Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(23)

When I was done talking, Hank was staring again, but this time, his eyes were soft and lazy and I felt a shiver drift across my skin.

I didn’t tel him about Bil y.

When we were done, I declined dessert because the button of my jeans was digging into my bel y. Hank paid and I began to feel relief that the date was soon to be over.

If it lasted much longer, I knew I’d lose myself, I even knew I wanted to.

In the end, it wasn’t that bad. In fact, it was nice. I could almost pretend I was on an actual date, a great date, instead of on the run from a criminal boyfriend who was way too possessive and not afraid of wielding a sledgehammer.

Hank led me out the door and I began to relax thinking he’d take me home, likely kiss me (which would be a lovely addition to a lovely memory) and then we’d be done. It would suck, I’d hate it and I’d regret our timing for the rest of my life, but I was trying not to think about that.

Instead of going to the parking lot, he guided me to the light rail platform.

I stared at him as he bought tickets from a machine.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Takin’ you downtown.”

I blinked.

“I thought the date was over.”

He grabbed my hand and moved me toward the tracks.

“The date is definitely not over.”

Shit.

I pul ed my hand out of his.

“I’m tired. I’m ful and I’m tired. It was a delicious meal and thank you but al that wine and food, I need to go to sleep.”

What I needed to do was get out of my jeans and get away from Hank, not in that order.

He was staring down the tracks, partial y ignoring me.

“You’l wake up,” he said.

“I’m cold. I didn’t bring a coat,” I tried.

He took off his coat and settled it on my shoulders. He did the closing the edges with his hands thing again and bent his head to look down at me, standing smack in my space.

“Better?” he asked.

“Better” was not the word for it. “The f**king best” were the words for it.

Cripes, there was no shaking this guy.

“You’re in my space,” I said.

He got closer. “Yeah.”

“Whisky, back off,” I warned.

He grinned.

“Roxie, relax. We’re goin’ downtown and walkin’ off the food stupor. That’s it.”

I sighed, or more like, harrumphed.

I sighed, or more like, harrumphed.

I supposed I could go downtown, see a bit of Denver, walk off the food stupor.

“Oh, al right,” I gave in.

He got even closer. Then, I kid you not, he rubbed his nose against mine and then he looked me in the eyes and my breath caught. “It’s after that you need to worry about.” Shit.

I was in trouble.

* * * * *

We rode the light rail downtown and Hank walked me through Denver. I wore his jacket and at first, he held my hand. Then, he dropped my hand and pul ed me into his side with his arm around my shoulders. I al owed this because I decided that to get through the night, I was going to pretend to be someone else. I was going to pretend to be the Roxanne Gisel e Logan before Bil y Flynn, who hadn’t yet made a stupid decision that f**ked up her life. The Roxanne Gisel e Logan who deserved to be out on a date with a tal , handsome guy named Hank Nightingale.

I was going to give myself this one night of pretend.

“You can walk in those shoes?” Hank asked.

“I can play basketbal in these shoes,” I told him, and I wasn’t lying. I’d been wearing high heels since my Mom bought me those little, pink, plastic kiddie go-aheads when I was five.

“Your feet hurt, let me know.”

Shit.

He was a good guy, through and through.

He was a good guy, through and through.

We walked down 16th Street Mal and the streets were packed with people even though it was Monday night. Bars were hopping, restaurants were jammed, lights were shining, it was gorgeous and alive. He walked me through Writer Square and down to Wazee Supper Club where he bought me a drink and we talked some more.

We were heading back up 16th Street Mal and I knew the date was about to come to a close. It was getting late and Hank had to go and do good deeds tomorrow. As for me, I had to sort out my life.

Then, I saw the horse drawn carriages.

I loved horses.

Okay, it was safe to say I loved anything with fur.

“Just a sec,” I said to Hank and pul ed away from his arm around my shoulders and walked to the driver.

“Can I pet your horse?” I asked him with a smile.

“Sure,” the driver replied.

I walked up to the horse and ran my hand down his satin nose. “Hey, big fel a,” I whispered to him. He lifted his head with a jerk then settled and nuzzled my neck. I couldn’t help but let out a low giggle, mainly because it tickled.

“Likes you,” the driver said.

“I smel like food,” I told him.

“Likes food too.”

I kept stroking and Hank al owed it for a little while and then pul ed me away. The horse turned his head to watch me go (so I gave him a little wave) and I started up the sidewalk but Hank guided me toward the carriage.

“What are you…?” I started to ask.