Rock Chick Revenge (Rock Chick #5)(171)

On that thought, I smiled to myself, ran to the bags, grabbed the ones I needed then ran to the bathroom.

“See you all there,” I called over my shoulder and slammed the door to the bathroom.

I pulled off my clothes and jumped in the shower.

* * * * *

The six weeks since my troubles finished hadn’t exactly been uneventful.

First up, we had the family meeting. Uncle Vito surprisingly stayed quiet while Dom tried to talk Sissy into giving him another chance. Ren and I kept quiet too even though I really, really didn’t want to and I could see Ren felt the same way. In the end, we didn’t have to say anything. Sissy told Dom to go jump in a lake and walked out of the room. I looked at the Zanos then gave out hugs (yes, even one to Dom, mainly because he looked like his world just came to an end) and followed her.

It wasn’t over. Not by half.

For the next month, Dom pursued Sissy like a man possessed. It appeared that not only did the shot she took to the face wake up the protective, hot-blooded, Italian husband but Sissy’s bitchy attitude was turning him on. Big time.

He ended up kidnapping her.

Which meant I ended up calling in Luke and the boys (again).

Luke and Vance found them in a condo in Vail but he came back sans Sissy.

“Why did you leave her there?” I demanded when he arrived at my place in the dead of night, woke me up and told me he found Sissy but didn’t have her.

“Babe,” he said, sitting on the bed and taking off his boots.

I waited for him to say more. He didn’t.

“Luke!” I snapped.

He twisted, angled onto the bed, landed full on top of me and my breath went out in a whoosh.

“They worked it out,” he told me after I’d sucked oxygen back into my lungs.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “She thinks he’s scum.”

“They worked it out,” he repeated.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Trust me, they worked it out.”

“How do you know? Did Sissy say that? Sometimes Dom can be –”

“Babe, trust me. I wouldn’t leave her there if I didn’t think it was a good thing.”

That shut me up because Luke really wouldn’t do that.

“Oh, all right,” I finally grumbled.

“Now.” His eyes were ink. “Let’s talk about what you owe me for finding her.”

I didn’t quibble. I’d learned that quick payback for the many times I fell in debt with Luke was definitely the way to go.

Anyway, every single time I was pretty certain I got more out of it than Luke did.

Second up, just as he promised, we had stayed at my place until the blinds were put in at the loft then we moved to his. We still weren’t sure which way to go. I liked my back porch and funky office. Luke liked the loft’s security and central location. In the end, Luke told me to do what I had to do to make the loft mine, thus the dining room table (so Tex, Mr. Kumar, Uncle Vito and I could play euchre which we did, quite a bit) and a variety of girlie things for the kitchen (but not too girlie, I bought all the KitchenAid appliances in black, the rest in black or red). Luke had my furniture moved into storage and had an agency rent out my place. The plan was we’d keep both properties, if we decided to move to my place later, we’d still have it to move to.

It was a decent compromise.

Even though I didn’t share it with Luke, I didn’t really care where we lived, just as long as we ended the day, and started a new one, in the same bed.

Last, the New Mom and apparently the New Marilyn and Sofia were driving me up the flipping wall. They had let me into the Barlow Bombshell Club which meant daily phone calls, lots of unsolicited advice on everything under the sun and constant getting into my (and Luke’s) business. At first, I thought it was kind of cool. Then I found it kind of annoying.

When I complained about it to Luke while lying full out on the couch, Luke on his back, being Zen, me pressed into his side, not reading the book I had propped on his chest, Luke said, “Gotta choose, babe, they are who they are. Either you’re in the club or you’re out.”

I sighed. He was right yet again. In the club it was.

I got out of the shower, did the whole celebration preparation on body (the peony-scented lotion, Luke’s favorite), hair (loose and wild, Luke’s favorite) and makeup (party time drama, no other choice, it was party time) and turned to my shopping bags.

I’d brought in the shoes but grabbed the wrong bag of clothes. My party dress was still on the dining room table.

To save time (which was slipping away fast), I tugged off my robe, put on the undies and strapped on the shoes (Tod found them at Nordstrom’s, metallic purple, high, spike-heeled, strappy sandals) and ran out to get the dress.

I stopped in mid-run. Luke was standing in the kitchen, head back, muscular throat on display, finishing a beer.

He had on a charcoal gray suit, a shirt the same color, throat exposed at the collar. I hadn’t seen him in a suit since his father’s funeral.

Luke looks good, Good Ava breathed, hand at her neck.

No, Luke looks GOOD, Bad Ava was fanning her face

They were not wrong. Luke didn’t look good, Luke looked good.

“You look good,” I told him.

His head came down, his gaze came to me and he went still.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyes doing a body sweep.