Jersey Six - Jewel E Ann Page 0,30

Jersey relinquished her heavy bag and followed Max around the corner.

Ian sat to the left, chin tipped to his phone with an empty leather seat facing him. Max took the seat on the right, facing Shane. Behind Shane there was a sofa and two more seats facing each other on one side, a grumpy Chris taking up one of them. Jersey ignored everyone else as she made her way to the seat by Chris. He lifted his feet, claiming the empty seat—giving her the proverbial middle finger without looking up from the magazine in his hands.

Jersey scowled. “You’re being a dick,” she mumbled while turning around. Instead of sitting on the couch so he’d be forced to look at her, she retreated to the nicer people on the plane. She couldn’t wait for him to go on the bus later that night. They needed a break from each other.

Ian glanced up at her when she plopped down into the seat facing him. His brow wrinkled, and he glanced over his shoulder at Chris, who ignored everyone and everything but the demons polluting his mind and the gossip magazine in his hands.

“Everything okay?” Ian asked, returning his attention to Jersey.

“Yup.” She stared out the window.

“Please fasten your seat belt, miss.” The blonde in black pants and a white blouse smiled.

Jersey fumbled for the two pieces to her seat belt. The metal clicked and scraped together, and her shaky hands made repeated failed attempts at fastening it. Her stomach churned and chest tingled as her breaths accelerated. Then she froze, ceasing to breathe as Ian unbuckled and kneeled in front of her, resting his hands on her armrests without physically touching any part of her body.

He leaned in so his face hovered a few inches from her face. Ian smelled fresh. It was the most accurate description she could find to describe him. That fresh smell probably had some fancy soap or cologne name and scent to go with it. But to the girl who recently took her first real shower in years, the only word that came to mind was fresh. Intoxicatingly fresh—and minty. Ian had minty breath, not the dragon breath Chris had when he exhaled in her face every morning in the musty, damp corner of Marley’s back room.

What a difference twenty-four hours made in Jersey’s life.

“Hi.” Ian smiled.

Jersey stared at his mouth. Did her breath smell like his? Did Max buy her the same potent mint toothpaste that Ian used? She hoped so.

“You’re in my space,” she whispered in an unfamiliar, breathy voice.

“You’re in my plane. We need to take off. I’m going to fasten your seat belt for you. You’re going to let me without feeling the need to do any sort of physical harm to me. Okay?” Ian’s gaze dropped to Jersey’s mouth.

She closed her lips, biting them together for a tight seal in case her toothpaste wasn’t the same as his. The fact that she cared set off a multitude of foreign emotions. The butterflies returned. The nerves and anxiety remained, but they shifted their focus to the specimen before her instead of the dread of leaving the ground.

“Breathe, Jersey,” he whispered.

She jumped, gripping the armrests when his hands grazed her jean-clad legs to fasten her seat belt. They weren’t baggy, three-sizes-too-big jeans. Max insisted on fitted jeans that felt like a thin second skin. She called them sexy. Jersey didn’t feel sexy, but she also didn’t feel like she had much of a say in the matter because she wasn’t the one paying for the jeans.

Her cheeks burned as she relinquished a false smile that hid her trembling lips. She averted her gaze to the window when Ian tightened the seat belt. And she held her breath until he returned to his seat.

Closing her eyes, she imagined a fight—the adrenaline before the first punch and the way her body thrived on fear, gobbling it up, transforming it into strength, and conquering its fucking ass.

Once they were wheels up, two women appeared from an area at the back of the plane with two carts. One stopped bedside Chris and the other stopped next to Jersey.

“Manis-pedis.” Max smiled.

“What?” Jersey eyed the friendly redhead who placed a tray in front of Jersey and covered it with a warm towel.

“Manicure and pedicure. They’re going to get your hands and feet looking and feeling fabulous.”

Jersey cringed at Max. “How embarrassing.”

Max chuckled, glancing up from her phone. “Relaxing. Pampering. Amazing. Those are better descriptions.”

Ian’s eyes were closed, headphones covering his