Rock Chick Regret (Rock Chick #7)(68)

“You could say that, since she broke it off three months before the wedding.”

Before I could think better of it (or, say, think at all), I shot up to a seated position and twisted to look at him, my mouth open.

Then I snapped it closed.

Then I spoke. “She broke up with you three months before your wedding?”

Oh my God!

Hector had been engaged. He’d nearly been married!

Oh my GOD!

He didn’t move, his body still reclined on the pillows, the sheets to his waist, his chest displayed, only his eyes came to me.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Why?” I asked.

“She wanted a nine-to-five guy who mowed the lawn on the weekends. I’m not a nine-to-five guy who mows the lawn on the weekend. She couldn’t handle me being on assignment, away for days or weeks or even months not being able to contact her. She tried to talk me into a desk job. I told her the man who put the ring on her finger was a field agent for the DEA and that’s who she’d have to marry. She saw I was serious, pawned the ring, got her Mom to call the church, hall and guests and took a vacation at an all-inclusive in Acapulco.”

My eyes narrowed.

“She pawned your ring?” I spat, sounding frighteningly like Ralphie.

But seriously. Who would pawn Hector “Oh my God” Chavez’s ring? Who would try to make Hector something he was not? Who would go to Acapulco alone when they could go to Acapulco with Hector? On their honeymoon even!

Was she nuts?

I realized belatedly that Hector was smiling a huge, blinding white smile at me.

Oh no.

What had I given away?

He did an ab crunch, his hands came to my shoulders, twisted me so my back was to him, his arm went around my chest and he pulled me into my earlier position. But this time his arm was wrapped tighter.

“Calm down, mamita, my sister Gloria went to her house and roughed her up when she got back from Mexico. It was a couple of years ago, you can stand down.”

There was the answer; I’d given it all away.

Darn it!

I decided to move attention off me “standing down”. “Your sister Gloria roughed her up?”

“Catfight. Not pretty. Word is, Gloria won.”

I wanted to laugh and clap my hands for an absent sister I would probably never meet.

Of course, I did not.

“She broke your heart,” I said to the TV.

His fingers did a squeeze on my shoulder. “I’m over it.”

“It hurt enough for you to tattoo it on your chest,” I pointed out.

“I didn’t get the tat because she marked me, I got the tat to remind myself of the lesson I learned. She was beautiful, great body, fantastic in bed and she could be sweet when she wanted but most of the time she was a nagging bitch. Every time I see the tat, it reminds me not to be led around by my dick.”

All right then, more proof that Hector was as real as you could get.

It was clear, at this juncture, it was time for me to steer us into safer waters.

“So, what’s the skull with the crown and the rose mean?”

Hector’s body tensed and the air in the room immediately felt heavy. My body tensed at his reaction and the feel of the air.

Eyes on the TV, I didn’t even try to be casual when I whispered, “Hector?”

He sighed, his body relaxed but his arm around me got tighter.

“I got it to celebrate nailing your father.”

Of course.

He got it to celebrate, forever and ever, putting King Drug Man, Mr. Death to many (probably), better known as my f**king father, in prison. That was just great.

Well if I didn’t already have my proof that we were ill-suited, it was tattooed on Hector’s f**king back.

“And the rose clamped in his teeth?” I asked, wanting to know what that meant, perversely looking for more reasons to buy my tickets to Crete and fill my luggage with beach towels even as I was wearing Hector’s t-shirt and lying in his bed with his arm around me.

“The rose is you.”

Plans of buying beach towels flew out of my head, my stomach dropped, my heart seized and I could feel a tremor shiver through my body.

“Me?” I whispered.

He did another ab crunch, his arm moved to around my waist, he twisted me so I was facing him and reclined, me pressed mostly to his front with my face close to his.

I put my hand on his chest and pressed up but his arm went solid at my waist and I stilled.

“You,” he said firmly, his eyes back to that warm intensity. “In time, this arm…” He squeezed me with his right arm but lifted his left. “Right here…” His right arm left me and he pointed to the inside of his forearm and my eyes moved there then back to his as his arm came around me again. “Is gonna have the same rose. Because you belong on my arm. Do you understand what I’m sayin’ to you?”

I understood what he was saying. I understood what he meant when he said “My Sadie” now too.

The tremor shivered through my body again.

“Sadie, do you understand what I’m sayin’ to you?” he asked again, his tone no less firm but it had grown slightly soft.

I was staring at him but I forced myself to nod. I couldn’t trust myself to speak.

His arm went tight around me, sliding partly up my back, hand catching under my shoulder blade, bringing me to him. He kissed me, slow, sweet, mouths open, tongues tangling, toes (or at least my toes) curling.