Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(141)

Since our day teaching Shamus to play Frisbee (Shamus learned quickly, I knew he was a smart dog), Hank had been spending al of our time together showing me what normal was like.

I realized normal was good, in fact, normal was downright delicious.

I was curled up on the couch in Hank’s TV room. It was evening, after I’d made Hank lasagna, after we ate it, after we did the dishes and after we settled in to watch a movie.

My phone rang and, as it was displayed on my cel as an unknown number, I flipped open my phone.

“Roxie,” Bil y said.

“Bil y?” I asked, shock in my voice.

I was leaned up against Hank, Shamus was lying in his doggie bed in front of the TV.

Hank’s body tensed when I said Bil y’s name and Shamus felt it from across the room using doggie radar.

Shamus jerked from ful on his side to lying upright. Both human and canine Nightingale boys looked at me.

“Roxie, I’m –” Bil y started.

I flipped the phone shut, opened it again and pressed the button until it went off. Then I threw it on the coffee table.

Maybe I should have listened to him, though I didn’t care.

I wasn’t in the mood and I figured it was likely I’d never be in the mood again.

“You need a new phone,” Hank remarked, his body relaxing, his eyes moving back to the TV.

“You’re right,” I agreed.

His glance came back to me. “Sorry?” he asked.

“You’re right,” I repeated.

He did a slow blink. “Can you say that again?” he asked, his lips twitching.

I gave him a look.

His body fol owed his eyes and he turned into me.

Then I said, “My phone has a Chicago number. Of course I need a new one. You don’t want to be paying long distance charges every time you cal my cel .” He ignored what I said, his body moved over mine, pressing me back into the seat of the couch. His hands were sliding up my sides and I squirmed because it was ticklish.

“Hank, stop, we’re missing the movie.”

His arm went out and he nabbed the remote. He twisted, hit pause and the screen stil ed.

Shamus settled back on his side with a groan, getting the al clear from his doggie radar as Hank threw the remote back on the table.

“I was watching that,” I protested to Hank when he came back to me.

“We’l finish it later,” he replied, his mouth moving along my col ar bone, his hands sliding back down my sides and I squirmed again.

“Whisky, stop doing that, you’re tickling me,” I snapped, pushing at him.

His head came up and he looked at me. “What? This?” His hands went under my top and moved up my sides, even lighter.

I giggled, just a little, mainly because I couldn’t help myself. I squirmed and kept pushing at him. He didn’t budge.

Then I scowled.

“Seriously, stop. I don’t like being tickled.”

“Seriously?” he asked, stil watching me, then he did it again.

“Dude! Stop!” I shouted and heaved. Heaving, I found, also didn’t work. Hank was solid and strong and, although most of the time it was super-good, there were times, like that one, when it was irritatingly bad.

I tried to grab his wrists. Instead, he grabbed mine, pul ed them over my head and, after a brief tussle, held them in one hand.

“Don’t cal me dude,” he said but he was grinning.

I frowned.

“Dude,” I replied, just to be stubborn.

At my use of the word “dude” he used his free hand to torment me by tickling me again.

Half-giggling, half-squirming under him, some of the time shouting at him to stop, alternating with cal ing him dude just to be annoying, we eventual y rol ed off the couch.

I landed on top of him, my hands were freed, I sat up astride him and I started to search for ticklish spots on Hank (I found none, though he didn’t let me try for very long, as in I was searching for about two seconds). This deteriorated into wrestling (because I was stil trying) which degenerated to groping which became far more serious and we ended up never seeing the end of the movie.

I didn’t mind, it didn’t seem like it was going to be a good movie anyway.

* * * * *

Early Sunday morning, I left for Chicago. I’d packed a few suitcases to take back with me. Hank and Uncle Tex were going to move the rest of my stuff to Uncle Tex’s while I was gone. Hank took my bags out to the car while I finished getting ready at the same time I was eating a breakfast of Hank’s scrambled eggs and toast.

I put my dishes in the dishwasher, grabbed my purse, shoving my lip balm into the easily accessible side pouch (because everyone knew, on a road trip, you needed easily accessible lip balm) and walked out the front door.

Hank was leaning against the side of the hood of my car (which he’d had returned from the impound the day after Bil y was caught). He had his ankles and arms crossed and Shamus was sitting by his legs.

Hank was staring at his feet, looking both handsome and lost in thought.

I nearly tripped at the sight of him but pul ed myself together and walked forward.

Hank’s head came up and he watched me approach him.

When I got to within reaching distance, he uncrossed his arms and ankles, grabbed me and pul ed me between his legs.

My arms went around his waist, I relaxed into him and I rested my cheek on his chest.