Rock Chick Revolution
Page 5
I stared at the door for a good long while.
Then the name he’d murmured in the back of my hair over a year before… a name he murmured while we were in bed, naked, he was holding me and he was asleep… a name that wasn’t mine… came back to me.
And it reminded me this wasn’t real.
I truly believed Ren wanted it to be.
But I knew it was never going to be, not in the way I needed it to be.
So I shoved thoughts of his warmth and thoughtfulness aside, jumped from the bed and started coffee.
I was in the shower when he returned and I knew he returned when he joined me in the shower.
Me wet and soapy, Ren wet and na**d meant things happened, and those things included me getting an against-the-tiles-in-the-bathroom-of-a-moderately-priced-motel-in-a-small-Colorado-mountain-town orgasm.
Like every orgasm Ren gave me (yes, I said “every”, and that is no lie), it was freaking righteous.
I was in my bra and undies, Ren in his boxers. We were both at the small sink brushing our teeth while I braced myself against liking another heretofore unknown intimacy when Ren gave me the ammunition to forever put the “us” he wanted us to be to rest.
He did this by spitting out foam, rinsing and catching my eyes in the mirror after he wiped his mouth with a towel.
Then he said, “Got Ava and Stark’s wedding invitation. I know you’re in the wedding party but I’m gonna take you.”
I still had my brush in my mouth, but my eyes locked to his as my insides froze stone-cold.
I forced myself out of the freeze, pulled the brush out of my mouth and asked through foam, “Are you shitting me?”
His brows shot together and he answered, “No.”
I leaned forward, spit but did not rinse. I spoke again after I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth and my words came out biting.
“Tell me you’re shitting me,” I demanded.
He rocked back and crossed his arms on his chest, murmuring in a way I knew he was annoyed and didn’t expect an answer, “Jesus, what’s up your ass now?”
He was.
He was totally f**king shitting me.
And that burned through me. Not with anger.
With pain.
So much of it, my voice was actually weak—fuck me, weak—when I answered, “What’s up my ass, Ren, is that you just asked me to go with you to the wedding of the woman you’re in love with. That,” my voice—goddamn it!—broke on that word, but I kept going, “is what’s up my ass.”
I registered the shock on his face. It would be hard to miss seeing as it suffused every feature and shot from his eyes.
“What the f**k?” he whispered.
“So no,” I whispered back, the pain still affecting my voice, making it come out shaky. But I couldn’t stop it. I also didn’t have it in me to try. “I will not go to Ava and Luke’s wedding with you. And also,” I swallowed, “this shit, you and me, after you’d ask me something like that, is done. Over. No more f**k buddies. No more anything.”
And on that, I didn’t stomp out of the bathroom.
I ran.
Chapter One
You’re a Nightingale
Rock Chick Rewind
Thirteen months earlier…
I woke up in Ren Zano’s four poster bed, with its wine colored sheets, that was in the bedroom of his awesome house in Cheesman Park, knowing I’d done it.
I wasn’t certain it was going to happen to me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was beginning to think it wouldn’t.
That happened to some women. They went their whole lives and didn’t find the one.
The man who, just looking at him, made your blood warm.
The man who, when he smiled at you, made your heart skip a beat.
The man who was so attuned to your body, he could use his hands, his mouth, his words, his everything, and make it sing.
Even the first time.
Or, I should say, in Ren’s and my case, the first three times.
And the man who was interesting, charming, maybe a wee bit edgy and mysterious (but that wee bit was way hot and something I liked a whole lot) and made no bones about the fact he was into you—into you in the sense that he wanted to get in you—and that way would last awhile.
That while maybe being forever.
Okay, so last night in the parking lot of Herman’s Hideaway, Ren had fought with Luke, one of the Hot Bunch (in other words, one of my brother’s guys) over my friend Ava.
But then Luke accidently elbowed Ava in the head. They took off in his Porsche and I’d stayed in the parking lot giving Ren what for for being a macho ass**le and fighting in a freaking parking lot (I mean, really?). Then I’d noticed he was still pissed. He appeared to give more than a passing shit about Ava (and there was reason for this; she was in the middle of a shitstorm, not unusual with the Rock Chicks) so I decided to get a few drinks in him.
When I offered this suggestion, he stopped being pissed for a second, looked me up and down, and agreed.
This led us to going to My Brother’s Bar where I worked as a bartender. We got a back corner booth and commenced in tying one on.
At first, I avoided the subject of the Luke/Ava/Ren triangle because he seemed to be getting his shit together and I didn’t want it to slide back. Especially if he intended to get shitfaced. I didn’t want to watch another hot guy go gonzo, even verbally, and especially drunkenly, over another one of the Rock Chicks.
That wasn’t my idea of a fun night.
I’d had that when Indy got pursued by Lee.
And when Lee’s best friend Eddie went after my friend Jet.
And when Hank decided, for him, it was Roxie.
And also when another one of Lee’s boys, Vance, locked his sights on a woman we eventually recruited into the Rock Chicks, Jules.
And last, I was currently swimming through the crazy waters of Luke staking his claim with another one of my friends, Ava.
I couldn’t say all this wasn’t exciting—sometimes way exciting, sometimes hilarious, sometimes not a small amount of insane—but the end was always good. The guy got his girl, the girl got her guy, and everyone was happy.
As happy as I was for my friends—and make no mistake, I was happy, and the rides to get to the end of their kickass, modern-day fairytales were all sorts of sick, delicious fun—I was thinking it wasn’t going to happen for me.
But until recently, I’d been going out for a while with Carl, who was a good guy. He was into me, the sex was great, the banter almost better, but something about him just didn’t do it for me.
It didn’t make me look the way Indy looked at Lee, Jet at Eddie, Roxie at Hank (I think you get me).
Then the name he’d murmured in the back of my hair over a year before… a name he murmured while we were in bed, naked, he was holding me and he was asleep… a name that wasn’t mine… came back to me.
And it reminded me this wasn’t real.
I truly believed Ren wanted it to be.
But I knew it was never going to be, not in the way I needed it to be.
So I shoved thoughts of his warmth and thoughtfulness aside, jumped from the bed and started coffee.
I was in the shower when he returned and I knew he returned when he joined me in the shower.
Me wet and soapy, Ren wet and na**d meant things happened, and those things included me getting an against-the-tiles-in-the-bathroom-of-a-moderately-priced-motel-in-a-small-Colorado-mountain-town orgasm.
Like every orgasm Ren gave me (yes, I said “every”, and that is no lie), it was freaking righteous.
I was in my bra and undies, Ren in his boxers. We were both at the small sink brushing our teeth while I braced myself against liking another heretofore unknown intimacy when Ren gave me the ammunition to forever put the “us” he wanted us to be to rest.
He did this by spitting out foam, rinsing and catching my eyes in the mirror after he wiped his mouth with a towel.
Then he said, “Got Ava and Stark’s wedding invitation. I know you’re in the wedding party but I’m gonna take you.”
I still had my brush in my mouth, but my eyes locked to his as my insides froze stone-cold.
I forced myself out of the freeze, pulled the brush out of my mouth and asked through foam, “Are you shitting me?”
His brows shot together and he answered, “No.”
I leaned forward, spit but did not rinse. I spoke again after I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth and my words came out biting.
“Tell me you’re shitting me,” I demanded.
He rocked back and crossed his arms on his chest, murmuring in a way I knew he was annoyed and didn’t expect an answer, “Jesus, what’s up your ass now?”
He was.
He was totally f**king shitting me.
And that burned through me. Not with anger.
With pain.
So much of it, my voice was actually weak—fuck me, weak—when I answered, “What’s up my ass, Ren, is that you just asked me to go with you to the wedding of the woman you’re in love with. That,” my voice—goddamn it!—broke on that word, but I kept going, “is what’s up my ass.”
I registered the shock on his face. It would be hard to miss seeing as it suffused every feature and shot from his eyes.
“What the f**k?” he whispered.
“So no,” I whispered back, the pain still affecting my voice, making it come out shaky. But I couldn’t stop it. I also didn’t have it in me to try. “I will not go to Ava and Luke’s wedding with you. And also,” I swallowed, “this shit, you and me, after you’d ask me something like that, is done. Over. No more f**k buddies. No more anything.”
And on that, I didn’t stomp out of the bathroom.
I ran.
Chapter One
You’re a Nightingale
Rock Chick Rewind
Thirteen months earlier…
I woke up in Ren Zano’s four poster bed, with its wine colored sheets, that was in the bedroom of his awesome house in Cheesman Park, knowing I’d done it.
I wasn’t certain it was going to happen to me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was beginning to think it wouldn’t.
That happened to some women. They went their whole lives and didn’t find the one.
The man who, just looking at him, made your blood warm.
The man who, when he smiled at you, made your heart skip a beat.
The man who was so attuned to your body, he could use his hands, his mouth, his words, his everything, and make it sing.
Even the first time.
Or, I should say, in Ren’s and my case, the first three times.
And the man who was interesting, charming, maybe a wee bit edgy and mysterious (but that wee bit was way hot and something I liked a whole lot) and made no bones about the fact he was into you—into you in the sense that he wanted to get in you—and that way would last awhile.
That while maybe being forever.
Okay, so last night in the parking lot of Herman’s Hideaway, Ren had fought with Luke, one of the Hot Bunch (in other words, one of my brother’s guys) over my friend Ava.
But then Luke accidently elbowed Ava in the head. They took off in his Porsche and I’d stayed in the parking lot giving Ren what for for being a macho ass**le and fighting in a freaking parking lot (I mean, really?). Then I’d noticed he was still pissed. He appeared to give more than a passing shit about Ava (and there was reason for this; she was in the middle of a shitstorm, not unusual with the Rock Chicks) so I decided to get a few drinks in him.
When I offered this suggestion, he stopped being pissed for a second, looked me up and down, and agreed.
This led us to going to My Brother’s Bar where I worked as a bartender. We got a back corner booth and commenced in tying one on.
At first, I avoided the subject of the Luke/Ava/Ren triangle because he seemed to be getting his shit together and I didn’t want it to slide back. Especially if he intended to get shitfaced. I didn’t want to watch another hot guy go gonzo, even verbally, and especially drunkenly, over another one of the Rock Chicks.
That wasn’t my idea of a fun night.
I’d had that when Indy got pursued by Lee.
And when Lee’s best friend Eddie went after my friend Jet.
And when Hank decided, for him, it was Roxie.
And also when another one of Lee’s boys, Vance, locked his sights on a woman we eventually recruited into the Rock Chicks, Jules.
And last, I was currently swimming through the crazy waters of Luke staking his claim with another one of my friends, Ava.
I couldn’t say all this wasn’t exciting—sometimes way exciting, sometimes hilarious, sometimes not a small amount of insane—but the end was always good. The guy got his girl, the girl got her guy, and everyone was happy.
As happy as I was for my friends—and make no mistake, I was happy, and the rides to get to the end of their kickass, modern-day fairytales were all sorts of sick, delicious fun—I was thinking it wasn’t going to happen for me.
But until recently, I’d been going out for a while with Carl, who was a good guy. He was into me, the sex was great, the banter almost better, but something about him just didn’t do it for me.
It didn’t make me look the way Indy looked at Lee, Jet at Eddie, Roxie at Hank (I think you get me).
