Jersey Six - Jewel E Ann Page 0,113
my left pinky toe.”
“No.” Ian shook his head. “I covered that. ALL of that. ALL of you.”
“No.” She strutted toward the bedroom. “I have a left pinky toe to offer the right guy. So—COOP!”
He scooped her up and threw her onto the bed. She kicked and giggled as he wrestled with her leg.
“Eww … don’t do that.”
He sucked her left pinky toe and bit it for good measure. Then he kissed his way up her naked body, tangled in the blanket.
“Coop …” She grabbed his hair before his mouth did any more damage to her resolve. “I have to go to work.”
His tongue slid up her inner thigh. “What’s our record?”
She squirmed, intent on getting to work on time but tempted by his mouth’s ascent. “Three minutes, forty-two seconds.”
He grinned, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “If I can beat that, will you get to work on time?” He kissed an inch higher.
Jersey tightened her grip on his hair as her pulse began to race. “On your mark … get set …”
EPILOGUE
Ten years later
“What’s the word of the day?” Ian knocked on the door to Jersey’s office.
She swiveled in her desk chair—her favorite spot in their 4000-square-foot penthouse in Central Park West, New York.
Tucking her bobbed hair behind her ear, she shot him a sexy look over the frames of her glasses. “Recalcitrant.”
“Sounds hot.” He prowled toward her.
She leaned back, folding her hands on her lap. “It’s very sexy. It’s an adjective meaning stubborn—defiant of authority. Difficult to control or manage.”
“Sounds like my wife.” Ian sat on the edge of her desk, pulling her leg up to massage her foot—perfectly manicured with pink polish on her toenails that matched her fingernails.
“Sounds like the author who wrote this manuscript.” Jersey nodded toward her computer screen.
“Still working on the same edits?”
“Yep.” She sighed. “This girl is brilliant. She’s eighteen and writing with the imagination of a soul that’s passed through a million lives. She’s meticulous with her world building, a literary savant. I have no idea where her mind goes to create this stuff. It’s incredible. But she’s oblivious, or allergic, or something … to punctuation!”
Ian chuckled.
“I’m serious. She’s recalcitrant!”
“I’m sure, babe.” He could not have been more proud of the girl with the bunny. She honored her past by chasing her dreams, not letting a single thing that happened to her define her as a person or cripple her ability to achieve anything.
Jersey toured with Ian and a private tutor to get her diploma. Then she attended college, pursuing her dream of “working with words.” It took her down many roads which ultimately led to freelancing for several of the Big Six publishing houses. On the side, she followed her other passion—narration. Ian set her up with her own booth in their home to narrate books.
Jersey’s dreams of boxing died after a shoulder injury, but she could still kill a fly a hundred yards away with a knife.
“How are you alone? Where are the kids? How many do we have today?”
Ian pursed his lips to the side. “Let me think … seven. Maybe eight. I lose track of the youngest one. What’s her name? I can’t remember. But it’s Friday, so they’re in school. Except the youngest one … dammit! What’s her name?”
“Abby? Something like that.” Jersey tapped her finger on her chin.
“Is that it?” Ian rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
“I think so.” Jersey giggled. “We’re terrible people. After all these years, we’re still terrible people.”
They knew her name, Abigail Lola Cooper. Lola after their favorite ratty dog who died. It seemed like the better choice of the two names. Two-year-old Abby had dark hair and dark eyes like her mom and dad. The only biological child they had together. A true “oops” child. The product of insane amounts of sex.
After devoting so much of their time to taking in foster children, they chose not to have any of their own. The world had plenty of children who needed loving homes.
But then … oops happened.
“Max took her to the park.”
“Max shouldn’t be taking care of anyone but herself.” Jersey shot Ian a tiny frown.
Max never divorced her husband. Jersey and Ian wondered if it was the couple’s destiny to live in sadness, feeling unworthy of anything more for the rest of their lives.
“Well…” Ian shrugged “…I know she’s officially a widow now, but I’m pretty sure she lost him many years ago. That’s why she refuses to stop and grieve like everyone keeps telling her to do. I think she did that a long time ago. There’s nothing left to grieve.”
“Well, Abby loves her. And it gives her something to do since her rock star is too damn lazy to put out a record or sell out huge stadiums.”
“I am.” He yawned. “I’m getting old. I need daily naps. I’m cold all the time like my blood isn’t circulating. I bruise easily when you beat on me. Thank god tomorrow is my last concert. I might have to take an intermission to deal with my prostate issues.”
“I might have to trade you in for a newer model.”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t blame you.” Ian grabbed her other leg and started massaging her other foot.
“Your last concert, Coop. Are you having second thoughts?”
“Nope. Not even a little.”
“What are you going to do with all of your spare time?”
“Hmm … good question. It’s not like we have seven, nine … a hundred kids or anything like that. And my wife hasn’t been riding my ass to write a book with her about our life. And the outreach program you started totally runs itself.” He rolled his eyes. “So … I’ll probably spend my days shooting hoops, screwing my wife, and watching Netflix.”
She eased her foot from his grasp and stood, planting herself between his legs, arms wrapped around his neck. Brushing her lips over his, she grinned. “Solid plan.”
The Cooper clan of ten, plus Alex, Jordan, Bryson, their wives and kids, Max, Shane and his wife, along with Ames and a few people from the record label all crowded into the green room before the final, sold-out concert.
Ian tapped his glass bottle with a drumstick while whistling to get everyone’s attention.
“Quiet down. Don’t make me yell, or I won’t have a voice to sing my final songs.”
Everyone laughed before the room quieted with the exception of a few young kids making their playful noises. Jersey’s eyes burned with emotion as she watched her husband struggle to keep his own emotions in check as he glanced around the room with such gratitude.
“I love—” Ian choked up, blinking back the tears while swallowing hard and pressing his fist to his mouth for a few seconds. The women in the room started sniffling. Even his bandmates weren’t immune to the moment as their eyes, too, reddened with emotion.
“I love this dream. The fact that I’ve had the honor of living it with all of you is just beyond words, or lyrics, or any truly expressible emotion. Every choice we make changes the course of our lives. Don’t ever take that for granted. I was in the right bar on the right night.” Ian smiled at Ames. “And it changed my life forever. Years later, a young man carrying equipment for me saw my Marley’s Gym T-shirt, and because of that moment of my life literally crossing his path, I drove to Newark and found my wife. It’s that simple. A different T-shirt would have led to a different outcome. So tonight we sing. And tomorrow we welcome a new path full of possibilities. But we never forget. We never stop looking back to regain perspective, to find gratitude. Thank you.”
The room exploded with applause, wiping tears, hugging the family that Ian Cooper created through his nearly twenty years of performing. Minutes later, everyone started filtering out of the room. Where there would be an after-party, the kids went home, and the band headed toward the stage, until it was just Ian and Jersey.
He looked at his watch. “We have no time for our ritual.”
She grinned, walking into his embrace. “Because you’re too long winded in your old age.”
“Probably.” He kissed the top of her head. “Walk with me.” Ian took her hand, and they walked to the stage through the deafening roar of the crowd shaking the whole venue.
“Ian! Ian! Ian! Ian!”
Jersey wiped her eyes and smiled as they stood at the bottom of the stairs to the stage.
Ian kissed her slowly as if thousands of fans weren’t demanding their rock star. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers for a few seconds as if to pause time. Then his mouth brushed her ear, sending chills along her skin. “Wish me luck, Jersey.”
She gripped his shirt, holding him to her for an extra breath, an extended moment. When she pulled away, a smile reached her ears. “Luck, Coop.”
The End