Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(99)

Except he was wrong.

He just didn’t get it.

I didn’t want a cop boyfriend who was forced to run checks on my old leases and phone bil s to track down an ex-lover on the run. It was humiliating, pure and simple.

When I was silent, Hank kept talking.

“Roxie, it would be different if you let him stay in your heart. But you didn’t do that. Eddie told me that you tried to turn him out years ago. You were a woman alone doing the best she could, but, Sweetheart, you’re not alone now.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said, and al of a sudden I didn’t. Not that I wanted to talk about it before, just that, since we were, I didn’t want to do it anymore. I was exhausted; it felt like I’d run a hundred miles without even an energy bar to see me through.

His hands moved to stroke my back. “Al right, Sunshine, we won’t talk about it anymore.”

His fingers trailed soothingly up and down my back.

Honestly, it was too much. I couldn’t cope.

He was such a good guy and there just seemed nothing I could say to get him to back off and leave me be.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t actual y want him to back off and leave me be.

It was about me caring about him so much that I wanted him to have something better than me.

I prepared to move. “I think I need to be alone. I’m going to go sleep on the couch.”

His fingers stopped moving and his hands pressed against my back.

“No you aren’t.”

“Please, Hank. I need to be alone. I have to think.”

“That’s the last thing you have to do.”

“Real y Hank –”

“Quiet, go to sleep.”

“Seriously.”

“Roxie, quiet.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” I snapped.

I lay there, angry, or trying to convince myself I was angry.

What I did know was that my body was wound up and tense.

Hank just kept his arms around me and kept his silence.

Then, I spent some time trying not to think, but everything he said was tumbling around in my head, al I could do was think.

Through this, Hank kept his arms around me and kept his silence.

Then, when I stopped trying to stop thinking, I stopped thinking altogether and fel asleep.

Hank’s arms were stil around me.

Chapter Twenty-One

There Was Just No Shaking This Guy

“Wake up, Sunshine.”

I opened my eyes as the light switched on and I blinked, temporarily blinded.

Then, I saw Hank’s thighs, upright, at the side of the bed.

They were encased in black track pants with three thin stripes running up the sides, the outer two white, the inner one dark gray.

I decided no one should be upright, especial y Hank.

He’d had, like, two hours of sleep.

I closed my eyes again.

“No waking up,” I mumbled, rubbed my face into the pil ow and turned away from the light.

The bed moved when Hank sat on it. Then the covers slid down to my waist and Hank’s hand rested there.

“Get up, Sweetheart, Shamus needs his walk.” I felt his lips touch my shoulder, then the bed moved again and he got up.

I was lying mostly on my side but partial y on my bel y. I felt Shamus in front of me and I squinted my eyes at him.

He saw me squint, his tail wagged, he edged up to me and rested his chin on my waist. He blinked twice and then closed his eyes again.

Since Shamus closed his eyes, I did too.

Clearly Shamus was in no mood to walk. Shamus shared my mood, which was to sleep more and forget my life was a disaster. Though, Shamus’s life wasn’t a disaster and he probably didn’t comprehend that mine was, but if doggie brains could comprehend such complex situations, I felt pretty certain he would commiserate and let me sleep.

I’d fal en asleep again when I was suddenly pul ed across the bed, flipped, then lifted, an arm behind my knees, one at my waist.

“What the hel !” I screeched, grabbing on to Hank’s shoulders as he walked the few steps to the bathroom, carrying me, then he dropped my legs and set me on my feet in the bathroom door.

I tipped my head back and frowned at him. He kept his arm around my waist and was grinning at me.

His hair was damp from a shower and he looked awake, alert and refreshed.

I found this supremely annoying.

“How can you be bright-eyed at this hour? You’ve barely slept,” I asked. I didn’t know what hour it was; al I knew was that it wasn’t a good hour.

He kept grinning.

“Conditioning,” he answered. “Get dressed. I have to get to work but before that we have to walk Shamus, have breakfast and then you have to spend an hour doing whatever-it-is-you-do that, in the end, makes you look no more cute and sexy than you do right now.” I stared at him.

Was he serious?

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Get dressed, Roxie.”

“I’l have you know that I’ve spent years honing my getting-ready routine to a fine and practiced art and, when I’m done with it, I look far better than I do right now.”

“No you don’t.”

My mouth dropped open.

He wasn’t only serious, he was insane.

I’d been perfecting my high-maintenance toilette since I was twelve years old. My family was always yel ing at me to get out of the bathroom. I never left the house without at least two coats of mascara, a shimmer of blush and one lipstick and one lip gloss just in case I changed my mind sometime during the day as to which was more appropriate for my outfit.