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)
He deflated. “I love you, and I want to be with you. Everything about you inspires me.”
“What about the things that inspire me?”
“Like waiting tables?”
Jersey possessed the ability to level Ian with one look. He preferred a solid hook to his jaw or a kick to his ribs than that look.
“What’s wrong with waiting tables? Who’s going to feed your ugly face when you rely on restaurants to feed you and your band for ten months on tour? Every job is important, Coop. I wasn’t born with a voice like yours, so I have to find other ways to make money. And right now, it’s waiting tables. So spare me your white knight on a horse spiel, throwing around stupid ideas like marriage. I’ll let you fuck me, but you don’t get to own me.”
Zero to a hundred.
Jersey catapulted to the top of her soapbox every time Ian suggested a change in their lives.
“So my face is ugly?”
“It is when you say stupid shit.” Jersey gathered their dishes and slapped her bare feet toward the kitchen.
“Sorry, when did wanting to spend my life with you become ‘stupid shit?’ What are you so afraid of?”
She dumped the dishes into the sink, and Ian felt confident that a few of them broke. With a long sigh, Jersey rested her hands on the counter and dropped her head. “Take me as I am, Coop, or let me go.”
He hated that. Hated wasn’t a strong enough word, but it was the first one that came to mind when Jersey fed him that line—that ultimatum.
“Jersey, you have to stop being so afraid—”
“I’m not afraid!” She whipped around; hands balled at her sides. Jersey was always ready to fight, always on the defensive.
All he wanted was for the woman he loved to throw in the towel and let him love her. Since the day he saw her at the hotdog stand, he’d wanted to show her the world—give her the world. In theory, loving her was as simple as breathing. But in reality, it felt impossible. How do you give someone something they refuse to accept without conditions?
“You are,” he whispered. “You’re scared to fucking death.”
She crossed her arms. “Scared of what?”
He mirrored her defensive posture. “Of being more.”
“More?”
He nodded.
“I told you, there’s nothing wrong with waiting tables.”
“True. But there’s nothing wrong with dreaming bigger.”
“What makes you think I dream? Not everyone has the luxury of dreams. Some of us just sleep, work, and eat. Wash, rinse, repeat.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle, which he knew would only make her angrier. “Three things, huh? What about boxing? You love to box. You play basketball with me. Last week we served meals at the shelter where you stayed. You adopted a blind cat last month. And we fuck, Jersey. We do that better than anyone.” He stepped closer to her. “Do you really not dream? Everyone dreams. It’s not a luxury. It’s the only goddamn thing in this life that keeps us sane and fighting the good fight.”
She stiffened when he pulled her away from the counter, shoving his hands into the back pockets of her cut-off jeans.
“Your toughness … your defiance…” he whispered in her ear, “…is your greatest weakness.”
Her head reared back, anger disfiguring her face, and she spat on him. Ian remained unaffected even as her saliva reached his lips and trickled down his chin.
“Maybe you’re the one who’s scared.” She shoved him and brushed past him toward the stairs.
He sighed. “What am I afraid of?”
“You know you can’t handle ten months of touring without sticking your dick in someone. Rock Star Syndrome.” Her voice faded.
Two weeks until the tour …
“You two still fighting?” Natasha asked Jersey while entering a customer’s order into the tablet while Jersey poured coffee and glared at the back of Ian’s head.
Since their argument, she hadn’t said a word to him. So he popped into the diner daily and requested to be seated at one of Jersey’s tables so she would be forced to talk to him. But she didn’t. She stood at his table and glared at him until he spewed off his order.
“Fighting implies an exchange of words. I’m not speaking to him, so we’re not fighting.”
Natasha laughed. “Yes, I’ve noticed you say nothing when he speaks to you. Yet, he keeps coming here daily, and it’s sweet.”
“It’s annoying and disruptive.” Jersey set Ian’s coffee on her tray. “He thinks a hat hides his identity.”
“It’s been jammed packed since he’s been making daily stops. I’m sure our boss has no objection.”
Jersey huffed before taking Ian his coffee.
“I’m thinking of trying the special today,” Ian said while studying the menu he had memorized. “What do you recommend?” He glanced up at her with his winning grin.
Jersey was immune to his charm. She set his coffee in front of him and shrugged one shoulder but said nothing.