Jersey Six(21)

“I should see if Chris is back.” She licked her fingers and wiped them on her jeans.

He studied her for a few minutes, the drift of her gaze to the floor then over his shoulder to Nick sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a book. “Nick, I’m walking Jersey to her room. Then you can stick me with needles.”

Jersey jumped to her feet and grabbed her bag.

“Can I carry your bag for you?” Ian opened the door.

She shook her head, stepping out into the hallway.

“Want me to sharpen your knife?” He walked beside her.

Jersey shot him a quick sideways glance. He kept his eyes on the length of the hall in front of them, biting his lips to keep from grinning. Ian pushed the button to the elevator. A few seconds later, the doors opened, and Jersey stepped into it.

“How about a song? I can sing you a song.”

Hugging her bag, she kept her gaze downcast as he followed her into the elevator and pushed the button to her floor.

Ian hummed.

Jersey twisted her lips to the side, tipping her chin farther down.

“I met a girl…” he sang.

“In the heart of Newark—”

“Stop!” Jersey snorted a laugh. “No. Just … no.”

“Come on. It’s a good start.”

“It’s not.” She giggled.

Ian liked that giggle so much it constricted his chest. Once again, she reminded him of someone from his past—a bittersweet, breathtakingly beautiful flash of a yesterday long ago that ended tragically.

She stepped off the elevator before the doors completely opened, leaving him to catch up with her.

“You know, most women would feel honored to have me write a song about them.”

“Then you should write them a song.” Jersey looked left and right. “God! Why are all the doors the same?”

Ian grinned. “What’s your room number?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t pay attention to your room number.”

“No!” She whipped around, stepping into his space, neck strained upward. “I didn’t look at the room number. I don’t stay at hotels and eat fancy food. I don’t jump around on a stage and write silly songs.”

Ian’s jaw unhinged, and he jabbed a fist into his chest, making a stabbing motion while falling back into the wall. “Silly songs … Jersey, I didn’t think you were serious about cutting out my heart. But that was brutal.”

Jersey tried her best; he could see her giving it her all to hold firm to her scowl, tiny lines wrinkling the corners of her eyes, but she lost the fight. “Jerk.” She shoved him.

He stumbled again, holding his belly while chuckling.

“You are mental. I can’t believe people pay to watch you.” She shoved him again, dropping her bag and strutting toward him as he moved away from her.

“Whoa …” He brought his fists up, mirroring her. “Really, we’re going to duke it out here in the hallway?”

“Maybe.” She smirked. “Ever been beat up by a girl, Coop? Or do you always have bodyguards protecting your delicate little ass?” She shadowboxed him, only gently striking him in the gut and arms as he kept his fists by his face and twisted his torso side to side, laughing more with each retreating step.

“Should I feel violated that you’ve been paying so much attention to my ass to know that it’s delicate?”

She added a little more power to her punches until his back hit a wall again. He bobbed his head to the side, peeking at her from behind his arms and clenched fists. Blowing out a slow breath, she relaxed her right fist, the one shoved into his gut, and kept her hand pressed flat to his abdomen. “Why didn’t you fire me, Coop? Send me back to Newark after I assaulted those workers of yours?”

“Because they probably deserved it,” he murmured, afraid to move with her hand pressed to him. He didn’t want to scare her away. Ian wanted her trust, even though he had no idea what he would do with it.

“Thank you.” Jersey worked her gaze up his body.

“For?”

“I’m going to sleep in a real bed tonight. I took a shower today, not a birdbath. Two meals … I had two meals today.”

Ian couldn’t hold back the twitch of pain pulling at his brow. Bed, shower, food … so basic.

“Jers?”

They turned toward the deep voice and the scarred face peeking out of the doorway to a room close to where Jersey left her bag.

Her hand dropped from Ian’s abdomen. “Chris.” She smiled, a genuine, happy to see him smile.

Ian followed her as she retreated to grab her bag. He caught a better look at her scarred friend who eyed him without blinking. They said nothing. Ian didn’t know what to say. All he could do was stare and wait. Wait for her friend to speak, to see if his words matched the hard look in his eyes, wary and conflicted.

“Chris?” Jersey cleared her throat and nudged his shoe with hers. “This is Ian Cooper, our boss.” She wedged herself between Ian and Chris’s body halfway out the door. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hello? Can you speak? Maybe a ‘thanks for hiring us’ or something besides your cow-eyed stare? Are you drunk?”

Chris shook his head a slow inch at a time, not moving his focus from Ian. “Generous of you to give us jobs,” he mumbled.