Rock Chick Revolution

by Kristen Ashley

  He really did totally know what he was doing.

  “You awake, babe?”

  I lifted my head from where it lay on his chest and looked at him.

  God.

  That hair, his face, his corded neck, the column of his throat, all sleepy or tousled and resting against a backdrop of wine colored sheets that I knew, because I could feel, were the softest sheets in history—definitely what dreams were made of.

  “Hey,” I said as my good morning.

  His lips quirked. “Hey.”

  Yeah. A rough, drowsy, deep voice with all the rest.

  Dream material.

  Ren kept talking.

  “Just in case you didn’t get my message last night, pretty fuckin’ pleased you came by to accept my apology.”

  I felt my lips tip up.

  His eyes watched.

  I felt my happy place pulse.

  His eyes moved to mine; my happy place must have communicated its happiness on my face because his face got dark. His arm, already around me, tightened, and he dragged me up his chest, even as he rolled. His body pinned mine to the bed as his lips covered mine for a deep, wet morning kiss that was so damned good, it made my happy place pound.

  Ren then pressed a knee between my legs. I opened them in invitation, and for my graciousness, I got a hard muscled thigh pressed tight against my happy place.

  I moaned down his throat.

  He pushed his hips against my thigh and groaned down mine.

  His happy place was happy, too.

  I decided I needed to do something about making it happier.

  So I did.

  As did he.

  * * * * *

  Thirty minutes later, we were both still breathing a little heavily. Ren’s face was in my neck. He was buried deep inside me. Our skin was misted with damp. The fingers of one of my hands were in his hair. My other arm was curved tight around his back, and both my legs were wrapped around his thighs.

  After a late night that included lots of mind-blowing sex, I had just discovered he was also good in the morning.

  Why did I not find this surprising?

  He lifted his head and his warm, sexy eyes caught mine. This had the result of making me catch my breath.

  “You want me to make you breakfast?” he asked.

  Jeez.

  Seriously?

  This guy could also cook?

  I tested the waters.

  “Are we talking instant oatmeal or eggs benedict?”

  That got another lip quirk before he answered, “I was thinking croissants, eggs whatever way you want ‘em, fresh strawberries, bacon and tater tots.”

  Did he say tater tots?

  For breakfast?

  “Did you say tater tots?” I asked in order to confirm.

  “Baby.” His hips pressed into mine. I bit my lip at how good that felt and his face dipped close. “Tater tots rock breakfast.”

  Ren Zano ate tater tots for breakfast and served them up to his fuck buddies.

  He was a dream.

  “I’m totally down for breakfast,” I answered.

  At that he smiled and my world ended.

  Again.

  Because I wanted that smile every morning right after mind-blowing sex and right before my tater tots.

  And I wanted it for a lifetime.

  Don’t ask me how I knew this, I just did. Deep down, I knew it. Right to the very heart of me.

  But I didn’t let on.

  Again.

  * * * * *

  Forty-five minutes later…

  “You’re right. Tater tots rock breakfast,” I said to Ren, incidentally saying it around a mouth full of ketchup-covered tater tots.

  He grinned at me.

  I returned the favor (closed mouthed, because food grins were gross) and looked down to my plate of food.

  We were standing in his kitchen. Or he was. He’d cooked for me while I made coffee and then watched him cook. His scrambled eggs were fluffy, cheesy and delicious. His bacon was crisped to perfection. His croissants were bought fresh from a local bakery and they were buttery and amazing.

  But when he offered me my filled plate and told me to take it to the dining room, I hefted my ass up on the counter and commenced eating.

  This might have been rude, but I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. I accepted his apology. I accepted his body. I gave him mine. That was as far as this was going to go.

  You might think I was crazy, but a man doesn’t fight over a woman, take her back, carry her from a crashed car that would eventually explode (told you the Rock Chicks were magnets for trouble—when I said trouble, I meant trouble), and speak her name in his sleep with another woman in his bed and not be hung up on her.

  This was fact.

  So I wasn’t going to set myself up for that kind of heartbreak. I wasn’t like Ava, blonde with lots of tits and ass. Okay, so I had some ass, but not lots of it. And I was a girl so I had tits, just not the kind of rack Ava had. I was also a brunette.

  I wasn’t his type.

  I was just available.

  And I’d continue to be available, especially if fantastic sex came with breakfast that included tater tots.

  But I was drawing that line. No doing budding couple stuff like sitting at the dining room table, eating breakfast and sharing after a night of great sex.

  No, it was going to be snarfing down your delicious fluffy eggs and tater tots in an I’m-a-girl-on-the-go kind of way, then being the girl on the go by going. Then, if the spirit moved him or me, coming back for more.

  The weird part of me making this non-verbal statement was that Ren didn’t push it. Instead, he watched me hop up on his counter. His eyes flashed with humor even as his lips quirked with it, and he settled his hips against the counter kitty corner from me.

  But he kept his eyes on my ass on his counter in a way that told me he was currently—and would later—be thinking about my ass on his counter in a good way. This made me think about other ways my ass could be on his counter, and these were good, too.

  My happy place, sated and content, started getting happy again.

  I didn’t need to get happy again. I wanted to get happy, but I didn’t need it.

  I needed to get to Fortnum’s, hang with my friends and be in my normal. That was to say, see if one of Lee’s other guys decided to wade into the troubled life of some sick gorgeous woman who had people wanting to kidnap her, stab her or steal her money, and wade into that.

  I also needed to make some money. I might not be girlie, as it were, but I liked my rock concerts and LBDs, and neither of those came cheap.

  Therefore, I declared, “Glad we did this, Zano. It’s good we didn’t leave it as it was. Where this is at right now is much better. But after I help you with the dishes, I gotta bounce. I have to get to work.”

  As I spoke, his gaze went from my ass to my eyes, and when I was done talking, he announced, “I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”

  Shit.

  I’d like that too, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  I shoved the last tater tot in my mouth, jumped off the counter and turned to the sink. I rinsed my plate, put it in the sink and turned to him.

  Leaning a hip against the counter, I caught his eyes and gentled my voice when I told him, “Listen, this is good and I like it. But I just got out of a somewhat long-term relationship and I gotta sort my shit before I move on from that.”

  This wasn’t exactly a lie. Carl and I were close. I missed him. I wasn’t pining for him; I knew I’d made the right decision. But it wasn’t like we ended things six months ago. Our break was recent.

  But it wasn’t just that.

  I went on.

  “And you’ve got the Ava thing.”

  Now that was definitely not a lie.

  His head cocked to the side, his eyes went guarded, and he asked, “The Ava thing?”

  I wasn’t going to go there, but also, I didn’t want to take him there. Thing
s were settled with Luke and Ava. They were all kinds of happy. Ren probably knew that and I shouldn’t remind him of it. In fact, I shouldn’t have said anything.

  I moved us around that. “What I’m saying is, if you’re cool with it, I’m cool with this being casual.” I smiled at him. “In fact, I’d be way cool with that.”

  He studied me a moment before he moved into me, getting close. He leaned around me to put his plate in the sink, straightened, caught my eyes again and stayed close.

  He was talking as gently as I did when he replied, “Had women say that to me, honey, but they didn’t mean it.”

  “I’m not like other women.”

  His gaze moved over my face before locking on my lips and he murmured, “I’m sensing that.”

  I didn’t know if that was good or bad, but I was taking it as good by the heat in his eyes.

  “So if we continue to hook up, I’m down with casual. Yeah?” I pressed so I could get away from the heat of his eyes. And also, the heat of his body. Both were doing good things to my happy place, which would mean I might not get my take of the tip jar at Fortnum’s because, if I jumped him, I had a feeling I wouldn’t want to come up for air.

  As answer, he said quietly, “I like you.”

  Oh fuck.

  There it was. My happy place got happy. My stomach dipped. But my heart squeezed.

  “I like you too,” I stated in a defensive matter-of-fact way. “But I’m not ready—”

  He cut me off. “No, Ally, what I’m sayin’ is, I like you. And if all you got in you right now is casual, I want more of you so I’ll give you that. But women say shit they don’t mean. I get that they do it to protect themselves and mean it when they say it. Then they get trapped in a place they created. This guy you had, you need time to get over that, I get you gotta take it. I’ll also give it to you. But if the casual we got shifts and you get stuck and don’t communicate with me the shift you want, which means I hurt you when I have no intention of doing that…” He took in a breath. “I like you and I don’t want that to happen. So I’ll take casual, honey. Just as long as, along the way, you’re straight with me. And in return, I’ll be straight with you.”

  I could be straight.

  Mostly.

  I nodded and asked, “So, do we have a deal?”

  He smiled.

  My heart again squeezed.

  Then he answered. “Yeah, baby. We got a deal.”

  Chapter Three

  Fucked Up As Love

  Rock Chick Rewind

  Two months later…

  I was sitting in another bar; not like Club. This one was seedy and I didn’t like it.

  But I was all over finding out what the fuck was going on. I’d had an informant tell me she worked that bar, although I didn’t know what “worked that bar” meant and only got the response, “you’ll see,” so I was there.

  Informants sometimes sucked. A lot of time they were full of shit, and a lot of other times they got paid even better than me. Fortunately, this wasn’t my problem. My “clients” coughed that up.

  But the case I was on was confounding me.

  Usually, I loved a bit of confounding. Finding a piece, fitting it into the puzzle, making the picture become clearer.

  But with this chick, things never came clear. They just got fuzzier. And it was annoying.

  I didn’t get it.

  But I would.

  See, a friend of a friend of mine came to me, needing my services. He’d talked to his girl and his girl told him everything was a-okay.

  But, according to him, she was totally lying.

  Since her family didn’t have any money, he was saving up for the wedding of his girl’s dreams, seeing as he was gone for her. So he couldn’t go to someone like Lee because Lee was seriously pricey. But he was worried and he needed answers.

  So my friend told him about me.

  It was another boy/girl problem (most of them were; more indication you shouldn’t get mired down in romance). This time the girl had the boy’s diamond on her finger. She seemed into him; completely in love, over the moon at the prospect of being married, but dragging her heels in doing something about it.

  Her behavior had also reportedly changed. She’d disappear, sometimes for long periods of time. Not weeks, but days and nights. She would also not return texts or pick up calls, and have weak excuses about where she was and why she was incommunicado.

  They didn’t live together; not yet. This was because she was religious and wanted to wait until after marriage (fishy, because who did that anymore?—especially when she was letting him bang her; God could see all, so it wasn’t like she was pulling one over on the Big Guy).

  But the dude had the keys to her place. He’d gone in when she wasn’t there and rifled through her shit, even bills and bank statements. Nothing was amiss. There were no drugs. No empty bottles of booze piled up in the recycling bin. No stockpiles of firearms and explosives or blueprints of banks.

  Nothing that he could see.

  Enter me.

  I didn’t do this for a living. I didn’t do it for much of any payment. I spent my days in Fortnum’s, my nights at Brother’s, and not too long ago, got caught up in the next Rock Chick drama. This was my friend Stella’s big thing with another of Lee’s guys, Mace (seriously? How were we all connected, most of us for years, and this shit was happening now?).

  That one got serious ugly with all the Rock Chicks again on the line; drive-bys, couch mutilations, and Stella’s apartment had exploded.

  Yes.

  Exploded.

  Kaplowy.

  Dust.

  But now, as luck kept having it (thank God), all was good (outside of all Stella’s belongings being blown sky high and her being underinsured; but luckily, she’d just signed a recording contract and landed her hot guy, so her future was bright) and as usual, we were moving on while waiting for the next one up.

  My guess, it would be Lee’s last unattached guy, Hector. But there were bets (yep, the posse bet on this shit) on me.

  Not a chance.

  I’d lived through six of these and had intimate details. No way that shit was happening with me. Some over-the-top macho guy forcing his way into my life, taking it over and bossing me around?

  Unh-unh.

  I didn’t care if it came with regular orgasms. That shit was not for me.

  But, the thing was; with Stella’s situation, someone had leaked a lot of personal shit to the media about Lee, Indy and the entire crew. The paper had done exposés on all of their romances at the same time they followed Stella and Mace’s gig.

  No one knew who leaked it, not even Lee, who had ways of finding out everything.

  I’d also used my growing network of contacts to find out who the source was, but no one was talking.

  It was weird. It wasn’t like it was a state secret. But all lips involved were sealed, as in with super glue.

  So I worked, spent time on finding out who was talking about the Rock Chicks and did my other business. Not to mention, I often hooked up with Ren so I woke up in his bed, or alternately he woke up in mine, with more than a hint of frequency (in other words, nearly every morning).

  Therefore, I didn’t have time to spend all of it following this woman. That meant it was about putting out feelers. With limited time, I needed to pinpoint my activities. And information sometimes came in slowly, especially about a girl who was not on the underworld grid of Denver. She worked in admitting at St. Joe’s, went to church on Sundays, had a Shih Tzu dog she doted on, a pastime of gardening (seriously, her backyard was the bomb—I’d jumped the fence and looked) and loved her fiancé.

  Because I didn’t have the time, and this case was so weird, I’d called in reinforcements.

  With the promise of a six-pack of Red Bull, a bottle of vodka and an entire afternoon of me at his place playing some game on his PS3 (this, a sacrifice for me; I rocked Guitar Hero, the rest of it I could take it or leave it—usually leave it), I’d talke
d my computer genius friend Brody into digging into this chick. I wanted to see if there was some electronic trail the fiancé couldn’t find rifling through her desk.

  I also needed to learn how to pick a lock. I wanted inside her place to see for myself. I’d bought a couple of locks at the hardware store to examine them and try to figure them out, but I hadn’t had time to do that.

  Alternately, I hoped the chick showed tonight and gave me some insight into why a good Catholic girl who loved her dog, geraniums and worked at a children’s hospital would be coming to this bar and giving lame excuses to her supposedly beloved fiancé about why she wouldn’t pick a date for the blessed event.

  This was on my mind when I felt movement beside me.

  I turned my head and saw Darius sliding into my booth.

  I didn’t know whether to take this as a good or bad thing. Darius and I were tight so if he saw me out and about, he wouldn’t hesitate to approach. He also worked for Lee, so he could be anywhere at any time doing anything.

  Then again, if he saw me out and about, he’d never see me someplace like this unless a Rock Chick was on the line. But we were currently in Rock Chick/Hot Bunch Downtime.

  I led with, “Hey,” to get the lay of the land.

  He shook his head and grinned.

  Darius was black, had twists in his hair, soulful eyes, and the lean he had been when he was a drug dealer, which had bordered on hungry-looking and mean, had filled out now that he left that life behind. He looked healthier; not content but not angry, and his lean was no longer mean. It was kickass edgy.

  Then again, he’d always been hot. Even when he was a drug dealer.

  “Since it’s you, I’ve decided to find this amusing rather than drag your ass outta here and tell you to get your head out of it,” he declared.

  I blinked.

  Then I asked, “What?”

  “Woman, you are not flying under radar.”

  I looked around the bar to see if eyes were on me, particularly if the woman I was hoping to see there was there and had, for some bizarre reason (since she couldn’t know I was looking for her), made me.

  “Not the bitch you’re after,” Darius said, and I looked back at him. “Lee.”