Rock Chick Reborn (Rock Chick #9)(18)

This was all good too.

Especially the turkey and home maintenance parts.

Who was I kidding?

Especially the taking care of himself part.

(But the turkey was a good one.)

Moses didn’t stop.

“I care about the Broncos and hope they win another Super Bowl, or twenty of them before I die. I care about global warming because I’m scared as shit about what my daughters and their children are going to face if we don’t sort our asses out. I care about the kids at my center and hope like fuck every one of them finds the righteous path, even if I have enough experience to know that not many of them will because their parents are for shit.”

He leaned in again and not that he’d taken his eyes from mine as he was giving this speech, but the way he started looking at me nailed me right to the spot.

“And this minute, I care about talking a beautiful woman, in a gorgeous dress with the most badass head of hair I’ve seen in my life and the most amazing eyes I’ve ever looked into who has a golden soul she hasn’t become acquainted with yet, into letting shit go so she not only enjoys this dinner with me, she lets me take her to a movie on Thursday.”

“You already want a second date?” I whispered.

“I already want a lot more from you, Shirleen Jackson, but I’m gonna remain focused on the short run in hopes I can stretch it long so maybe one day you can taste my Thanksgiving turkey. I make the best turkey, baby. So good, you’ll want Thanksgiving to come every day.”

“You brine it?” I was still whispering.

“Absolutely.”

“Roast it with stuffing?”

He nodded his head. “Mm-hmm.”

“I like the way you look at me.”

Unh-hunh, still whispering.

“I like the way you look sitting across from me,” he replied.

“I never want to see your face looking at me any other way than how you’re looking at me right now.”

The bakery-oven goodness shot across the table as a blast of heat while understanding seeped into his eyes.

“You ever gonna deal drugs again?” he asked gently.

“That wouldn’t be a very good example to Roam and Sniff and the foster grandbabies I hope they give me in no less than ten years.”

“I’m thinkin’ ‘foster’ doesn’t really factor anymore, baby.”

I shut up.

God, wouldn’t that be heaven?

“You gonna go to a movie with me on Thursday?” he pressed.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it through the appetizer,” I admitted.

He looked confused. “I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“You terrify me, Moses Richardson.”

That wasn’t a blurt.

I said that cognizant of each word that came out of my mouth.

He did not take it as intended.

He looked pleased with himself.

Seriously pleased.

It was his best look yet.

Oowee.

“I know how to settle you down,” he assured.

Lordy.

“That’s what terrifies me,” I pointed out.

He grinned, and it was not like any of the other ones he’d given me.

My toes curled in my Alexander Wang’s.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” I noted.

The promise went out of his face and something else set in it before he refuted me.

“No I’m not. The only thing I’m sure of is that I want to get to know you better, Shirleen, in a variety of ways. I don’t know how this is gonna go. I don’t know where this is gonna go. I don’t know how deep you’re gonna let me in. I just know I want to give us a shot, which means I want you with me in doing that. That’s all I know. But I know it good.”

I looked deep into his eyes.

It isn’t here now.

“You got pictures of your girls?” I asked.

That didn’t get me a blast of bakery-oven goodness.

A cool breeze drifted across the table emanating from the relief in his eyes, and I watched the tension leaving his shoulders as he sat back, regarding me.

“Only about seven thousand two hundred of them,” he answered.

“Then whip out your phone, my man,” I invited.

The warmth came back in his smile as he reached inside his blazer to pull out his phone.

Moses Richardson did not have seven thousand two hundred pictures of his daughters.

He had nine thousand two hundred of them.

They were beautiful.

And as he spoke of them, I realized that beauty ran deep.

So it was clear they got a lot from their dad.





I had no earthly clue how I was sitting next to Moses Richardson in his truck.

Yes, I did.

I’d planned to have a few drinks at dinner with the girls, and the boys had need of my Navigator, so I’d Ubered it there.

And after dinner, when he’d found out I did, he would hear nothing but me allowing him to plant my ass right where it was so he could drive me home.

We were going to a movie on Thursday.

He loved 300 and thought The Accountant was the shit.

“That belt scene, baby,” he’d drawled. “Bad . . . ass.”

Though he hadn’t seen Tarzan and shared he had no intention to, but asked, “You like yourself some white boys?”