Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“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.
Ian had large hands that fit perfectly with his tall frame. Chris said they played basketball together. She could imagine Ian palming a basketball with those large hands—the same ones that easily palmed her ass on the plane.
She swallowed hard from the memory of it.
Ian’s nose wrinkled. “Why do you keep wearing the same clothes you wore when I met you?”
Jersey shrugged. “Because I’m not wearing tight jeans to work out.”
“Why didn’t you get new workout clothes when Max took you shopping?” Ian sounded exasperated, like everything about Jersey irritated him.
Another shrug. “Because I didn’t see any at the store, and she said we needed things for me to wear while working.”
He frowned. Jersey’s body stiffened when his hand brushed her side, reaching for the doorknob. She squatted down to grab her bag.
“Let’s go.”
In the taxi on the way to the gym, Ian texted Max to let her know their whereabouts and instruct her to go buy new workout clothes for Jersey ASAP.
She wasn’t the only one in need of a bag to hit that morning. A crowd of men and women filled the space. Ian purchased a day pass for Jersey, drawing more attention to himself than he wanted that morning. He wasn’t ready for autographs and selfies, but without a hat and sunglasses, it was unavoidable.