Rock Chick Revolution by Kristen Ashley
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Kerrie Gisborne, a reader who turned into a friend. My first fan outside my posse—I’m pleased as punch she’s now a member of that crew. And lucky for me, I’m a member of hers too. Miss you, Kerrie.
Acknowledgements & Author’s Note
First, credit has to be given to Ebony Evans for the title of this book, Rock Chick Revolution. Ebony contacted me eons ago with the title suggestion and I loved it the minute I read it. I had other thoughts and other suggestions, but Ebony’s suggestion wouldn’t let me go. So thank you, darlin’, for a great title that fits this book perfectly.
Second, I want to thank my best bud Kelly Brown who was the inspiration for Ally. Fearless. Intelligent. Funny. Loyal. Strong. Kelita, when we were in that cave in Venezuela and you rushed ahead to spot that old lady in her clickity-clack heels (in a cave!), leaving me behind to watch where every foot fell (and fear the bats hanging from the ceiling), I was in awe. I hope you feel Ally does you justice because I think you kick ass and I know you can do anything (mostly because you’ve already done it).
And last, I have to share with my readers that this book was the most difficult book I’ve ever written. This is the first series where I let my Rock Chick Flag fly and decided to write what I wanted, to hell with “the rules.” I started this series because I was living in England and very homesick for Denver, pouring out these words as a love letter to that city, my country, and the people I left in them. I shared with my readers many characters who are loosely (and not-so-loosely) based on people I love, including Tex, Tod, Stevie, Ally, Annette, Nick, Reba, and Herb and Trish.
I also shared many good times (and bad) from my own life. For instance, Jet’s response to seeing her mother after her stroke was my response to seeing my Momma after hers. And Indy and Roxie’s dash through the Haunted House was near-on exact to a hilarious event that happened to my friend Cat and I.
So, in a way, these books are me, or many important parts of my life, both living and breathing and treasured memories.
Knowing in starting this book that I would be saying good-bye to the gang at Fortnum’s was bittersweet. Maybe this is why I cried so hard in many scenes that my tears projected onto my glasses. Or laughed so hard I choked. Or got up after writing a scene and danced around my office (no joke, and I’ve never done that before).
So I guess I loved writing this book, too.
And I truly hope you experience the same tears, laughter and jubilation.
But all good things must come to an end. And they must so we can open ourselves to other good things. However, my greatest fear with these novels was that this cast of characters would grow stale and tired. Seeing as I love them as if they were real, and these zany, wonderful, loving characters shouldn’t feel stale and tired, I never, ever wanted that to happen.
So with this book—and a warning, this book is a true revolution—I bid farewell.
Of a sort.
Because with this book, I’m opening myself to other good things.
And seeing as this gang is worth my time, we haven’t seen the end to them yet.
Just the start of new beginnings.
A massive thank you to my readers for loving these books as much as I do. For giving your hearts to my characters. For spending your time with me. And for championing a Rock Chick who breaks the rules.
And Chas, Rikki and now Gary, thank you for taking the ride with me.
Now, as ever and always, my Rock Chicks and Rock Gurus, strap in, put your hands straight up in the air, get ready for one helluva ride and never forget to Rock On!
* * * * *
Prologue
No More Anything
I woke up naked, in a motel, with a man behind me.
We were spooning.
Ren always spooned me.
No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t always spoon me. Sometimes he tucked me into his side when he was on his back. Sometimes he tucked me to his front when he was on his side and I was on my back. Sometimes I spooned him. But when I did, he held my hand to his chest, even in his sleep, so I couldn’t escape.
He was a maximum contact sleeper.
I loved that.
Secretly.
The problem was, as far as I was concerned, he was just a f*ck buddy.
Lorenzo “Ren” Zano didn’t feel the same way.
We’d been dancing this dance for over a year now. Ren trying to convince me we had something. Me disagreeing.
Nope. Again that wasn’t right. Ren wasn’t trying to convince me we had something. He was simply convinced, and for the last eight months had been acting like he was my boyfriend. If boyfriends were bossy, annoying and in your face all the time, telling you what you could and couldn’t do (in my case, it was mostly what I couldn’t).
The months before that, Ren had been trying to convince me we should explore what we had.
I guessed he just gave up trying to convince me and decided to be my boyfriend even if I didn’t agree.
The problem with me not agreeing was I tended to do a few things when Ren was around. One was argue with him like he was my boyfriend. Another was to have the occasional meal (or maybe not so occasional) with him and shoot the breeze, like he was my boyfriend. Another was sleep with him, and spend the night, like he was my boyfriend.
“I know you’re awake.”
I rolled my newly awakened eyes.
Ren always woke up before me in the mornings and always sensed when I was awake.
Except once.
Our first time together.
But what happened after I woke up that time nearly killed me, so I didn’t think about that.
Always when he sensed I was awake, he commenced with The Talk (necessitating capital letters because Ren considered these Talks gravely serious and took them that way; again, I disagreed).
Usually these Talks centered around what we argued about before I jumped him. Or before he jumped me and we went on to have hours of mind-boggling, soul-enriching, life-changing sex, then passed out and Ren instigated Maximum Contact Sleep.
Today, I could tell by his tone, was not going to be different.
“I need coffee,” I told him.
“I’ll get you coffee after we talk.”
See?
There it was.
The Talk.
And bossy.
I sighed and stated, “Zano, I don’t wanna talk.”
He put a hand in my belly, slid away and pressed me to my back so he could loom over me. Then he proceeded to press deep into me with most of his body, but some of it up on an elbow on the bed, and loom over me.
Exhibit A. Ren assumed dominant positions regularly and often in order to best be bossy, annoying and in my face; like, say, pressing me to my back in a bed and looming over me after I said I didn’t want to talk.
I caught his eyes.
God, he had gorgeous eyes.
To block out those eyes, I closed mine.
Still, I saw him, all of him, in my mind’s eye.
His eyes, his face, his hair and other parts of his anatomy (that would be all of it) usually were my undoing, and thus I would end up jumping him even in the midst of a fight. Or, alternately, I wouldn’t struggle too much if he jumped me.
He was Italian, straight up, no other blood in him. He might be American—fourth generation American to be precise—but other than not speaking a different language, I was pretty certain his entire family thought they still lived in Sicily, even though most of them lived in Englewood, Colorado. With the exception of Ren and his cousin Dominic Vincetti. They both lived fifteen minutes to the north in Denver.
Ren was tall, very tall. Taller than me, and I was tall for a woman.
And he had a fabulous body. Lean hips that he knew how to use (big time). Broad shoulders, the power of which he also put to good use (in a variety of delicious ways). Sleek, defined muscles all over that I knew he put a lot of work into in a way he got off on (and I did too, but for a different reason).
But his way wasn’t so he would look exceptionally hot (which he did). It was having time to be in his head and shut everything else out, be centered, get focused, be healthy. It was, like a lot of things about Ren, righteous.
And last, he had unbelievable abs and hip muscles, which I thought should be photographed and put in a museum. They were so perfect everybody should get the chance to see.
He also had thick dark hair that felt good just normally, but it felt awesome when your fingers were buried in it when his tongue was buried in your mouth (or elsewhere on your body).
All that was fabulous, but there were three things that really did it for me with Ren.
His eyes were this beautiful espresso color, so rich and deep, if you weren’t careful, you could lose yourself in them in a way you never wanted to be found.
And he was confident. Not arrogant. It wasn’t about swagger. Confident. He just knew what his body and mind could do, he knew what he liked, what he wanted and he was comfortable with all that. It oozed off him in the way cool oozed off people who were cool. And Ren was just that: cool. He was like a rock star without the guitar and in a suit. It was phenomenal.
And last, he dressed really well. For work, fabulous suits that were tailored for him. Outside of work, he could do jeans and even tees, and he wore them well, but usually he put on a shirt or a sweater (if it was cold) with his jeans and he wore those way better.
But with Ren it wasn’t about the clothes. It was about the man.
And Ren Zano was all man.
Unfortunately, I liked men who were all man.
I also had a weakness for men in suits.
I just didn’t like bossy, annoying and in my face.
And, of course, someone who would eventually break my heart, even though I figured he genuinely didn’t know he was going to eventually do it.
But I knew he would.
His voice came at me, smooth and deep, but also soft and sweet.
“Ally, baby, last night proved we have to have this out, once and for all,”
Shit.
He was using his sweet voice. That always did a number on me. I knew this because, when he switched to it during a fight, this would be around the time I’d jump him.
I opened my eyes. “There’s nothing to have out.”
His eyebrows shot up (he had great eyebrows too, by the way).
“Have you lost your mind?”
Ren asked this a lot.
“No,” I replied.
And this was always my answer.
His hand, still in my belly, pressed lightly as his face dipped closer. “Babe, straight up, last night you f*cked up. You’ve f*cked up before, but last night, you totally f*cked up. It’ll take me, Uncle Vito, your brothers, both of them, Marcus and pretty much every-f*ckin’-body to cover your ass for the shit you pulled last night.”
Thus commenced the me-getting-pissed portion of The Talk, which usually led to the me-yelling portion of The Talk, and that moved into the Ren-yelling portion of The Talk, which tended to culminate in the me-stomping-out-portion of our talk (or, alternately, us having a hot, great, fast quickie, then I’d get dressed and stomp out).
“I saved Faye’s life last night,” I reminded him curtly.
“You got on some serious as shit radar last night,” he returned.
“I got them what they wanted.” I kept sharing recent memories.
“You got on radar,” he semi-repeated. “You do not want a single one of those men to know you exist. You really don’t want them to know you got access and skills. You dabble in this shit, Ally. It isn’t your life. It’s a pastime. You do not have a solid network. You do not have back up. You do not have experience. So far, all you’ve got is a shitload of luck and persistence. The first eventually is gonna run out. The second is gonna make it run out and get you into trouble.”
I didn’t hear a lot of what he said since I was stuck on a word he used close to the beginning.
Dabble.
“Dabble?” I whispered warningly.
I knew he caught my warning because we’d managed, even as f*ck buddies (according to me), to spend a lot of time together the last year, so he could read me.
I also knew he caught my warning because he threw one of his long, heavy, muscled legs over mine and he got even closer.
“Ally—”
“Dabble?” My voice had risen as my eyes had narrowed.
“Do you get paid for this shit?” he asked.
“Not in money,” I answered.
“Then it’s not a profession. It’s a hobby. And it’s dangerous, Ally. And this is the last time I’m gonna tell you, you gotta stop doing it.”
My eyes narrowed further. My chest started burning and I opened my mouth to commence the yelling portion of The Talk.
* * * * *
Rock Chick Rewind
Backing up a bit, my name is Allyson Nightingale, but everyone calls me Ally.
And I’m a Rock Chick, in name and deed.
That is to say, I worship at the shrine of Rock ‘n’ Roll and I live the rock star life, doing what I want when I want how I want. When I’m not working as a bartender or backup barista, of course, and with a lot less money.
Me and my best friend, India “Indy” Savage (now Nightingale since she married my brother, Lee) have a posse called the Rock Chicks. It’s our posse mostly because we’re the band leaders, as it were, and being rock chicks, they’d be Rock Chicks.
So they are.
Indy and I began the tradition. And some of the Rock Chicks might not be as crazy as me and Indy, but they’re Rock Chicks to the core.
Definitely.
* * * * *
The Rock Chicks do not include my brothers (because they’re dudes, and unless the dude is gay, he can’t be a Rock Chick), Henry “Hank” Nightingale and Liam “Lee” Nightingale. They’re both older than me.
Hank’s a badass cop. As far as I can tell, Lee’s just a professional badass.
My dad is also a cop. So was his dad. Gramps died in the line of duty.
So badass and brave runs in the family.
And as far as I’m concerned, I got those genes.
It’s just that no one agrees with me.
* * * * *
See, about two years ago Indy caught a bit of trouble. She owns a used bookstore called Fortnum’s, but it also serves coffee. In fact, if she didn’t serve coffee, she’d be screwed because she doesn’t sell very many books.
She also landed herself a barista named Tex (who is a bona fide nut, but a lovable one—mostly) who’s a latte/cappuccino/espresso-making genius. He’s the Yo-Yo Ma of coffee. In fact, Mr. Ma would put down his cello in the middle of a performance to take a sip of Tex’s coffee, it’s that good.
Seriously.
Anyway, Rosie, the barista before Indy recruited Tex, did something stupid. Indy got dragged in, and Indy’s been my best friend since I could remember. Our parents were best friends. And, as I mentioned, she’s now married to my brother. So naturally, I got dragged in right with her.
Or, if I’m honest, I waltzed in. Happily.
I’d never been one to shy away from trouble. Or make my own, as the case may be.
That started a lot of stuff. As in, a lot. Some of it bad. Some of it very bad.
But most of it was awesome.
As for me, when Indy was in trouble and I got involved, we’d been after Rosie because he’d disappeared. And when no one could find him, I did.
That’s when I got bit by the bug. Like my dad and brothers, I was good at this badass investigation shit.
A natural.
So I kept doing it.
* * * * *
Don’t think I’m stupid. I’m not.
Along the way, I learned a lot. At first, I only did it for friends in a jam, snooping around, doing things such as getting the goods on a cheating ex, shit like that.
But I always took care of the situation.
Then my friends told their friends and I got referrals.
Eventually, shit got serious.
But I’m a Nightingale. I don’t shy away from serious. No freaking chance.
But Ren was wrong. I had a solid network. I had backup.
Because I got help.
* * * * *
One of my partners is Darius Tucker. He’s one of Lee’s best friends (and one of mine, too). He’s an awesome guy who I love and have loved since he started hanging with Lee way back when they were in school. He’s an awesome guy I love more now because he’s cool, he’s kind, he takes my back and he believes in me.
He’s also an ex-drug dealer and current private detective on staff at Lee’s agency, Nightingale Investigations.
Even though Darius got out of the trade that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know everybody. And if he doesn’t know them know them, he knows of them.
My other partner is Brody Dunne, another friend of mine for forever. Brody’s a boy-man (with more boy than man, even though his age says more man than boy) who could work a computer like Yo-Yo Ma a cello, Stephen Hawking an equation and Tex an espresso machine.
As you can see, both good partners to have.
* * * * *
Fast forward to last night, when I found out another friend of mine, Faye, was getting buried alive because her boyfriend’s dad is a dick.
Don’t ask, it’s a huge-ass story.
Anyway, someone had to step in. And since I’d been monitoring the situation for some time, I was in a place to do that.
So I did.
And I saved her life.
* * * * *
However, it must be said that Ren was not wrong (though I was not going to admit that to him).
The men involved, including Faye’s boyfriend’s dad, were not good men.
Not even close.
* * * * *
Fast Forward—Hit Play
“This is the last time you’re gonna tell me?” I yelled at Ren.
“Baby—”
I shoved at his shoulders and succeeded in rocking him back enough I could roll across the bed.
This I did, snapping, “Don’t you baby me.”
I got a foot to the floor and nowhere fast because Ren hooked an arm around my belly and yanked me back into bed.
Then he covered me with his body.
This was an effective maneuver he utilized often during Our Talks because I could possibly land a knee to the ‘nads, but I was loath to do that since I liked his ‘nads as they were in those times we weren’t fighting.
Other than that, he was bigger, heavier and stronger than me so I was totally screwed.
Exhibit B. Ren had no problem using his physical advantages to give him more opportunities to be bossy and in my face.
“Get off me,” I demanded.
“Listen to me.”
“Get off me,” I ordered on a buck of my hips.
When my hips settled back on the bed, Ren was still on me.
F*ck!
Then his hands moved to frame either side of my face. He dipped his head so he was all I could see and his voice was a voice he’d never used. It was deep and it was sweet, but it was also weighty and thick and it kind of freaked me out (in a maybe good way) when he said, “Ally, baby, listen to me. I care about you, you mean something to me, and I don’t want to see you in a box under three feet of dirt without the tank of oxygen to keep you safe until I find you. Are you understanding me?”
He cared about me.
I meant something to him.
Yeah.
Right.
I’d give it to him. That was a maybe.
He just cared about someone else a whole lot more.
“I’m understanding you’re a bossy, annoying, in my face jerk who thinks he can tell me what to do when he cannot, no matter how often I tell you it’s my damned life and I’ll do with it as I please,” I retorted.
Something flashed in his eyes so fast I couldn’t catch what it was before he started, “Ally—”
“Now, get off me. I got shit to do. I have to get home to Denver.”
His body pressed mine into the bed. “We’re finishing this here.”
“Fine by me,” I agreed readily. “We’re finished. Leave me alone, and we’re all done.” I drew out the “all” sarcastically.
His face changed to a face I’d never seen before, either. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t impatient.
It was infuriated.
He’d been mad before, even really angry (see aforementioned notes about us yelling at each other a lot).
And his anger had a physical presence. So much so, its weight could fill a room.
But this was different.
The room didn’t feel its usual stifling.
It felt still.
And that freaked me.
“I just told you you mean something to me and you won’t give me ten minutes to talk this shit through?” he asked with deceptive quiet.
“No, because the only outcome that’s acceptable to you is unacceptable to me, so we have nothing to talk about.”
He shook his head, still looking very, very angry.
“Unh-unh. You rewound too far. You just ended things with me like it’s all the same to you.”
“Well it is,” I clipped (lie!).
“Bullshit,” he fired back (he knew I was lying).
“How many times do I have to tell you? We’re f*ck buddies, Zano.”
He shook his head again, his thumb sweeping across my cheek and his face getting so close to mine, his lips nearly brushed my own.
“No, baby, we are not. I’ve had f*ck buddies, Ally. And not one of them looked like you look when I slide inside you, every f*cking time I slide inside you. Like a piece of you has been lost and now it’s found.”
Oh crap.
I probably looked just like that.
Because when he slid inside me, that was precisely what it felt like.
My eyes drifted away.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
“Get off me,” I returned.
He went silent.
I let him and waited, hoping this would be a morning where Ren would give up, roll off and wait to fight another day.
It wasn’t going to be that kind of morning. I knew this when he kept talking.
“Your brothers by now are gonna know about this. And when you roll into Denver, they’re gonna lose their minds.”
“They’ll get over it.”
“If you think you’re pullin’ shit on them, Ally, you’re wrong. Lee and Hank know everything that goes down in that town, and they know you’ve been doin’ your thing and just how long. Make no mistake, they’ve been distant, but they’ve been in your business. Part of it was to keep an eye, part of it was to have your back. But you never got this deep or went this far.”
I slid my eyes back to him.
“Newsflash, Zano. I’m not Nancy Drew, solving crimes as a hobby just out of high school. I’m a big girl. I know my brothers know and I don’t care what my brothers think.”
Something flickered in his beautiful eyes. His fury was long gone, and just then his voice went back to sweet. “Baby, I’m trying to impress on you, this is different. And I was worried before at the shit you were doin’. But now I’m f*cking alarmed.”
It was then, something happened.
I didn’t know what did it for me. The new tone to his voice. That look on his face. His warm, hard body pressing mine into the bed after a night of mind-boggling, soul-enriching, life-changing sex. Knowing he found out what was going on last night and drove for hours to get from Denver to the Colorado mountain town of Carnal where all the bad stuff was going down in order to get to me. Or the fact that he really sounded like he meant what he said.
Whatever it was, it did it for me and it led me to doing something I’d never done with Ren.
I agreed.
But I did it quietly.
“I get you.”
He blinked. “You get me?”
I nodded, not about to say it again.
His eyes grew sharp but his face went guarded. “Maybe I should understand what exactly you get.”
This was a weird thing for f*ck buddies, and another way I had to admit we kind of broke that mold. It was also something Ren used repeatedly to press the fact that we weren’t actually f*ck buddies, but together together. We just didn’t go out on dates or meet each other’s parents… yet (the “yet” part was Ren’s).
And what that weird thing was was that he knew me. I also knew him. He paid attention, when we were having sex and when we weren’t. I did the same.
So it wasn’t surprising he asked this question.
“Those dudes were bad dudes,” I explained. “I know how bad, Ren. I’d been poking around them for months.” I put my hand to his chest to press my point home since his face went unguarded and his eyes started to warm. “But they buried Faye alive. I knew the risks. I weighed them and my friend got pulled out of that box breathing. Barely, but she made it.”
He moved one of his hands down to the side of my neck so he could stroke my throat with his thumb. This was another something new. Then again, I didn’t give him many opportunities to show affection like that and I was thinking that was a good thing seeing as it felt incredibly nice.
“There’s gonna be a path you cross,” he said gently. “A path that no matter what firepower you got taking your back, they’re gonna try to take you down. I do not want you to get to that place, baby.”
Unusually, I used a calm voice rather than an irate one when I explained, “I’m not exactly being stupid. I’ve got Brody and Darius. I’m careful.”
That was only mostly true.
I slid my hand up his chest, exploring this unchartered territory of intimacy and sharing, and wrapped it around the side of his neck, putting pressure on. He gave me what I wanted and his face drew even closer.
“I like doing this, Ren. I like it. I’ve tried a lot of things in my life. I’ve got a bachelor’s degree. I’m a certified radiology tech. I’ve done nails. And I’m thirty-two years old. Now I work part-time in a bookstore/coffee shop and full-time slinging drinks. I don’t like doing any of that as much as I like what you don’t like me doing. That’s why I keep doing it, even though I know a lot of people, not just you, don’t like me doing it. Because I like it. It feels right. It feels like I finally found what I wanna be. It’s like I finally found me.”
He studied me and for once said not a word.
Again unusually, I kept talking rationally.
“I know you’re worried about those guys I got involved with last night. So are Darius and Brody. So am I. But I took a calculated risk to save my friend. I’ll watch my back and I have good guys watching it, too. So I’ll be all right.”
He kept studying me, but I had nothing else to say.
Finally, he spoke.
“You know, just sayin’, you said this shit to me like you just said it to me rather than yellin’ at my ass until the only option I have to stop you from yellin’ is to tap your ass, it might have penetrated about ten months ago.”
Something about that made me laugh. Maybe because it was funny.
And there was something about this that I liked. And there was no maybe about the fact that it not only seemed he listened to me, but he heard me and he got me.
And I liked that.
When I quit laughing, Ren was smiling down at me.
My heart skipped a beat.
I didn’t get many of those, seeing as we fought all the time and when we weren’t his mouth was engaged with doing other things.
But just like now, when I did get a smile from Ren Zano, it hit straight to the heart of me.
His smile downgraded to a grin and his eyes moved over my face, something happening in them I didn’t quite get. But whatever it was seemed to mean something. It looked like he was about to say something, but he thought better of it and kept quiet.
I didn’t.
“I dig the mountains, but me and the boys shot up here without provisions and I’ve got shit to do at home, so it might be time to get a move on.”
“Right,” he replied. “There’s a drugstore across the street. I’ll go over, get toothbrushes and shit. There’s also a coffee shop down the street. You wanna make coffee in that little pot on the dresser or you want me to pick you up a real coffee?”
I stared up at him.
We’d never done anything like this, acting semi-normal and not always crazy.
I was a little stunned he could be thoughtful.
No. That wasn’t true. I knew he was the kind of guy who could to be that way. He often demonstrated thoughtful tendencies. Like when I’d show at his house in the wee hours after a bartending shift, he’d ask me if I’d eaten and I’d find he’d made a batch of spaghetti sauce or some cannelloni and he’d heat it up to feed me. And I knew he probably didn’t make that just for himself, but also preparing to feed me later.
Shit like that.
But everybody had to eat, so going out of his way to be thoughtful? I’d never seen that. Mostly because I’d never given him the chance.
Except last Christmas, when he’d been really thoughtful.
So maybe I wasn’t staring up at him stunned because he was being thoughtful.
Maybe I was doing it because this demonstration of further thoughtfulness moved me.
Shit.
“I, uh…” I started and stopped since it took me a bit to shake it off, how nice it felt to be this way with Ren. But I managed it and kept going. “We’ll start with coffee here and get a real one for the trip home. But a toothbrush wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Gotcha,” he muttered, dipping close to touch his lips to mine, and he did this for no reason. Something else he’d never done. Then he pulled away, rolled off me and exited the bed. He yanked the covers over me after he did (again, thoughtful) and proceeded dressing.
It was then I lost the ability to think about anything as I watched Ren move, going from naked to dressed, so I laid there and let myself enjoy the fullness of that (as well as the heat it caused in me). The show was so good, I was rerunning certain parts of it in my head when it was over and this made me an unmoving target when Ren came back to the bed. He hooked a hand around the back of my neck, pulled me up and again touched his mouth to mine.
“Back in a few,” he murmured. He gave me a small grin that warmed his eyes in a way that ratcheted up that heat in me, then he walked to and through the door.
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 naked 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*cking shitting me.
And that burned through me. Not with anger.
With pain.
So much of it, my voice was actually weak—f*ck 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*ck?” 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*ck buddies. No more anything.”
And on that, I didn’t stomp out of the bathroom.
I ran.