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)
“Inside, Jersey,” Ian called from the room where Shane held open the door.
“I think that’s my room.” Jersey pointed to the door to her right.
“You’re on a different floor.” Shane gave her a tight-lipped smile.
“But this looks like the hallway we went down earlier.
“It’s a hotel. All the hallways are identical.”
She frowned, feeling stupid but daring him to mock her for her lack of hotel experience—after all, it was her first time in a hotel. By the time she swallowed her pride and scuffed her feet into the room, relenting to Ian’s request and Shane’s shocking revelation, Ian was already in the bathroom with the door shut and the shower running.
“Night, Jersey.” The door slammed shut behind Shane.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Ian washed off the day, giving thanks for his life—every dream that came to fruition, every fan, every single breath.
Pay it forward.
He toweled off, dressed in a T-shirt and jogging pants, and ruffled his messy hair, making a mental note to get a slight trim before the next concert.
“What can I get you?”
Jersey jumped, tearing her gaze away from the window and the lights of Manhattan. “Get me?”
Ian twisted off the cap to a bottle of water. “Food? Drink?”
She nudged her chin toward his hand. “What is that? I notice it’s the only thing you drink. Clear bottle. Blue lid. Is it vodka?”
“Spring water.” He took a few gulps.
“You don’t drink?”
He shrugged, twisting the lid back on the bottle and folding his tired body onto the sectional, stretching out his long legs on the coffee table. “Occasionally.”
“Sooo …” Jersey set her bag on the floor and perused the room. “You’re a star. A really big deal. Incredibly popular. Rich, I’d imagine.” Her nose wrinkled as her gaze landed on him.
He laced his hands behind his head.
“Yet, you picked me up off the street and offered me a job, but I didn’t actually work tonight like Chris did. And now I’m in your hotel room … alone with you.” She balled her hands, cracking her knuckles.
“I sense a burning question coming.”
“Am I here for sex?”
Ian willed his face to remain stoic, but he inwardly cringed. “No.” He narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Would you have agreed to the job had that been what I was asking?” The possibility that her answer could be yes made him nauseous.
Jersey held eye contact for several unblinking seconds before averting her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know.” Her shoulders lifted into a slight shrug.
“I’m sorry. I should have been more clear. Instead, you’ve been thinking I befriended you to sell drugs and have sex.” He tried to chuckle, but it came out as a disgusted grunt. How many people had asked her to sell drugs or her body?
“Befriended?” She squinted at him. “We’re friends? Why? Why me? The sex actually makes sense; the friendship does not. And really, for someone with as much money in the bank as you probably have, I’m not sure the sex really makes sense. Who drives to Newark to pick up a homeless person for sex?” A ball of nerves, she paced the room, hugging her arms to her body, fingers digging into her skin.
He watched her, the moment blindingly surreal. A tiny body with a big punch. A young woman sculpted from bones, skin, and a few defined muscles. Every edge rough. A hundred years of wear on a twenty-something body. Tiny scars scattered along her skin, ghosts of the past.
Jersey had a story to tell, a story Ian needed to learn to silence the voice in his head.
He sighed. “Why me is my favorite question in the world, but only when asked after something good happens. You know … there’s the glass-half-empty people who always ask why me whenever something goes wrong, like they are more deserving of a flawless life than some other person. But when someone asks why me because something good has happened to them, it just makes the answer that much sweeter.”
Jersey stopped pacing. “What’s the answer?”
Ian smiled. “Why not you? That’s the answer. Today I stumbled across a young woman in need of lunch, some money, a place to live, a job … a chance. So I offered what I had to offer. So why me? Why would I do that?” He shrugged. “Well, why not me? I have the means.”
She eased onto the opposite end of the U-shaped sectional, sitting on her hands, shoulders next to her ears. “You do this a lot?”
“Help people?”
“Hire homeless people.”
“I do have a few people working for me that were jobless before I hired them, but I don’t think anyone before you and your friend was homeless.”
“So let’s go back … why am I here? In your hotel room? Don’t you have parties? Don’t you hang out with your band members?”
“Sometimes I go to parties. Sometimes I hang out with my bandmates. But I’ve been doing this for over ten years now. My buddies in the band have wives and kids that sometimes travel with them. The party scene takes a toll on you after a while. And it’s late, as you can see, but the adrenaline won’t let me sleep, so adding any sort of stimulation isn’t a good idea. Also, I like my privacy. When I’m on tour, there’s always someone demanding my time, talking at me, touching me, dragging me where I need to be. So I take my alone time when I can get it.”