Jersey Six(34)

Five hours.

Jersey knew a lot about bruises. That mark on his neck would look much worse in five hours.

To Jersey’s surprise, they all exited the elevator on the same floor, which meant their rooms were closer together. Max flashed the face of her phone over the sensor to a room and opened the door. Ian slid past her, with a simple “goodnight” mumbled.

“Goodnight,” Max replied.

Shane used his phone to open the door to another room.

“You’re with me since he didn’t invite you to stay with him.” Max smiled at Jersey as she shut the door to Ian’s room.

Jersey ignored the smug expression on Max’s face. Lack of sleep robbed her last fuck to give that night … or morning. It was morning, just early, before-Jersey’s-jog early. Max opened the door to their room, and Jersey tossed her bag on the ground at the end of the bed near the window.

“It’s not you.” Max pulled off her white coat and draped it over the back of the desk chair.

Jersey removed the knife from her sock and set it on the nightstand. Max had a much more visible reaction than Ian did.

“If someone breaks into the room … I’ve got it handled.” Jersey smirked while slipping off her shoes and jeans and crawling into bed.

Max cleared her throat, peeling her gaze away from the knife and lifting her jaw off the floor. “As I was saying, it’s not you. What we discussed on the plane? I don’t want you to take it personally.” She unzipped her suitcase, grabbed a smaller bag and a nightshirt, and disappeared around the corner into the bathroom. As she droned on about Ian and what’s best for him, his life choices, his future, and his reputation, Jersey fell asleep.



“What are you doing?” Max mumbled from her bed.

“Pushups. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Jersey finished her last ten and jumped to her feet. “I wanted to go for a run, but I don’t have a room key, and I assumed you’d get all pissy if I stole your phone. What I really want is to beat on a bag for a while. Are there any places around here I could find one?”

Max retrieved her plugged-in phone from the nightstand and squinted at the screen.

“It’s ten to five. Are you kidding me? I deserve another hour of sleep.”

“A punching bag, Max. I’m starting to have withdrawals. If you don’t figure out something soon, I’ll be forced to find a live one amongst your crew.”

Max buried her head underneath her pillow. “Go tell Shane to find you a punching bag. I’m sure he’s awake and already caffeinated.”

Slam!

The door shut behind Jersey as she crossed the hall and knocked on Shane’s door at least a dozen times. Just the promise of getting to hit a bag made adrenaline burn through her veins, building so much anticipation, making her jittery like an addict in need of a hit.

“Shane!”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The click of a door opening to her right stopped her fists from pounding on Shane’s door.

“What the hell, Jersey?” A groggy, messy-haired Ian peeked out from his hotel room.

Shirtless. He had a perfect smattering of hair on his chest.

Shorts. They rode low on his hips, displaying a lot of a happy trail.

Two days’ worth of stubble darkened his face.

But … the hickey. It stood out like a new, ugly tattoo on his neck.

“Jersey!” The irritation in his voice cut through the air.

Her gaze snapped up to meet his. “Max said Shane would take me somewhere to box. I need to hit something … really, really badly. If I don’t hit a bag soon, I’m going to hit actual people. No one wants me hitting people. Do you, Coop? Do you want me to use an actual person for a punching bag?”

Chain-smokers and heroin addicts had more control than Jersey did at that moment.

“Well, clearly Shane’s not in his room. So you don’t need to wake the whole goddamn hotel. Just a minute …” Ian started to close his door then pulled it back open. “Wait in here while I get dressed.”

Jersey pumped her hands, working the adrenaline as she stepped into his dark hotel room. From the light of the bathroom, she could see the room was much smaller than some of his previous rooms, but still twice the size of Max’s room. Hers didn’t have a sitting area or a kitchenette.

Ian closed the bathroom door, leaving Jersey in complete darkness. She dropped down and pushed through fifty more pushups, side planks, mountain climbers, and finished with jump squats just as Ian emerged from the bathroom, wearing loose-fitting jeans and a long-sleeved, fitted, white tee.

Breathlessly, she eyed his messy, damp hair … and the hickey.

“Why are you doing that in the dark?” he mumbled with a groggy, morning voice.

Jersey flipped the light switch by the door. Ian tucked his wallet into his front pocket, his phone in his back pocket, and grabbed two bottles of his special water from the kitchenette’s counter.

For a few moments, Jersey forgot what they were going to do. Ian moved toward her, looming over her as her back melted against the door.

“How tall are you?” she whispered, straining her neck to look up at him.

“Six-five.” He shoved one of the bottled waters into her chest.

Jersey dropped her chin to stare at it for a second before taking it from him.