Jersey Six - Jewel E Ann Page 0,65
shot. She put a perfect arc on it, landing it in the hoop, but it made a half spin, flying back out.
“Yes!” Ian threw up his hands and jumped up and down before hugging Jersey’s waist and lifting her up like they were on the same winning team.
When he finally set her down, she couldn’t look him in the eye.
“Oh come on, you can’t be that attached to that bag.”
She shook her head slowly.
“My past … you wanted me to tell you something about my past that I haven’t told anyone.”
Jersey glanced up at him. He had no way of knowing how tortured she felt, how incredibly torn up she was inside from the painful conflict of needing to hate him but wanting something else.
What if Chris wouldn’t have shown up at Marley’s? She still would have met Ian, taken the job, traveled the world, and spent her nights watching a rock star and her early morning hours kissing said rock star.
Why? Why? Why? Why was everything good in her life destined to go bad?
She slid her glasses up her nose after Ian’s celebration vibrated them out of place. “Congratulations. I can’t wait to see my new bag.” Jersey turned, taking confident strides to the door in spite of her disappointment.
“My parents died when I was seven.”
Jersey stopped, taking in a small, quick breath as something unfamiliar tingled in her chest.
Was it a lie? Ian told stories for a living. He wrote songs, like fictional stories, and sold them to fans with his voice. They were emotional and real … they were relatable. Maybe even believable.
He knew Jersey grew up without a family. Was he just trying to be relatable?
“My father was an only child, and his parents were dead. My mother had two siblings, and her father was still alive, but she was estranged from her family. When they contacted her surviving relatives, no one wanted to take me in and raise me.”
Jersey listened, without turning toward him. His story was sad, but not yet tragic. Not by her definition of tragic.
“Nobody else knows this?” she asked.
“No.”
Nobody could corroborate his story. Convenient.
“Were your parents wealthy?”
“That’s two things. I already shared one, and you didn’t even earn it.”
Jersey nodded, keeping him at her back. “True. Are you sure you never owned another vehicle like … a black Charger?”
“Who wants to know?”
That made Jersey turn around. “Does it matter?”
Ian returned a blank expression. After a few seconds, he shrugged. “I suppose not, since the answer is the same either way. No … I’ve never owned a black Charger. Hope that helps you sleep tonight.”
Was she imagining him talking in his own riddles, saying very little but meaning something worth so much more?
“Yeah. When I dream of that black Charger, I won’t put you in the driver’s seat.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“He hates me.” Chris smirked, tipping back a beer as he and Jersey got a little tipsy on Ian’s sprawling deck overlooking the heart of Los Angeles. “Is it wrong for that to please me?”
“You never speak to him, which comes across like you’re some ungrateful asshole.” Jersey slipped on her new sunglasses as the sun sank lower into the western sky.
Ian had dinner plans with his manager, Ames.
“I’m paranoid that if I talk too much something about my voice might become recognizable to him and blow our whole plan.”
“At this point, I’d welcome something recognizable about this whole messed up situation. The black Charger is bullshit—”
“It’s not bullshit!” Chris heaved his empty bottle into the pool.
“He didn’t even flinch when I asked him about his cars. I asked him again earlier … in his gym.”
Chris slid down his sunglasses, peering at Jersey. “His what?”
“Gym. He has a full basketball court just beyond the workout room. He can dunk.” She shook her head, finding it impossible to not grin. “Fucking rock star who can dunk a basketball and hit three pointers like he’s been doing it since he came out of the womb. Which …” She frowned. “He told me something about his past. Something personal that makes no sense.”
“Which is?”
Jersey leaned her head back and sighed, closing her eyes. “I feel like it’s a secret I’m not supposed to share.”
“You’re not serious.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Fine. He said his parents died when he was seven.”
“No.” Chris shook his head. “That’s not true. He would have told me. There’s no way he befriended me and kept that a secret from me out of all people. Those weren’t his adopted parents. No way. He’s playing you.