Rock Chick Rescue (Rock Chick, #2)

“Richie!” Smithie hol ered and I jumped.

Richie, the jerk bouncer, trotted up, checking out Eddie and me as he came (more me, if you want the God’s honest truth). He was blond, blue-eyed, about two inches tal er than me and fifty pounds heavier, al of it muscle.

“You’re pul in’ Jet Duty tonight. You ain’t five feet away from her al night, got that?” Smithie ordered.

Richie nodded.

Eddie sized Richie up and I could tel by his jaw tightening that he didn’t like what he saw but he kept it to himself.

Smithie looked at me.

“You’re a pain in my fuckin’ ass. Get to work.” I walked away from the bar, tying my apron around my waist. Eddie came with me and I stopped and looked up at him.

“You better go. You stay any longer, Smithie’s going to have an aneurysm.”

Eddie looked down at me, then his hand went through my hair at the temple. He watched it go and then his eyes locked on mine, his hand settling in the crook of my neck.

“I have to go anyway, got things to do. Don’t get into any trouble. If Slick comes by and pul s a knife, don’t be a hero, you run, then you cal me.” He waited a beat to see if this sank in. I nodded, somewhat curious at what things he had to do. I didn’t ask because I probably didn’t want to know.

“I’l pick you up when you’re done,” he finished.

I had no choice about accepting the ride. Lee told me to stick with Eddie, or someone, and I was scared enough to comply. Since the idea of cal ing Duke or Tex to come and get me at three o’clock in the morning didn’t appeal, nor did asking a favor of one of Lee’s boys, I was stuck. I’d have to carry through my plan to avoid Eddie some other time.

Then Eddie said, “You’re spendin’ the night with me.” It wasn’t a question.

I decided to treat it as one. Needless to say that some other time to avoid Eddie included not spending the night with him.

“I’d rather go home.”

“No offense, but my bed’s more comfortable.”

“I meant alone.”

He grinned as if what I said was amusing, leaned down and touched his lips to mine.

Then he walked away.



I sighed, watched him go and I had to admit, I enjoyed the show Guess I was spending the night with Eddie.

“Not your fuckin’ boyfriend, right?” Smithie yel ed at me.

Wonderful.

The night started out good, busy but quiet. No bachelor parties, no brawls, no men with knives.

This luck didn’t last long.

“Jet!”

I was at the waitress station when I whirled at my name to see Indy, Al y and two men, one slim, the other Hispanic, standing behind me.

“I fucking love that outfit,” Al y said, her eyes huge and approving.

“I do too,” the slim man said. “Can I borrow it? It would be divine with ‘She Works Hard for the Money’, don’t you think?” He turned to Indy but he didn’t wait for an answer and glanced around, “No… wait… is there a gift shop here that sel s those tops?”

This must be Indy’s neighbor, Tod, and Tod’s partner, Stevie.

“I borrowed your shoes,” I said to him, “Thank you. I stil have them, I’l get them back to you tomorrow.”

“Keep ‘em,” he said, waving his hand. “The dress they went with ripped. Irreparable. It was traumatic. I loved that dress. The shoes are just an ugly memory now.”

“But…” I stammered, sort of in shock at his generosity,

“those are great shoes.”

He shrugged.



“Just think of me as the shoe fairy.” Then he acted like he was bonking me on the head with an imaginary magic wand, “Make your own good memories in those shoes.” I gaped for a second, and then he winked at me. I couldn’t help it, so I smiled at him and then turned to Indy.

She did belated introductions and I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see your other life. You don’t mind, do you?” Indy answered.

I shook my head and, for some reason, I didn’t. It was way too late in the day, my secret was out and nearly everyone had seen my Smithie’s uniform anyway.

“Be sure you’re in my station,” I pointed at some tables.

“I’l take care of you.”

“Hey, you!” Smithie shouted, lumbering down the bar toward us, pointing at Al y, “Or you.” He pointed at Indy, “You friends of Jet’s?”

Both Indy and Al y nodded.

“Either of you dance?” he asked when he made it to the waitress station.

Uh-oh.

Not good.

“Smithie…” I started.

“Quiet, Jet, I’m fuckin’ recruitin’.”

At his words, Indy, Al y, Tod and Stevie al looked to the stage, then they looked back at Smithie.

“Not that kind of dance,” Al y said.

“Trust me, you’d make a fuckin’ fortune.”

“Can you spel ‘yikes’?” Tod whispered loudly to Stevie.



Smithie ignored him.

“Think about it, get my number from Jet, cal me. You’d be drivin’ a Porsche in a month,” he promised.

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