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)
Not giving a second thought to the onlookers, she brushed her lips over his mouth, baiting him while slowly torturing herself. He took the bait, lifting his head up just enough to capture her lips.
He kissed her with a patience she didn’t expect. That was his strength, giving her a hook when she expected a jab. Throwing her off balance. Making her question her true intentions. Jumbling thoughts. Casting doubt.
“Coop,” she whispered between kisses, “I like kissing you.”
He grinned against her lips. “Say that again.” Ian teased her bottom lip with his tongue.
She flicked her tongue out to meet his. “I like kissing you, Coop.”
Ian rolled them onto their sides, pinning her back to the sofa as he kissed her harder but still slowly. He bent his top leg, wedging it between her legs as his hand slid down her hip, guiding her top leg over him until they were scissored, a tangled mess of limbs.
His hand drifted from her hip to her face where his thumb brushed her cheek before he stroked her hair.
Jersey pulled back, a little out of breath. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” His brow wrinkled.
“Stroke my hair.”
“You’re stroking my hair.”
And she was. The slightly curled fingers of her left hand combed through his dark hair in slow strokes, even as he brought it to her attention.
“Don’t stroke my hair,” she repeated on a soft whisper as her gaze focused on her hand moving on its own accord through his hair.
Ian closed his eyes, stilling both of his hands. His lips parted and he sighed softly as she continued to do the exact thing to him that she forbid him to do to her. After studying every curve of his face, including the exact spot high on his cheeks where his long eyelashes rested, she let her eyes close and her fingers slow to idle in his hair.
Jersey dreamed of the handful of moments in her life when she felt so safe, normal, content: when G let her sleep next to her, when Dena and Charles welcomed her with love into their home, when Chris kept her warm and read her soothing passages from his books.
“Jersey?” A while later, Max’s voice brought her out of her dreams.
Jersey’s eyes fluttered open.
“You have to work, and Ian has sound check. Have him out that door in five minutes.” Max smiled before pivoting and exiting the room.
No lecture.
No frowning.
She could have woken him herself and kicked Jersey out, but she didn’t. As Jersey moved her leg to untangle them, Ian shifted, opening his eyes and making another quarter turn with their bodies, pinning her beneath him, wedging his pelvis between her legs.
“Are you trying to escape?” He nipped at her lower lip.
She rolled her eyes, trying to contain her own amusement. “Coop, if that was my goal, I’d already be gone. You have less than five minutes to get to sound check, and I have to go sell your stupid shit to gullible people who think you’re something special.”
He grinned, pushing himself off the sofa. “Get out of here.” Ian grabbed a new bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and brought it to his mouth with his grin still in place.
Jersey peeled herself from the sofa, straightening her shirt and adjusting her knife as she eyed him through a contrast of emotions. Why did everything good in her life have to morph into something bad. Chris labeled her chance meeting with Ian as simply fate. Jersey considered it plain fucking cruel.
“Jersey?”
“Yeah?” She stilled at the door.
“Wish me luck.”
With her back to him, she let a grin slide all the way up her face. “Luck, Coop.” She eased open the door. “And Coop?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you like to play basketball?”
“Yeah. Why?”
The fire burned hotter as she edged her way toward the truth. “No reason.” The door clicked behind her.
Jersey soared through the night, transformed by his touch, haunted by his truth. The slow drip of revelations gathered in the pit of her stomach, nauseating her conscience, drowning her ability to pretend he didn’t kill the Russells.
“Hey,” Chris whispered at Jersey’s back.
The smile fell from her face as she snapped the lid onto the last plastic container of hats. The lingering fans trickled out of the venue as security made its final sweep through the venue at the end of the concert.
“Hey.” She drew in a slow breath and faced him.
“I heard some guys talking tonight about the first cars they owned when they were teenagers.”
Jersey stacked the containers onto the cart. “Sorry, I can’t help you. I’ve never owned a car. Never had a driver’s license.”
Chris peered at her with a blank expression. He failed to appreciate her need to make assumptions and end the conversation before granting him the opportunity to make his full case.
“Fine.” She huffed a full night’s worth of exasperation as she crossed her arms at her chest. “Tell me about the cars.”