Rock Chick Revolution

by Ashley, Kristen

  Not with Ren close and his voice warm and rumbly on Christmas morning.

  Therefore, I lifted my head, looked into his beautiful eyes and replied quietly, “Merry Christmas, Ren.”

  His eyes dropped to my mouth as his arm got even tighter and dragged me up his chest.

  But once we were face to face, it was me that went in for the Christmas kiss. And it was a kiss that I wasn’t sure Jesus would approve of, but to me, it was heavenly.

  When we broke the kiss, Ren lifted a hand to my jaw and said, “Let’s get this part over with, honey.”

  Oh shit.

  Before I could intervene in order to stop him from starting a joyous day in a non-joyous way, he went on.

  “Before I give you your present and you take off to be with your family, promise me right now, and mean it, that you’ll stay away from dealers, growers, manufacturers, suppliers and transporters.”

  Oh my God!

  He got me a present?

  “Ally,” he called and I focused on him.

  I took in a breath, holding the Christmas spirit close.

  In other words, I replied calmly, “Ren, when I promise to help, I have to do whatever it takes to do the job.”

  He studied me. I waited for him to commence the Talk or go straight into the Fight.

  Apparently Ren was feeling the Christmas spirit too as he didn’t do either.

  Instead, he held me to him as he mumbled, “Not gonna get into this shit on Christmas,” and he twisted toward his nightstand.

  He opened the drawer. I held my breath. Then he pulled out a small, jewelry-sized, exquisitely wrapped present, complete with bow.

  Jewelry.

  I was a Rock Chick. I accepted gifts of all forms.

  I also gave them the same way.

  But I never thought I’d be a girl who felt like I felt right then when a man was about to give her jewelry. And I didn’t even care what was in that wrapped package.

  It was indeed the thought that mattered.

  And jewelry from a man, that man being Ren, said a lot about what he thought of me.

  I pressed my lips together.

  Ren settled on his back and offered me the present.

  “Open it, honey.”

  I swallowed, looked into his eyes and took it.

  As best I could still leaning into him, I pulled off the bow and wrap and unearthed a familiar blue box with a white ribbon.

  Oh crap.

  My throat got scratchy when I untied the ribbon and flipped open the box.

  In it was a silver pendant on a chain.

  The pendant was in the shape of a guitar.

  Holy crap.

  Tiffany’s didn’t only do elegant. It did cool.

  Totally righteous.

  “Ren,” I whispered.

  “I’ll take that as you likin’ it.”

  I didn’t like it.

  I loved it. It was perfect for me.

  My eyes moved from the pendant to him. “Thank you.”

  His eyes were soft and sweet on me. “You’re welcome, baby.”

  I pressed my lips together again then leaned in and pressed them to his mouth. Before I pulled away, he touched his tongue to my lower lip which made me shiver both internally and externally.

  It was the kind of shiver Ren usually felt and did something about. But before he could, I pulled away, leaned into him to put the pendant on his nightstand then pushed further over him so my hips were at his gut and I was hanging over the side of the bed.

  I reached under it to where I hid my present days ago (don’t get excited—I hadn’t since learned how to pick a lock—Ren had given me his key and his security code).

  I pulled it out, pushed up and sat on the side of my hip as I set his present on his stomach.

  “Fuck,” he murmured, eyes on his present.

  “Well, that wasn’t the response expected,” I remarked.

  He pushed up to rest against the headboard but did so looking at me, eyes warm but lips quirking, all the while asking, “So, fuck buddies give Christmas presents?”

  It was Christmas. I was not going to get annoyed.

  I told myself this, smiled and said, “Shut up.”’

  He smiled back. My heart squeezed and he opened his present.

  Then he burst out laughing when he shook out what was inside.

  “Do not take this as me supporting your Bears habit,” I warned and his warm dancing eyes came to me. “But Sweetness is Sweetness and everyone is allowed to worship at the shrine of Walter Payton.”

  This I’d proved by giving him a number 34 Bears jersey.

  Ren’s hand shot out, hooked around my neck, and he pulled me to him for a hard, closed-mouth kiss.

  When he let me back an inch, he said softly, “Thank you, honey.”

  The way he said that hit me someplace deep, where he lived in me, where I kept him and what I wished we could be.

  I kept it there. I locked it there. And part of me hoped I’d have those slices of our times together for eternity.

  “You’re welcome,” I mumbled.

  Then the jersey was crushed between us because Ren was on me, his hands were all over me, and I was on my back in his bed.

  “Christmas quickie,” he murmured into my neck.

  Excellent.

  My hands started moving on his skin.

  His head came up and his eyes, lit with humor, caught mine.

  “And, just sayin’, babe, you lock my pendant away ‘cause you don’t want the questions the Rock Chicks will fire at you when they see my present around your neck, that’s cool. I’ll wait ‘til you let me in for you to wear it.”

  He so knew me.

  Everything.

  That was a bit scary.

  What was scarier was that he knew me in all my stubborn crazy, and it seemed he found it amusing.

  I reminded myself it was Christmas and I was not going to get annoyed.

  But even if it was Christmas, I couldn’t allow myself to hope.

  So I just rolled my eyes.

  On the downward roll, he was kissing me. While doing that, an extremely proficient multi-tasker in bed, he commenced doing other things with me.

  It was the best beginning of a Christmas ever.

  Like a dream.

  * * * * *

  The rest of the day wouldn’t go so well as the Rock Chicks, Hot Bunch, Tex, Duke and a variety of other people witnessed my scene with Ren at Roxie and Hank’s wedding and they were in my business about it.

  I’d had some experience staving off such enquiries so it wasn’t tough to keep the wolves at bay.

  The problem was, after that scene, the Rock Chicks were on the scent. And this was not good.

  But I couldn’t concentrate on that. So I put it off (and put it off and then more putting it off) and decided to face that particular music if and when the time came.

  I had enough on my hands dealing with Ren and me being fuck buddies.

  Or, as Ren saw it, Ren and me being a Ren and me.

  A game where I made my plays, Ren made his.

  A game where our plays were the same even when I tried to convince myself they were different.

  A game that would end on a morning in May in a moderately priced motel in a small Colorado Mountain town.

  And it ended decisively.

  Fast Forward—Hit Play

  Chapter Seven

  Unconscious

  May in a moderately priced motel in a small Colorado Mountain town…

  I got into the bedroom, my hands on my jeans and was about to shove a foot through when they were yanked clean away.

  I reared up and made a grab for them as Ren clipped, “Ally, what the fuck?”

  “Give me my jeans!” I snapped loudly but he held them away.

  Thus began a stand up tussle that included some slapping and grabbing (me), defensive maneuvers (Ren); my part desperate, his part possibly confused. Finally, he tossed the jeans behind him and since he was a tall, powerfully-b
uilt Italian hothead standing between me and my jeans, an obstruction I was not likely to breach, I grunted in frustration and shoved his chest (also in frustration).

  He took two steps back and lifted both his hands, palms out my way.

  “Right. Enough. Calm down and tell me what the fuck you’re talkin’ about,” he demanded.

  I locked my eyes with his.

  “You fought over her that night.”

  His head jerked and he asked, “What?”

  “That night!” I shouted. “That night we hooked up. You fought with Luke over Ava.”

  Suddenly, his body went completely still, as did the air in the room, and his eyes didn’t leave me but they’d gone funny as he whispered, “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” I hissed.

  He shook his head, not in the negative, like he was trying to clear it.

  Then he asked disbelievingly, “You’re tellin’ me we’ve been in each other’s space for over a year and you’re throwin’ this shit in my face now?”

  “Well, if that’s not enough…” I shot back instantly, slamming my hands on my hips, something Ren’s eyes watched before they came back to mine and I saw they were heating.

  This was a warning signal I’d made a habit of not heeding. And at that point, I did the same and kept right on talking.

  “There was the night at the art gallery where you said you had eyes on me but I never caught your eyes on me. But I did see you gazing at Ava!”

  I sounded like a jealous bitch. I knew it. And I didn’t care.

  Because the big bossy jerk asked me to Ava’s wedding!

  Those eyes I was talking about narrowed and he returned, “I might have looked at Ava, Ally, but fuck, only because she was there.”

  “You didn’t look, Zano, you gazed.”

  He blinked then asked, “Jesus, have you lost your mind?”

  “No.” I answered. “I’m a woman and I know.”

  “You know,” he replied.

  “Yep,” I bit out. “I know.”

  “You know, for a year I’ve been bangin’ you, busting my ass to find a way in with you, you gave me every sign I was succeeding… and before you open your mouth to deny it, I’ll remind you about Christmas morning,” he warned me.

  Since I’d opened my mouth to deny it, at his reminder, I snapped it shut.

  He kept going.

  “And that entire fuckin’ year you’ve been thinkin’ I’m in love with another woman and you didn’t say anything?”

  God.

  Was he serious?

  “What do I say, Zano?” I retorted. “What questions do I ask when I don’t want the fucking answers?”

  “If you’d asked, you might have found you wanted the answers,” he fired back.

  Then, all Italian hothead badass, he lost it.

  Lifting a hand, he tapped the tips of his fingers to his temple and jerked his hand out at the same time leaning into me and shouting, “You’ve totally lost your goddamned mind!”

  “You know I haven’t,” I snapped.

  “No,” he clipped as he turned. His movements rough with suppressed anger, he stalked to my jeans, still talking. “What I know is, I wasted a goddamn year on a lunatic. Jesus. Fuck me,” he bit out, bending and tagging my jeans. He turned and tossed them to me, continuing, “You hide it well, Ally. All that fucking crazy under all that hot. You had me snowed, thinkin’, you allowed me to dig deep, I’d get the warm and sweet with the hot, not a hot fuckin’ mess.”

  I’d caught my jeans and I had nothing to say to that remark but no chance to say it before he prowled by me, his anger now at such an extreme that his movements were fluid as his adrenaline flowed.

  And he kept talking.

  “You wanna go. Go. Be my guest, honey.” He bent and grabbed his own jeans, tugging them on and not looking at me. “You want this over, you get it, ‘cause now, with this, I see I’ve wasted a year on your bullshit, and honest to Christ, I never wanna lay eyes on your jacked ass again.”

  Ouch.

  That hurt.

  No, that wasn’t right. It killed.

  But I took his invitation.

  And not only because it was the only option open to me.

  Also because it was the smartest.

  As fast as I could, I dressed and made sure I had my phone and all my belongings (not that I came with many, Ren dragged my ass there in another Italian hotheaded tizzy).

  But I knew Darius and Brody were staying in the same hotel, I just didn’t know their room numbers and I needed to get from here, to one of their rooms, then home, and fast (my pick, Darius).

  But at the door, because he didn’t get me, I decided before we were over, he was going to fucking get me.

  Hand on the knob, I turned to him, dredging up what had been haunting me for over a year. Something that had killed the hope I had for my own kickass Rock Chick fairytale. Something that taught me the death of hope was the worst thing you could experience.

  I saw he was pulling his shirt over his head and started, “That night, beer and bourbon and you liking the Bears?”

  He yanked his shirt down and twisted only his neck so his burning eyes locked on me but he didn’t turn to face me.

  I sucked in breath as his gaze boiled away my flesh.

  Then I did what I always did. I pulled it together, straightened my spine and held his eyes.

  “The next morning, I woke up happy. So happy I was fucking smiling. It was the best date I ever had and it wasn’t even a date.”

  That muscle in his jaw jumped but he didn’t say anything.

  I didn’t need him to.

  My voice quieter but no less emotional, I laid it out.

  “Naked with you in your bed, smiling to myself and happy, you pressed into me, curled your hand around my breast and said Ava’s name in my hair.”

  I watched his face blank even as his chin jerked back.

  “So think what you want but I know I’m not jacked,” I whispered. “That, Ren, when a woman lies naked, thus exposed, in a man’s arms, when all she’s thinking about his him, and he calls her another woman’s name, that’s how she knows.”

  And with that, I was done.

  I turned, whipped off the chain, twisted the handle and pulled open the door.

  I got it open halfway before Ren’s hand landed palm flat on the door. I was pulling but he was stronger. Thus the doorknob slipped out of my hand and the door slammed shut.

  Before I could take a breath, I was pressed front to the door with Ren’s heat pressed in behind me. Further defeating any chance of retreat, his hand snaked across my belly and his arm turned to iron.

  Great.

  “Let me go,” I snapped.

  His lips came to my ear. “Baby—”

  “Let me go!” I shouted, trying to yank away but his other arm wrapped high across my chest and he held me tighter, closer, his lips not leaving my ear.

  “I was unconscious,” he whispered.

  I jerked harder but he didn’t let go.

  So I gave up but didn’t give in. I strained against his hold, rested my forehead against the door and waited for this to be over.

  “Listen to me,” he urged.

  I closed my eyes and stated, “You tell me, the situation was reversed, you wouldn’t think the same damned thing.”

  “I was asleep.”

  I opened my eyes. “Bullshit. You were into her. You’d fought over her that night. You took her back through that whole thing, even after we had our thing.”

  “I see this, honey. I get you, why you’d think what you’re thinking. But you gotta listen to me.”

  God!

  Why couldn’t he ever let it be over?

  “Say it so I can get gone and this can be done,” I hissed.

  His arms gave me a gentle squeeze. “Come sit on the bed with me.”

  I jerked against his hold again, clipping, “Fuck no.”

  “All right, Ally, baby, calm down.”

  I went still, no
t because he told me to, just because I needed my strength. I was holding on by a string.

  When he didn’t go on, I ordered, “Just say it so I can go.”

  I heard and felt him draw in a deep breath.

  Then he said, “I get you’re not in the place right now that what I’m gonna ask is gonna be easy, but I need to give you what you need and some of it isn’t going to be what you wanna hear. What it is gonna be is honest.”

  I closed my eyes again and clenched my teeth.

  “Are you gonna stick with me and hear me out?” he asked.

  I opened my eyes and snapped, “Just get it done, Zano.”

  “All right, honey.”

  God.

  Sweet.

  Someone kill me.

  “I was into her,” he admitted quietly and my throat closed. “But that night, beer, bourbon and me tellin’ you I like the Bears was not about her. It was about you and me. Then you snuck away and I get that, Ally,” he said the last swiftly, his arms going tighter as he felt my body go solid. “I get why you’d do that. But I didn’t get it then. I thought it was something else, honey, and you know what I thought it was.”

  “Yeah, you came over to my place in the middle of the night and made that perfectly clear,” I reminded him.

  “I also apologized,” he reminded me.

  Crap.

  He did.

  I shut my mouth.

  “So yeah,” he continued gently as well as cautiously. “I had feelings for Ava and I had to work through those. But, Ally,” his arms gave me another squeeze, “she was with another guy. Deep in it with him. I had no shot. I knew that. We’d never been out on a date. I hadn’t even kissed her. I was definitely never in love with her.”

  “You took her to Carmine’s,” I reminded him.

  “That wasn’t a date, honey,” he told me. “And you know it. I took her to dinner and took her home to Stark. A man taking a woman to dinner and dropping her off with another man is not a date.”

  Okay, I had to give him that.

  “I thought we’d connected,” I found myself whispering then I found I couldn’t stop doing it. “We were naked. You were holding me. And you were thinking about her.”

  “She had a lot of shit happening around her, and I was involved. So it’s not surprising that shit was swirling in the back of my head. But I wasn’t thinking about her. I wasn’t in control of my thoughts. I was unconscious.”