Rock Chick Renegade (Rock Chick #4)(90)

I had to admit, he was probably right.

“All right,” I said, giving in.

“You still do ride-along with me.”

“Okay,” I agreed immediately.

At that, he grinned.

I realized his arms were still around me and my hands were still on his chest. I pushed back and he let me go, touched my nose then he was gone.

I did the getting-ready-for-bed gig, promised Boo I’d buy him treats tomorrow (and mentally added beer to my grocery list) and lay in bed waiting for Vance to break in.

He didn’t.

The longer I waited, the more my chest got tight, the more I had to practice deep-breathing in order not to cry.

It was my decision to break up with Vance. I made it. I carried it through. It was better for me, I knew it.

The problem was, lying in bed, alone in the moonlight, I didn’t believe me anymore.

Chapter Eighteen

Pizza, Football and Facials

From somewhere far away I heard my phone ringing.

With effort I dragged myself out of a deep sleep to hear the voice after my answering machine message.

“Babe, pick up the phone.”

Luke.

I rolled over and reached up to the high alcove next to the bed and dragged down the phone.

“What?” I said into it.

“Get dressed. We got a takedown. Be there in five.”

Disconnect.

I laid there with my phone to my ear for a second then blinked up at the clock. It was after two in the morning.

Luke had a takedown. That meant they were going after a bad guy. That also meant that Luke wanted me to come with them.

I threw back the covers, Boo screeched, “Meow!” and I swung off the bed.

* * * * *

It was Sunday night (Monday morning, really) and I’d had a day of no rest.

It was another shit day, post-Vance, still no word, no sign, nothing.

I’d woken up that morning after the Luke Kiss, dragged myself out of bed, dragged on my clothes and dragged my ass to the grocery store to get cat treats and the makings for quesadillas.

I had no idea what was in a quesadilla, or how to make one but I guessed. I bought a bunch of other stuff too.

While rolling my cart through the grocery store I decided to learn how to cook. I was going to take a new lease on life. I was going to be the New Jules. I was going to learn to cook. I was going to be a better mama to Boo. I might even learn to knit. I was going to be a domestic goddess, super-social worker by day and a drug dealer ass-kicker by night. I was going to fill every second with new, golden opportunities. I was going to take on the kitchen, make my cat the happiest cat on the planet, buy myself some knitting needles and then take on the world.

On the way home, I stopped by the liquor store and bought more Fat Tire.

I went home and gave Boo enough kitty treats to send him into a kitty treat coma. He got all purry and then flopped down in a sunbeam on the chaise lounge and didn’t move for hours.

I was cleaning the house and baking brownies from a box (starting small) when a knock came at the door.

It was Daisy.

It wasn’t just Daisy. It was Daisy carrying an overnight bag.

“Are you moving in?” I asked, staring at the bag.

“Home facial!” she shouted, shoved me aside and walked in.

She dumped the overnight bag down on my couch and started to pull out jars, bottles, towels, sprays and all sorts of stuff.

“Put on a camisole, I’m doin’ the neck too,” she ordered.

“Daisy, I’m in the middle of cleaning the house.”

“You can clean the house any ole time. Now’s a special time. Now’s facial time.”

“I’ve never had a facial,” I told her.

Her head snapped up from looking at the bag and her eyes bugged out at me. “Never had a facial?” she asked, like I said I’d never breathed oxygen outside of my little bubble room.

I shook my head.

She snapped at me with her fingers. “Camisole. Now.”

I put away the window cleaner and put on a camisole.

I was lying on my couch, a big pillow from my bed under my head and shoulders, a towel draped over the pillow, mud-colored gunk smudged all over my neck and face, cotton wipes doused in lavender water on my eyes, when there was another knock on the door.

I sat up and the cotton wipes fell into my lap. Daisy was sitting in my armchair, foot on my pub set, painting her toenails. I was supposed to be relaxing and letting the facemask dry.

“Get that, will you, Sugar? I’m wet,” Daisy said, not looking up.

I rolled off the couch, tossed the wipes on a towel on the pub set, walked across the room and opened the door.

“Fuckin’ A, Law. What’s all over your face?”

Tex was standing at my door.

I stared at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Came by with these,” he said, indicating an old, beat up workout bag he was carrying and he shoved inside. “Yo, Daisy,” he called to Daisy.

“Yo, Tex,” Daisy called back then she stuck her tongue to the side of her mouth and concentrated on her toenails again.

“What’s this?” I asked as Tex dumped the workout bag by the chaise.

“Tear gas. You don’t have to use ‘em but they ain’t goin’ nowhere at my place. Thought I’d drop ‘em by, just in case. What’s that smell? Somethin’ burnin’?”