Rock Chick
Page 112
I decided we were going to have to have another talk about the keys-on-the-counter business. I had a cute, kitty-tails-as-hooks key holder on the wall by the backdoor. Keys went on one of the kitty tails. I’d already told him once, but did he listen? No. He just smiled at me like he thought I was cute.
I heard his footsteps on the stairs and put my arm over my face.
I’d gone through Kitty Sue and Mom’s box, sifted through the memories, read and reread the letter until I’d memorized my Mom’s girlish handwriting, held the treasures in my hands, touched them, turned them, even smelled some of them.
Because of this, I had been crying and no way, in hell, did I want Lee to see me post-crying-orgy.
“Indy?” Lee called my name quietly and I knew he was standing by the bed.
I feigned sleep.
The bed moved when he sat on it and moved more when he took his boots off. I heard them hit the floor, one then the other. Then the bed moved again when he settled into it, turned to me and pulled my back to his front, arm around my waist.
“Stop pretending to sleep,” he said.
“Go away. I’m taking a Disco Nap,” I told him, my voice muffled as it was coming from under my arm.
“You’ve been crying.”
What?
How on earth could he know that? He hadn’t seen my face.
“Have not,” I lied.
He sighed. “Mom told Dad about the box. Dad told me.”
Shit.
This was going to be my life. I knew it. With Malcolm and Dad best friends and Ally and me best friends and Hank and Lee super close and Kitty Sue and Malcolm married, nothing was ever going to be a secret.
I decided to keep quiet.
Lee decided he didn’t like that.
He moved me so I was facing him.
I struggled for a bit then, realizing I wouldn’t win, I ducked my head and pressed it into his chest.
“Look at me, Indy.”
“No,” I said into his chest.
“Look at me.”
“I said no.”
“Why?”
“My face is splotchy.”
His body started shaking with laughter.
“I don’t f**king care if your face is splotchy.” Amusement was heavy in his voice.
I was so sure.
Like it mattered that he didn’t care. I cared.
“Well, I do,” I snapped.
“Look at me.”
“I’m not crying about the box. I’m just pissed we’re not going to get to go to Barolo Grill and especially pissed that Dawn doesn’t have to make reservations for us,” I lied, again (though I was kinda pissed about that but, as Lee said, we had time).
“You’re lying.”
“Am not.”
His arms went around me and he pulled me into him, tight.
I waited.
Nothing happened.
I waited some more.
Still nothing happened.
Then I realized Lee was giving in.
That made me feel warm and happy and, yes, gushy again, and I relaxed into him.
“Marianne called,” I told him for no reason, face still pressed into his chest. “She put an offer on a house, it was accepted. She’s moving out of her parent’s house in a few months.”
Lee’s fingers started drifting up and down my spine but he didn’t answer.
I went on. “Andrea called and she wants us to come over for dinner next Tuesday.”
“Her kids going to be there?”
“Probably.”
“Jesus,” he muttered and I didn’t blame him. I’d actually had dinner at Andrea’s house with her kids in attendance. I went home with Jell-o in my hair (the Jell-o fight wasn’t my fault, Andrea’s oldest started it, I just participated out of self-defense).
“Should I say yes or no?” I asked.
“Yes but I might have to work. Do you mind if last minute you have to go alone?”
I tipped my head back and glared at him. “I do not think so. You aren’t going to bail at the last minute because of some fake work thing.”
He looked down at me. “It might not be fake.”
“It’ll be fake.”
“It might not.”
“It’ll so be fake.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, his head lowered and he kissed me.
I forgot about my splotchy, blotchy, sissy-girl, crying face and kissed him back.
Then I forgot about Andrea’s dinner-party-with-kids-from-hell and Lee’s fake work thing when his mouth opened over mine and his tongue slid inside.
Then I forgot about my Disco Nap when his hands went inside my t-shirt.
Then, sometime later, I forgot about absolutely everything in the entire universe when we were na**d and Lee slid inside me and started moving.
“Lee,” I whispered.
His head came up, he looked down at me with melty-chocolate eyes and he smiled his Killer Liam Nightingale Smile.
Then his mouth came to mine and I could still feel his smile against my lips.
“You love me,” he said there.
My h*ps tilted, he slid in deeper and it felt nice.
“So,” I breathed (or, kind of panted), “damned cocky.”
I heard his footsteps on the stairs and put my arm over my face.
I’d gone through Kitty Sue and Mom’s box, sifted through the memories, read and reread the letter until I’d memorized my Mom’s girlish handwriting, held the treasures in my hands, touched them, turned them, even smelled some of them.
Because of this, I had been crying and no way, in hell, did I want Lee to see me post-crying-orgy.
“Indy?” Lee called my name quietly and I knew he was standing by the bed.
I feigned sleep.
The bed moved when he sat on it and moved more when he took his boots off. I heard them hit the floor, one then the other. Then the bed moved again when he settled into it, turned to me and pulled my back to his front, arm around my waist.
“Stop pretending to sleep,” he said.
“Go away. I’m taking a Disco Nap,” I told him, my voice muffled as it was coming from under my arm.
“You’ve been crying.”
What?
How on earth could he know that? He hadn’t seen my face.
“Have not,” I lied.
He sighed. “Mom told Dad about the box. Dad told me.”
Shit.
This was going to be my life. I knew it. With Malcolm and Dad best friends and Ally and me best friends and Hank and Lee super close and Kitty Sue and Malcolm married, nothing was ever going to be a secret.
I decided to keep quiet.
Lee decided he didn’t like that.
He moved me so I was facing him.
I struggled for a bit then, realizing I wouldn’t win, I ducked my head and pressed it into his chest.
“Look at me, Indy.”
“No,” I said into his chest.
“Look at me.”
“I said no.”
“Why?”
“My face is splotchy.”
His body started shaking with laughter.
“I don’t f**king care if your face is splotchy.” Amusement was heavy in his voice.
I was so sure.
Like it mattered that he didn’t care. I cared.
“Well, I do,” I snapped.
“Look at me.”
“I’m not crying about the box. I’m just pissed we’re not going to get to go to Barolo Grill and especially pissed that Dawn doesn’t have to make reservations for us,” I lied, again (though I was kinda pissed about that but, as Lee said, we had time).
“You’re lying.”
“Am not.”
His arms went around me and he pulled me into him, tight.
I waited.
Nothing happened.
I waited some more.
Still nothing happened.
Then I realized Lee was giving in.
That made me feel warm and happy and, yes, gushy again, and I relaxed into him.
“Marianne called,” I told him for no reason, face still pressed into his chest. “She put an offer on a house, it was accepted. She’s moving out of her parent’s house in a few months.”
Lee’s fingers started drifting up and down my spine but he didn’t answer.
I went on. “Andrea called and she wants us to come over for dinner next Tuesday.”
“Her kids going to be there?”
“Probably.”
“Jesus,” he muttered and I didn’t blame him. I’d actually had dinner at Andrea’s house with her kids in attendance. I went home with Jell-o in my hair (the Jell-o fight wasn’t my fault, Andrea’s oldest started it, I just participated out of self-defense).
“Should I say yes or no?” I asked.
“Yes but I might have to work. Do you mind if last minute you have to go alone?”
I tipped my head back and glared at him. “I do not think so. You aren’t going to bail at the last minute because of some fake work thing.”
He looked down at me. “It might not be fake.”
“It’ll be fake.”
“It might not.”
“It’ll so be fake.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, his head lowered and he kissed me.
I forgot about my splotchy, blotchy, sissy-girl, crying face and kissed him back.
Then I forgot about Andrea’s dinner-party-with-kids-from-hell and Lee’s fake work thing when his mouth opened over mine and his tongue slid inside.
Then I forgot about my Disco Nap when his hands went inside my t-shirt.
Then, sometime later, I forgot about absolutely everything in the entire universe when we were na**d and Lee slid inside me and started moving.
“Lee,” I whispered.
His head came up, he looked down at me with melty-chocolate eyes and he smiled his Killer Liam Nightingale Smile.
Then his mouth came to mine and I could still feel his smile against my lips.
“You love me,” he said there.
My h*ps tilted, he slid in deeper and it felt nice.
“So,” I breathed (or, kind of panted), “damned cocky.”
