. “You remind me of someone I used to know. Not in a messed-up way. Not in a sexual way. Not in a way that will require you to break me or literally cut my heart out of my chest.” He rested a flat hand over said chest. “In a good way.”

She deflated a fraction. His confession softened her face.