Rock Chick Reckoning
Page 11
“It isn’t bul shit.”
“We’re over but that doesn’t mean you weren’t once my woman.”
“I’m not now.”
“No, you aren’t, but that doesn’t stop the fact that I’d care, a great f**kin’ deal, if you got fil ed with bul ets.” I had nothing to say to that. Nothing at al . I was trying not even to think of that.
“You fight me, Kitten, then I’l take you and them on at the same time. I don’t give a f**k and I always win. Always.” He wasn’t wrong. He always won. He’d once been a professional surfer, the best. He’d moved on to become a professional snowboarder and he was the best at that too.
Now he was a PI and, from what I could tel by the respect he got from the tough guys around him, he was pretty damn good at that too.
I decided it was high time to give up and battle on when Mace and I were not in bed and Mace’s body was not on mine.
My eyes slid away from his face.
“Please get off me,” I asked, softly, quietly, politely.
“Kitten,” he cal ed and my eyes slid back. “Something else you should know.”
“What?”
“This is a serious situation. You gettin’ soft and sweet isn’t gonna work on me, not like it used to.” I decided it was the perfect time to battle on. “Thanks for sharing. Now, get off! ”
I bucked. Mace slid off.
I rol ed off the bed then rounded it, Juno at my heels ready for her morning bathroom break. I grabbed Daisy’s track bottoms and tugged them on. I chanced a glance at Mace and he was on his side, elbow in the pil ows, head in hand, watching me.
I felt the gut kick. He’d done that before, lots when we were together. Lying in bed, on his side, head in hand, watching me put on clothes, watching me feed Juno, watching me play guitar, the way he looked at me making me feel warm, pretty and interesting.
What I did for a living meant people were always watching me. I was onstage in front of a crowd a lot, singing watching me. I was onstage in front of a crowd a lot, singing and playing. I loved it, fed off it, especial y when the crowd found the groove and came along for the ride.
But not even our best groove felt as good as Mace watching me, his eyes lazy, his face soft, his thoughts, I knew, al about me.
Inexplicably, even though we were over, even though I was not his woman, even though he admitted that, I knew the way he was looking at me now was no different than al the times before.
What was going on?
“I don’t like this,” I told him.
He moved, fast, lithe, graceful and he was out of bed, standing in front of me wearing nothing but a pair of white boxers. I hated to admit it but his body was even more delicious than I remembered and I’d touched it, tasted it, almost every inch of it and I thought I’d never forget how good it looked… or tasted.
But I forgot.
Effing hel .
His hand came to my hip and his long fingers bit in gently.
“First up for you, this Eric guy gets a cal .” I clenched my teeth.
Mace must have seen the clench or just knew it was there. Whatever, for some reason, it made him smile.
Chapter Three
Spill
Stella
“Spil ,” Al y said to me.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to spil ,” Stevie put in. “You ever thought of that? You know, keeping things to yourself, as in private? ”
“Listen, Stel a and me have been friends for ages,” Al y said to Stevie. “She dated one of my brother’s boys for months and didn’t say a word. Now she’s getting shot at like the rest of us. You aren’t getting shot at because of the Hot Bunch boys; you can have your privacy. You are you official y become a member of the club. Therefore, it’s time to spil .”
“The logic is a bit loco but I have to admit, it makes sense,” Indy muttered.
“I think she should spil when she feels like spil ing,” Jules threw in, sitting across from me, her hand on her smal pregnant bel y bump, her black hair gleaming, her violet eyes on me. They were warm and there was a contentedness behind them that was both beautiful and made me jealous as hel .
“Fuck that. We’re not a secret keeping group. It al hangs out with us,” Al y stated.
“Except for when Jules kept her pregnancy secret.” Daisy’s eyes narrowed on Jules.
“Wel , you can understand that,” Jet noted.
“And when you kept your engagement secret,” Roxie said to Jet.
“I only kept it a secret for a few days!” Jet exclaimed.
“Yeah, but you didn’t share. We had to cal you out, girlie.” Tod sounded pouty.
My eyes wandered around the big round table in Daisy’s huge, fantastic kitchen and, for your information, I would love the chance to cook in that kitchen. Top of the line appliances, plenty of counter space, expensive knives and shining pots on display; it was an amateur cook’s nirvana.
Seeing the girls al together, talking about secrets instead of freaking out about getting shot at by ful y automatic weapons, it hit me why the Nightingale Men claimed these women.
They didn’t seem at al flipped out that they’d been the victims of violence last night. They were just hanging out, doing girl talk over coffee.
Honest to God, it was bizarre.
Indy, redheaded, blue-eyed and built; Al y, dark-haired, brown-eyed and slim; Jet, honey blonde, green-eyed and pretty; Roxie, also blonde but darker, blue-eyed and seriously stylish; Ava, another blonde, total y knockout, bombshel gorgeous with light brown eyes and I’d already described Jules’s movie star glamour. These weren’t exactly your average women.
But I suspected their attraction for the Hot Bunch had nothing (or, if not nothing, than not everything) to do with the fact that their looks ranged from classical y beautiful (Jules), to sultry (Indy), to girl-next-door hot (Jet), to sassy-girl-next-door luscious (Al y), to sophisticated elegance (Roxie), to downright sexy (Ava), to in-your-face stunning (Daisy). I suspected it had more to do with the fact that this crazy, scary life didn’t faze them, not even a little bit.
And if it did, they didn’t let it show.
They kept bickering and I looked out the widow, letting them fight amongst themselves and letting my thoughts move elsewhere. My wound was beginning to ache and my mind was fil ing with thoughts of Linnie, thoughts such as wondering if her parents had been told yet or if we’d need to do a fundraising gig to pay for her funeral.
Then I decided not to think about Linnie because it might make me cry and thus ruin girl talk and instead I decided to think about the current state of affairs.
“We’re over but that doesn’t mean you weren’t once my woman.”
“I’m not now.”
“No, you aren’t, but that doesn’t stop the fact that I’d care, a great f**kin’ deal, if you got fil ed with bul ets.” I had nothing to say to that. Nothing at al . I was trying not even to think of that.
“You fight me, Kitten, then I’l take you and them on at the same time. I don’t give a f**k and I always win. Always.” He wasn’t wrong. He always won. He’d once been a professional surfer, the best. He’d moved on to become a professional snowboarder and he was the best at that too.
Now he was a PI and, from what I could tel by the respect he got from the tough guys around him, he was pretty damn good at that too.
I decided it was high time to give up and battle on when Mace and I were not in bed and Mace’s body was not on mine.
My eyes slid away from his face.
“Please get off me,” I asked, softly, quietly, politely.
“Kitten,” he cal ed and my eyes slid back. “Something else you should know.”
“What?”
“This is a serious situation. You gettin’ soft and sweet isn’t gonna work on me, not like it used to.” I decided it was the perfect time to battle on. “Thanks for sharing. Now, get off! ”
I bucked. Mace slid off.
I rol ed off the bed then rounded it, Juno at my heels ready for her morning bathroom break. I grabbed Daisy’s track bottoms and tugged them on. I chanced a glance at Mace and he was on his side, elbow in the pil ows, head in hand, watching me.
I felt the gut kick. He’d done that before, lots when we were together. Lying in bed, on his side, head in hand, watching me put on clothes, watching me feed Juno, watching me play guitar, the way he looked at me making me feel warm, pretty and interesting.
What I did for a living meant people were always watching me. I was onstage in front of a crowd a lot, singing watching me. I was onstage in front of a crowd a lot, singing and playing. I loved it, fed off it, especial y when the crowd found the groove and came along for the ride.
But not even our best groove felt as good as Mace watching me, his eyes lazy, his face soft, his thoughts, I knew, al about me.
Inexplicably, even though we were over, even though I was not his woman, even though he admitted that, I knew the way he was looking at me now was no different than al the times before.
What was going on?
“I don’t like this,” I told him.
He moved, fast, lithe, graceful and he was out of bed, standing in front of me wearing nothing but a pair of white boxers. I hated to admit it but his body was even more delicious than I remembered and I’d touched it, tasted it, almost every inch of it and I thought I’d never forget how good it looked… or tasted.
But I forgot.
Effing hel .
His hand came to my hip and his long fingers bit in gently.
“First up for you, this Eric guy gets a cal .” I clenched my teeth.
Mace must have seen the clench or just knew it was there. Whatever, for some reason, it made him smile.
Chapter Three
Spill
Stella
“Spil ,” Al y said to me.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to spil ,” Stevie put in. “You ever thought of that? You know, keeping things to yourself, as in private? ”
“Listen, Stel a and me have been friends for ages,” Al y said to Stevie. “She dated one of my brother’s boys for months and didn’t say a word. Now she’s getting shot at like the rest of us. You aren’t getting shot at because of the Hot Bunch boys; you can have your privacy. You are you official y become a member of the club. Therefore, it’s time to spil .”
“The logic is a bit loco but I have to admit, it makes sense,” Indy muttered.
“I think she should spil when she feels like spil ing,” Jules threw in, sitting across from me, her hand on her smal pregnant bel y bump, her black hair gleaming, her violet eyes on me. They were warm and there was a contentedness behind them that was both beautiful and made me jealous as hel .
“Fuck that. We’re not a secret keeping group. It al hangs out with us,” Al y stated.
“Except for when Jules kept her pregnancy secret.” Daisy’s eyes narrowed on Jules.
“Wel , you can understand that,” Jet noted.
“And when you kept your engagement secret,” Roxie said to Jet.
“I only kept it a secret for a few days!” Jet exclaimed.
“Yeah, but you didn’t share. We had to cal you out, girlie.” Tod sounded pouty.
My eyes wandered around the big round table in Daisy’s huge, fantastic kitchen and, for your information, I would love the chance to cook in that kitchen. Top of the line appliances, plenty of counter space, expensive knives and shining pots on display; it was an amateur cook’s nirvana.
Seeing the girls al together, talking about secrets instead of freaking out about getting shot at by ful y automatic weapons, it hit me why the Nightingale Men claimed these women.
They didn’t seem at al flipped out that they’d been the victims of violence last night. They were just hanging out, doing girl talk over coffee.
Honest to God, it was bizarre.
Indy, redheaded, blue-eyed and built; Al y, dark-haired, brown-eyed and slim; Jet, honey blonde, green-eyed and pretty; Roxie, also blonde but darker, blue-eyed and seriously stylish; Ava, another blonde, total y knockout, bombshel gorgeous with light brown eyes and I’d already described Jules’s movie star glamour. These weren’t exactly your average women.
But I suspected their attraction for the Hot Bunch had nothing (or, if not nothing, than not everything) to do with the fact that their looks ranged from classical y beautiful (Jules), to sultry (Indy), to girl-next-door hot (Jet), to sassy-girl-next-door luscious (Al y), to sophisticated elegance (Roxie), to downright sexy (Ava), to in-your-face stunning (Daisy). I suspected it had more to do with the fact that this crazy, scary life didn’t faze them, not even a little bit.
And if it did, they didn’t let it show.
They kept bickering and I looked out the widow, letting them fight amongst themselves and letting my thoughts move elsewhere. My wound was beginning to ache and my mind was fil ing with thoughts of Linnie, thoughts such as wondering if her parents had been told yet or if we’d need to do a fundraising gig to pay for her funeral.
Then I decided not to think about Linnie because it might make me cry and thus ruin girl talk and instead I decided to think about the current state of affairs.
