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)
“Why me?”
He knew what she meant with the repeated why me. But he couldn’t share the answer. Not yet.
“Why do some people run into burning buildings to save complete strangers? It’s just an instinct—an impulse.”
“I’m an impulse?”
He laughed, rubbing his face and his tired eyes. “Ask Max. She’ll confirm you were definitely an impulse.”
“Last time …” She sighed with a little more aggravation. “Why am I here in your hotel room? Are you fucked up? I’ve met a lot of fucked-up people. You said no to sex, but there’s a lot of weird shit you might have in your head that’s not exactly sex. Your wealth and status don’t fool me. Mental illness doesn’t give a shit about social status.”
“Jersey—”
“And just so you know, I was kind to those two assholes tonight. I could break you. And after I’m done breaking you, I will literally carve your fucking heart out of your chest with my knife.”
Ian waited until the muscles in Jersey’s fists and jaw relaxed. Then he nodded several times. “You remind me of someone I used to know. Not in a messed-up way. Not in a sexual way. Not in a way that will require you to break me or literally cut my heart out of my chest.” He rested a flat hand over said chest. “In a good way.”
She deflated a fraction. His confession softened her face.
“I enjoyed lunch with you. I know it was a short amount of time, but it awakened this feeling of familiarity. You triggered something, and I liked how that something made me feel—at lunch and again before the concert. So…” he rubbed his lips together and shrugged “…I brought you here because there’s an odd comfort I get when we’re together.”
“What’s odd about it?”
Ian let his thoughts play in his head, deciding what to say that would protect his vulnerability as well as hers. “The obvious. We met at a hot dog stand twelve hours ago.” His eyebrows knitted together. “That, and it’s a little odd that you so quickly threatened to cut out my heart. That’s at least third or fourth date material.”
“So this is a date? I think dating my boss is a bad idea. And I’ve never dated anyone, so you’re going to be really disappointed.”
“I was using it as a figure of speech.”
“Food,” an unfamiliar voice called, following several hard knocks at the door.
Ian opened the door. “I’m starving.”
“Sorry. There was a delay in a few of the things I requested.” An average-height man with light brown hair and bags in his hands brushed past Ian. “Oh, hello. I’m Nick.” He smiled at Jersey while depositing the bags onto the coffee table.
“Jersey,” she replied with a cautious voice, eyes flitting between the bags and the two men.
Nick proceeded to pull containers of food out of the bags as Ian returned to his spot on the sectional.
“Help yourself.” Ian shot Jersey a small grin and an easy nod toward the food.
“How are you feeling?” Nick turned down the bed and set out alcohol, swabs, and needles.
Ian bobbed his head side to side while plunging a plastic fork into a black plastic container of pasta. “Not too bad. My right shoulder is tight.”
Nick poured some of Ian’s bottled water into a glass and added several drops of herbs before handing it to him.
Ian set his bowl of pasta to the side and chugged down the bitter water. “Still tastes like shit.” He scrunched his face.
Nick met Jersey’s wide eyes. “Herbs to help him sleep.”
“Best pasta in New York. Try some.” Ian scooted another black container to the opposite side of the coffee table.
Jersey eyed it and then him for a few seconds. When she reached for the container, Ian grinned around his plastic fork. She knelt on the floor and opened it, using her fingers to scoop up the long strings of spaghetti, sucking it into her mouth.
“There are more forks in the sack.”
She paused, glancing up at Ian while slurping the last inch of spaghetti into her mouth. Her cheeks turned red. He didn’t mean to embarrass her. Without giving it a second thought, Ian kneeled on the floor at the opposite side of the coffee table, pitched the fork over his shoulder, and dug his fingers into the pasta, bringing it to his mouth and slurping it up.
A tiny laugh slipped out of Jersey when sauce splattered onto his face and into his right eye.
“Clearly I’m out of practice.” He grinned, wiping his eye. “What else do we have?” Ian pulled out another container. “Yes! My favorite.” He opened the container of olives and popped one into his mouth, moving it side to side while chewing it before spitting out the pit into the empty bag. “The salt …” He licked his lips. “I crave the salt after sweating so much.”