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)
They wrapped the blankets around themselves and walked back to the house.
“We’re not going inside.” Ian slid his phone out of his pocket and messaged Max and Shane to meet them at the car. And because Ian wasn’t a truly evil person like Jersey, he returned the blankets to Grace’s room via the window, unlocked her bedroom door, and snuck back out the window.
“How did you get out here?” Max asked as they piled into the SUV.
“Magic.” He winked at Max, but her scowl didn’t seem receptive to his charm.
“Want to know the crazy rumor that was floating around the party as to your whereabouts … pissing off your friend Bryson?”
“We heard the rumor too.” Ian grinned at Jersey. “I think you know us better than that.”
“No.” Max’s phone lit up as she checked the time—3:30 a.m. “I know you both just well enough to believe it was unlikely just a rumor. But thanks for dragging Shane and me to a stupid party, just to embarrass him and crush Grace’s heart.”
“I’ll make it right before we fly out,” Ian promised.
Max leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “You’d better.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Ian extended a long apology to Grace, along with a huge bouquet of flowers and a new bed and bedding. Bryson didn’t seem quite as satisfied with the gesture, but since the band was a week away from leaving for the international leg of their tour, they made rocky amends.
“This might be a bad idea. We should have gone back to Newark,” Jersey murmured to Chris as Shane drove them to Ian’s house in Los Angeles.
Ian glanced back at Jersey, sliding his sunglasses down his nose. “Did you say something?”
“Just wondering if you should have taken us back to Newark.”
Ian’s brows squished together. “Marley’s is closed.”
She shrugged. “Newark’s still home.”
“Where would you go?”
Another shrug.
“I’m not returning you to the street.” Ian faced forward again.
Chris shot her a tight-lipped smile.
When they pulled into the circle drive of the impressive, two-story home, Jersey’s jaw plummeted to her lap.
Chris’s elbow jabbed her in the arm. “You can be impressed by him,” he whispered when Ian and Shane climbed out of the vehicle, “or you can kill him. But you can’t do both, Jers.”
Ian opened her door and held out his hand. Her right eyebrow lifted a fraction as she declined his help, which brought a grin to his face when she hopped out, spine straight, chin lifted.
“Just trying to be a gentleman.” He shut her door as Shane unloaded everyone’s bags.
“Just trying to not be a helpless female.” She scuffed her sneakers along the driveway behind him, taking her bag from Shane and avoiding Chris’s scrutinizing gaze.
She came from nothing. Of course the house impressed her, but that didn’t mean the owner had anything to do with it.
“Hey, little bitches!” Ian greeted two dogs—little, half naked, ratty looking dogs. “Was Bria good to you?” He picked up both dogs. “Was she?”
Jersey and Chris shared a look, an indescribable look because there really was no explanation or proper reaction to what played out before them.
Rock star, Ian Cooper, an idol to so many women in so many ways, the voice with so much grit and haunting emotion, had two little dogs.
“Four bedrooms, four bathrooms. The one with clothes in the closet is mine, the other three are available.” Ian set the dogs down, and they skittered off into another room.
Shane carried Ian’s bags up the stairs, and Chris followed him with his new suitcase. Jersey still had her old bag with the broken zipper.
Ian watched Chris with a scowl. Ian always regarded Chris with a scowl and a general distrust vibe. “You can stay in my room, if you want to.” Amusement teased Ian’s face once Chris disappeared from sight.
“I don’t.” Jersey showed no amusement.
“Suit yourself.” He sauntered to the kitchen.
She dropped her bag at the bottom of the staircase and followed Ian. “Interesting choice of dogs.” Jersey glanced around his open kitchen, meticulously cleaned and decorated in all white with a wall of windows overlooking a pool.
“I lost a bet. Two actually. The first one got me the dogs; the second allowed Jordan to name them. I have a love-hate relationship with my bandmates. They like bets. Me? Not so much.” He opened the glass door to the refrigerator.
“What are their names?”
“Lola and Foxy, but I usually just call them my bitches.”
Jersey laughed. This wasn’t a side to Ian she could have ever imagined. “Were you raised with a strange bottled water obsession? Or did you get the runs from tap water at some point? Happened to me at Marley’s. When I first started staying there, I drank the orange-tinted water and nearly crapped out my intestines for a week.” Jersey wedged her body between Ian and the open door to his huge refrigerator with rows of perfectly lined glass bottles of water. No food … just water.