Rock Chick Renegade (Rock Chick #4)(42)

“We haven’t even begun, Crowe, and this isn’t an idiotic fight. You’re trying to tell me what to do.”

“I’m tryin’ to help you.”

“Then maybe you can find a better way to communicate that than saying nasty things about my friends.”

“I haven’t said anything that isn’t the truth.”

“They aren’t using me.”

“Jules, they are.”

“Then they are, but still, they like me,” I said and I said it in a way that made it sound like I desperately needed to believe it and if it was anatomically possible I would have kicked myself.

His chin dipped, his head went back in a slow jerk and he stared at me a beat. Then something happened to his face, the anger just disappeared. Vanished. Gone. In its place was something else, something softer, something I couldn’t read.

“Jules,” he said quietly.

I grabbed my menu, entirely unable to deal with the something else in his face.

“Let’s just order,” I snapped, opened it and studied it.

After the waiter had taken our orders, I sipped my cosmo and stared at the tablecloth of the booth across from us. Vance allowed this for a few seconds then his arm came from the back of the booth, wrapped around me and his hand cupped my shoulder. He curled me to face him and (again) got in my space.

“Excuse me,” I said, all haughty.

“We have begun,” he said, his eyes staring into mine.

“No,” I stated.

“I don’t know what shit you’re workin’ through but I know it’s there. I know you’d rather not even acknowledge it and definitely don’t want me to be a part of the process. I don’t care. Princess, this is happening between you and me.”

“What, exactly, do you mean by ‘this’? You f**king me?” I snapped, being nasty. It wasn’t me and I didn’t like it but I couldn’t stop myself either.

“Yeah. Me f**king you. In your bed, on your couch, in my bed and anywhere else I can think of. I’m gonna do you on your back, on your knees and you’re gonna ride me. And when I’ve exhausted you and you don’t have those f**king shields up, I’m gonna make you talk to me and tell me what this shit is about and then, maybe, I can help you with it.”

What he said stunned me, shocked me and made me feel funny but not exactly in a bad way, in kind of a good-but-scary way.

My emotional Rottweiler started barking and drooling and I pulled away from Vance but his arm tightened keeping me where I was.

“You’ve got tonight. Then that’s it,” I said.

He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re dealin’ with.”

“I know exactly what I’m dealing with,” I told him.

He let me go and grabbed a shrimp.

Then he said, “We’ll see.”

Chapter Nine

Stop Chuckling

It had to be, officially, the worst date on record.

We ate, we drank and we didn’t speak.

Well, Vance spoke, I didn’t speak. After we ate the shrimp, he pulled my hair off my shoulder, leaned into my ear and whispered, “Stop bein’ angry, Jules.”

I just threw him a look. He gave me an arrogant grin.

He seemed unaffected by my snit, in fact he carried on like nothing was wrong and I wasn’t emanating Go to Hell Vance Crowe Death Rays. Between the salad and main course his arm came around me, tucking me into his side while his hand played with a curl in my hair. I allowed this because to struggle would be tacky and we were in The Broker, the least tacky place in Denver. Between the main course and dessert, when I’d forgotten about the dip in my slacks again and had leaned forward, he ran his fingers across my exposed skin.

After we were done, he paid, we walked to his bike and he got on. I got on behind him thinking that a motorcycle was the worst form of transportation when you were holding an angry grudge against its driver. He started the bike, leaned back into me and grabbed my wrists, pulling them around his waist which pressed my torso into his back. Before I could disconnect he rocketed from the curb and I hung on so I didn’t go off the end of the bike and to a scary, body-skidding-on-pavement-tearing-skin-off death.

He parked behind my house, I let us in even though I wanted to see him break in, I wasn’t in the mood to ask and switched on the light.

Boo walked into the kitchen as I shrugged off my jacket and threw it and my purse on the table. Boo immediately started complaining about my absence and other imagined kitty insults. I scooped him up and walked down the hallway then wandered around the living room, turning on lamps, Boo in my arms.

Boo talked through this. “Meow, meow, meow.”

I finished with the lamps and looked at Vance who was leaning against the hall entryway watching me.

I really wished he wasn’t so good-looking. It would make sustaining being pissed off at him a lot easier to do.

“Shut up, Boo,” I said, eyes on Vance.

“Meow,” Boo replied, eyes on me.

I looked at Boo. “You already had your treats.”

“Meow.”

“No more, you’re too fat.”

“Meow!”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I told Boo.

“Meooow!” Boo returned.

“Are you talkin’ to a cat?” Vance asked.