Rock Chick Rescue (Rock Chick #2)(37)

He let me go, pul ed me aside, opened the door and helped me in.

It took me some time to pul myself together as we drove the streets of Denver.

Final y, I said, “Sorry to say this but I should be home early. Slick’s out there and Mom and Trixie are al by themselves.”

“I pul ed in a favor. A squad car is going to do a regular round of drive-bys,” Eddie replied.

Something about Eddie doing that made me feel pleasantly strange. It wasn’t a feeling I’d ever had before, but it was nice.

“How wil they know if something’s wrong?” I asked.

“They’re gonna make an excuse and buzz up,” Eddie answered.

“They won’t say…” I started to worry.

“Relax, Jet. I told them to be cool.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I settled on simple, “Thank you.”

He didn’t respond.

The next thing I knew, we were pul ing into his al ey.

Eddie hit the button on a garage door opener that was attached to his sun visor and we pul ed into the garage at the back of his house.

“Did you forget something?” I asked.

“Nope,” Eddie answered, setting the brake and turning off the truck.

I sat perfectly stil in my seat.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“We’re havin’ dinner,” he said, angling out of the truck.

I watched him walk around the front and come to my side.

Having dinner?

At Eddie’s house?

I didn’t know how to process this. Dates usual y didn’t take place at someone’s house. well , not first dates. I’d known Eddie awhile and he’d been in a fight for me, spent the night at my house, we’d made out a couple of times and I’d slept in his bed, but this was stil a first date.

I threw open my door and jumped down.

When I cleared it, Eddie pushed my door shut, grabbed my hand and tugged me along behind him.

“Are you going to make dinner for me?” I asked his back.

“No.”

“Are we ordering pizza?”

He opened the backdoor and we went into the kitchen.

“My Mom cooked for you,” he said.

I stood just inside the door and stared at him.

“Your Mom… cooked… for me?” I stammered.

He pul ed me into the room, closed the door and maneuvered me so my h*ps were against the counter, his hands were on them and he was close. “Yeah. She cal ed today. She wanted me to come over tonight and I told her I had plans. She asked about you, I told her and she decided to cook dinner for you.”

I blinked at him. “What did you tel her about me?” He came closer, so much closer that I had to tilt my head way back to look up at him. He bent his neck so his face was close to mine.

“I told her you were a pretty blonde with a great smile who’s workin’ two jobs and takin’ care of her disabled mother at the same time.”

My body got tense. I had an uncomfortable feeling that this was a pity dinner, maybe in more ways than one.

He felt me tense.

“Steady there, Chiquita. Mamá just knows you’re workin’

hard and you need a quiet night. After fol owin’ you around for a couple of days, I need a quiet night too. That’s al this is, she was tryin’ to be nice.”

“I don’t like people knowing about me,” I told him, my body stil stiff as a board.

“I already got that.”

We were at a standoff and just staring at each other.

Then I smel ed him and I started to slip into an Eddie Daze. My body began to relax and then it began to tingle.

“I’m hungry,” I told him, trying to shake the “Daze”.

His hand came to my jaw and his eyes got warm.

“Me too.”

He wasn’t talking about food and my bel y began to feel funny.

“We should eat,” I said.

His lips turned up at the corners and his eyes dropped to my mouth.

“Yeah, we should eat.” His voice was low and kind of hoarse and I wondered what he was thinking about eating.

hoarse and I wondered what he was thinking about eating.

I slid out from in front of him and took a mental deep breath.

“What can I do to help?” I asked, trying to sound bright and cheery.

He smiled at me, he knew exactly how he affected me and I found it perversely attractive and annoying.

He opened the wine and told me where the plates were.

His Mom had cooked homemade tamales, Spanish rice, refried beans and made a salad. The rice and beans were in a divided crock pot, the salad in the fridge and the tamales staying warm in the oven.

We piled up our plates and went to the dining room.

Eddie lived in a one-storey bungalow in Platte Park. I hadn’t taken much in the last time I was there and the night before I’d waited (more like dozed) in the truck while he packed a bag.

When he flipped the light switch I saw it was living room up front with a gorgeous tiled fireplace and a couch and armchair both built less for decoration and more for roominess, comfort and durability. To the left were two bedrooms, separated by a bath and a smal hal . The floors were hardwood and looked like they’d recently been redone. The wal s were painted a warm sage. There were no decorative touches, pictures on the wal or fancy furniture. Just a thick rug in front of the couch with a coffee table on it.