Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(16)

“Then maybe you’l keep me company while I have lunch,” he suggested.

“I don’t want to be around food, it’l make me sick. I’m hungover. Probably too hungover even to have dinner. I haven’t been this hungover since Purdue beat IU at Ross-Ade my senior year.”

“Then we’l have a quiet night.”

He had an answer for everything.

Before I could say anything, he noted, “You’re a Boilermaker.”

“Hoosier by birth, Boilermaker by the grace of God.” It came out of my mouth by rote; I’d been saying it since I was three, nearly as long as I’d been saying, “Go, Cubbies, go”. I didn’t mean it to be cute, or flirty, or funny.

Hank’s look told me he took it al three ways.

I sat up, putting my elbows behind me, so I was (somewhat) face to face with him. “Whisky, don’t get any ideas. My reflexes are slow. I’m stil not sure about this dinner.”

“You’re sure.”

“I’m not. I’m in Denver on personal business, business with Uncle Tex. I don’t need you complicating matters.”

“What kind of personal business?”

“Business that’s personal,” I said in answer.

He grinned. “Why don’t you walk me to my truck and I’l do some more convincing that you want to carve some time for me out of your busy schedule,” he pressed.

“No more convincing!” I shouted, and everyone looked our way, customers and al . I lowered my voice and hissed.

“You promised, not until tonight.”

“I can wait until tonight.”

Good God, I’d walked straight into that one.

“You’re an arrogant sonovabitch,” I told him, flat out.

What could I say? I was hungover and, at home, there was another man sleeping in my bed. Okay, so maybe Bil y was on the road, looking for me and not sleeping in my bed. And maybe Bil y and I hadn’t had sex in over a year (even though he tried and was beginning to get pretty pissed off about my lack of response). But stil , I had to sort out Bil y before any Hanks entered my future and definitely my present.

“Sunshine, you’re sensational even when you’re bein’ a bitch.”

I gasped.

Then I narrowed my eyes.

“Don’t cal me a bitch.”

“Let me get this straight, you can cal me a sonovabitch but I can’t retaliate in kind?”

“That’s right.”

He smiled again.

I was majorly in trouble, there was no shaking this guy.

Maybe, it was because I didn’t real y want to shake him.

Al right, it was time to get serious.

Al right, it was time to get serious.

“Whisky, you have no idea what you’re getting into with me.”

His other hand came down to the couch and he leaned into me, so close his face was just an inch away. “Roxanne, listen closely. One look at you and I knew trouble was on your heels. I’m wil in’ to give it time for you to tel me. That doesn’t happen, I’m wil in’ to wade in when that trouble catches up. Right now, I’d be doin’ it for Tex and out of curiosity about you. After tonight, I reckon I’l be doing it for other reasons.”

Holy cow.

I didn’t know what to say, so I did the smart thing for once and didn’t say anything.

He went on. “I can understand you protecting yourself, but you have to know, you’ve no reason to protect me. I have my eyes wide open…”

I was beginning to find it hard to breathe.

“Hank—” I whispered, interrupting him but he kept going.

“And I like what they see.”

Yowza.

“I’m in trouble,” I said.

“I already know that.”

“I’m talking about you.”

“Good to know you’ve got your eyes open too.” He didn’t even let that sink in. He kissed my nose, moved away, grabbed his paper cup of coffee off the table and he was gone.

“Holy cow,” I breathed.

“Sugar bunch, you can say that again,” Daisy cal ed. She was sitting on the book counter, legs crossed and leafing through a copy of Us magazine. Though her hands were moving the pages, she was looking at the door that had just closed behind Hank.

“Holy cow,” I said again.

“We’re al f**ked,” Duke’s gravel y voice said from somewhere in the books.

I had the feeling he wasn’t wrong.

* * * * *

Uncle Tex got off work and took me to a Middle Eastern restaurant on University Boulevard cal ed Jerusalem. We both ordered the combo platter, which arrived brimming over with rice, baba ghanoush, hummus, fattoush, tabbouleh, stuffed grape leaves, falafel, gyros meat, three kinds of kabobs and pita bread. “Holy cow. I’m never going to be able to eat this,” I said, staring at my plate.

“Then don’t eat, talk. What’s goin’ on with you?” I started eating.

“Roxanne Gisel e…”

“Jeez, Uncle Tex, you sound just like Mom.” His eyes flickered, pain slicing through them and I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.

“Okay, I’l talk,” I said, mainly to take his mind off whatever it was that was hurting him.