Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
He gently nudges me forward into the back room, my head spinning, clutching the wad of money tightly in my fist as I make my way over to my locker.
I’m barely able to even process what’s happening as I stuff the cash into my purse and grab my bag. I don’t even bother fully changing. I just slide into my sweatshirt and sweatpants, kick off my heels, and step into my sneakers.
If only the men out front could see us like this, in our normal, everyday outfits.
And then I’m rushing quickly to the back door, shoving it open and stepping out into the night, half-expecting to wake up at any moment to realize that this was all a dream.
But there he is. Jameson Gray, standing there looking like a slick Wall Street trader or a Silicon Valley CEO.
He walks right up to me, takes my hand, and begins leading me away from the club and toward a silver Porsche that obviously belongs to him.
“No more motorcycle?” I ask. It’s the only thing I can think to say at the moment.
A quiet laugh emerges from his lips, and he turns and glances down at me with the most charming smile ever. God have I missed that smile.
“No, sadly. But don’t worry, this is a lot more comfortable. And will get us home a lot faster.”
“Home?” I ask, stunned as he holds the door open for me. “What do you mean home? Jameson, your house is abandoned. It’s falling apart. It has been for the last three years.”
He pauses, then looks at me with eyes filled with secrets, like he has so many things he wants to tell me.
“No, not that home, Iris. Another home. And if you’ll come with me now, I’ll show you. Will you come with me?”
Chapter 4
Jameson
Islam my foot on the gas and peel out of the parking lot of Ja-Ja-Ja-Jaguars. What a ridiculous name for a club, and how shameless they are to be hiring girls just out of high school—girls barely even old enough to vote. The farther away Iris is from that hellhole of debauchery and lust, the better. And she’s never going back there again. Ever.
Take it easy, Jameson. Cool down. You don’t want to scare her.
I glance to my right and see Iris sitting in the passenger seat and can barely even believe it.
Three years.
It’s been three years since the world tore me away from her, and now we’re finally back together. It just doesn’t seem real.
I shift the Porsche into fourth gear and take Iris’s hand in mine again. Her skin is so soft, so smooth. She’s so warm too. Probably from all the excitement of what just happened. Christ, I just want to tear all of her clothes off, wrap her up in my arms, and never let her go. I can’t get close enough. My body is crying out for her, but I know I have to wait. She’s going to want an explanation, and I don’t know how in God’s name I’m going to give her one that she will understand.
“I hope a thousand was enough,” I say, breaking the silence and the tension in the car.
I’m smiling as she looks over at me, just to make sure she knows I’m kidding, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she already knows. Of course she knows. This is Iris we’re talking about. We’ve always understood each other.
“Don’t play around with me, Jameson,” she replies in a tone I wasn’t expecting. She pulls her hand away from mine. “What the heck is going on? A suit? A Porsche? Tossing away fifteen hundred dollars like it’s nothing?”
“I can explain–”
“And what were you doing at Jaguars with all that money? Looking for a thousand lap dances?” she snaps.
Okay, she’s not happy. This isn’t good.
“And how long have you been back in Boxhurst?” she continues. “When were you planning on letting me know?”
“Can we take these one at a time?” I suggest. “And maybe not all of them while I’m driving?”
“Fine. Why don’t we start with why you were at the club tonight?”
“Okay,” I reply. “Technically I wasn’t at the club tonight.”
“Technically?” She frowns. “So what, you just magically appeared when I was about to step on stage?”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” I say, scrambling. “What I mean is that…I was at Jaguars, but I wasn’t there looking for dances. I was there looking for you.”
I turn the Porsche off the main road and glance back at Iris for her reaction. I can see her processing, but it doesn’t look good.
“Me?” she repeats. “You were there for me? So you knew I would be there tonight? How would you know that, Jameson? I just started there tonight. Have you been…stalking me?”
“Come on, Iris,” I reply, blowing air through my lips. “Stalking? That’s not a nice word.”