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)
Shane’s anger simmered into something else? Hurt? Was he hurt that she’d embarrassed him? Did she go too far? Jersey wasn’t sure. But his you don’t own him comment felt like the manly cock jab—the age-old attempt at putting a woman in her spot.
“Let’s go.” Ian grabbed her arm.
She fought back the urge to jerk away from him and land her fist into his pretty little face. She submitted to his need to steer her through the crowd, down a long hallway, and into a dark bedroom.
Ian released her with a firm shove and shut the door behind them. The second it clicked, a knife landed with a thud into the solid wood mere inches from grazing Ian’s ear. He froze with his back to her.
“To be clear, Coop, you manhandle me like that again, shoving me into a dark room, and the tip of that knife will be lodged into your heart.”
Ian slowly turned toward her. “You touch Shane again … his wallet, his gun, or one fucking hair on his head, and your ass will be planted in the back of a squad car.”
“He’s a joke. Nice guy sometimes, but I sure wouldn’t trust him with my life. The only person around you who is truly capable of protecting you is the homeless girl you pay to sell T-shirts for you. That’s pathetic, Coop, and you know it.”
“Is this about Grace?” He tilted his head to the side.
“Grace? Really, Coop? I can’t read the letters on your shirt from here, which should make you wonder how I managed to not make you bleed with that knife. I disarmed your bodyguard in less than five seconds. My life is filled with nothingness. Nothing to lose because I literally have nothing. Your pretty little head can’t even imagine the crimes that have been committed against my body. So do you really think I give a shit about some woman at a party?”
Ian swallowed hard, lines digging into his forehead.
“I wanted to ask you what kind of car you drove in your early twenties.”
“What?” His head jerked backward.
“Do you have a driver’s license?”
He nodded slowly, confusion cemented into his face.
“Then tell me what cars you’ve owned in your life, specifically in your early twenties.” Jersey clasped her hands behind her and rocked back and forth on her heels.
Ian shook his head, gnashing his jaw. Jersey didn’t let his aggravation deter her.
“Cars? That’s what started this tonight?”
“Yes. I was making my way through the crowd to discuss this with you, and Shane flapped his jaw about some you don’t own him bullshit. Naturally, it pissed me off that he had to be such an asshole about something as innocent as me approaching you about your car history. Someone bumped into me, sending me into Shane’s chest.” Jersey shrugged. “And my instincts just took over.”
“Your instincts?”
She nodded.
“If you bump into someone, you instinctually disarm them and lift their wallet?”
“Yes, you spoiled dumb-fuck. Some of us have to live on sharp instinct and developed survival skills.”
Ian reached across his body and removed the knife from the door without taking his eyes off Jersey. “Cars … I’ve owned three. A red Mustang. A black Escalade. And a midnight blue Jaguar.” His long legs swallowed the space between them with three slow strides. He reached behind her.
Jersey grabbed his hand. Ian gave her a firm headshake. She eased her grip from his wrist, letting him retrieve the sheath from the back of her jeans. He slid the knife into it and tossed it on the floor.
Her gaze followed it, narrowing her eyes for a few seconds. “The black car was an Escalade?”
“Yes.”
Her lips twisted to the side. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’ll find out,” she whispered, not knowing what to do with that information. Not knowing who to trust.
“When?”
She let her gaze make its way back to his face. “When I’m ready.”
“Ian?” A woman’s voice called from the other side of the door along with quick knocks.
Before he could answer, Grace opened the door, poking her head inside and flipping on the light. “Hey, I wondered where you went in such a rush. Is everything okay?” She stepped her large-chested body into the room, sizing up Jersey for a quick second before wrinkling her nose at Ian. “There’s chatter going on out there that you’re having issues with your new merch girl. Do you want me to get security?”
Jersey snatched her knife off the floor, pulled it out, blew on it, and placed it back in her jeans. Grace’s eyes and nose flared as her lips formed a nervous O.
“I think you need to find someplace else to be right now.” Jersey stepped toward her.
“Jers—”
“Shut up, Coop.” She moved closer to Grace.
“But …” Grace’s voice quivered. “This is my room.”
Jersey’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Is that so?” She took another step toward Grace, forcing her to retreat a step, then another, until her body crossed the doorway’s threshold. “Gracie … go tell the curious people out there that the new merch girl is fucking Ian Cooper in your bed.” Jersey slammed the door in Grace’s face and locked it.