Jersey Six(70)

He kissed the top of her head. “Dinnertime.”

She imagined that moment being one she’d remember for the rest of her short life.

His body dwarfed hers like a protective shield.

The possessiveness—the false security—of his hands, one in her hair, the other low on her back.

The warmth. She’d remember the warmth of his body long after his heart stopped pumping blood.

But more than anything, she’d remember how the same person who took away her future, also filled a physical need and an emotional dream, if only for a moment in time.

In some ways … everything about him felt familiar, like she’d experienced something with him in another life.

A blink.

A whisper.

A flash.

It haunted her in ways she couldn’t explain.

“Coop?” Her lips pressed to his neck, lingering there until his pulse kissed her back.

“Hmm?” His large hand drifted just below her butt, pulling her an inch closer to him.

“Are you afraid of dying?”

“No,” he murmured, ghosting his lips along the top of her head before kissing it.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve always thought living in fear has to be worse than death. We stop living when we let in that fear.”

Her head inched side to side.

“No?” He pulled back until he could see her face. “You disagree?”

“I think we only have fear when we have something in life that means enough to us that we can’t imagine losing it. That fear is how we know we’re alive. It makes us fight to stay alive.” Her eyes narrowed as her gaze shifted to the side. “I don’t think it has to be a person. Maybe it’s a purpose or a chance at something.”

Ian scraped his teeth along his lower lip, returning a sluggish nod, contemplating her words as they settled between them.

“Are you afraid of dying?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I think that fear is the only reason I’m still alive.”

“What do you fear?”

Her heart crashed against her ribcage, over and over. Did he feel it? Her fear came like a storm, desperate and destructive. “I fear dying without making things right in the world—in my world.”

Ian rolled over, settling his body between her legs, forearms next to her head. “My world has been shit lately, until I saw you in this bed a few hours ago.” He brushed his nose along her cheek. “Now everything feels right in my world.”

Several knocks pounded at the door. He grabbed her leg, hiking it up so he could push into her.

Jersey’s breath hitched as the ache of wanting him but needing to kill him feuded in the tiny space that housed the remnants of her conscience. “Th-the door …” She bit her lip and blinked heavily.

“Fuck off!” He yelled over his shoulder while gripping her leg tighter, sinking deeper into her.

The knocking stopped.

Everything about him haunted her. Jersey wondered how much of herself she would have to surrender to make her world right. So she let her conscience work that out while she kissed him.

The kiss. It always felt right. The only kiss that had ever felt right.

His touch felt familiar. A-million-lifetimes-ago familiar.

They were the perfect kind of wrong.



Jersey wiggled out of his arms before he had a chance to catch his breath. She sat on the edge of the bed with her head down.

“You okay?” He rested his head on his propped-up arm. Ian didn’t know how to describe sex with Jersey other than a war of sorts, maybe between them, maybe between her mind and her body.

Anger.

Anguish.

Addiction.

They screwed like junkies—powerless to the pull, in denial of the effects, and destined to do it again and again.

She thought he was her truth, but he knew it was a lie.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” She straightened her back, inhaled sharply, and stood, padding to the bathroom without looking back.

The door shut, and Ian slipped on his jeans, fishing his phone out of the pocket. A string of missed messages from Max and Ames cluttered his screen. On a deep sigh, he clicked on them and scrolled through the chaos and panic.

The good news? No one’s talking about the lip-sync scandal. The bad news? The world knows a homeless woman is at your hotel. They know she has a record. They know she killed a man. They know she assaulted two of your employees.

This isn’t good, Ian.

He tossed his phone aside since the rest of her messages were nothing more than her frustration over him not responding to her or answering her incessant knocking at his door.

The toilet flushed. The faucet ran for a long time. Then Jersey opened the door to the bathroom. Her hair was a little wet in front like she washed her face. A white terry cloth robe covered her body. And a sadness resided in her eyes.

Ian sat on the edge of the bed with his hands folded between his legs. “I don’t trust Chris.” He held no hesitation or regret in his voice.

Jersey stopped halfway between the bed and the bathroom. “I don’t trust anyone.”

He tried and failed to hide his slight grimace. What had he done to lose her trust? Or was he a fool for thinking he ever had it at all?

“I think he’s telling people about you.”

She lifted her eyebrows as a cryptic grin played along her lips. “What’s there to tell? And who would he tell? He has nothing more than a first name, a disfigured body, and one friend who happens to be in Switzerland.”