Rock Chick Revenge (Rock Chick #5)(41)

“Nothing soothes the cookie craving.”

His face got even closer, “I know something that’ll soothe the cookie craving.”

Eek!

I walked right into that one.

New topic!

“What are you and Vance gonna do?” I asked.

“Hunt down Vincetti and Dexter.”

Ee-yikes!

My already tight muscles turned to steel. “Luke –” I started but he touched his lips to mine to stop me from speaking.

“Gotta go,” he said.

My hands grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt so he wouldn’t move. “Why are you hunting down Noah?”

Without hesitation, he gave me an answer that made the world tilt under my feet.

“He took a piece of you. I’m gonna find him and get it back.”

Oh my goodness gracious. I LOVE him, Good Ava trilled.

I hope he kicks Noah’s ass. Noah was a rat-bastard, Bad Ava groused.

“Luke,” I whispered, not knowing what I was feeling just knowing it felt really, really nice.

He squeezed my neck one last time then his fingers wrapped around my wrists, pulled them away from his shirt and he said, “Later.”

Then he was gone.

I watched the door close behind him and Vance.

“Oowee, now I’m thinking Monday’s odds aren’t good,” Shirleen, eyes on me, declared to the room.

* * * * *

This was my afternoon:

Tex, the coffee guy, was a huge, blond man with a wild russet beard, even wilder eyes and a very loud voice. And Luke was right, Tex made me a skinny, vanilla latte and it was so good, it totally soothed the cookie craving.

Lee and Matt escorted all the girls to Las Delicias and we had Mexican food. Lee, by the way, was absolutely gorgeous and very nice but even so he kind of scared me. He was intense the way Luke was intense. A tough guy, bad boy so deep to the core, you just knew that you did not mess with him.

Luckily, all through lunch no one mentioned when I was going to “get the business”. After Las Delicias Matt followed Sissy and I home, did a walkthrough of the house before he let us in, stood and chatted for awhile and then he left.

The minute he was gone and we’d locked the door, Sissy turned to me. “You want to talk about Luke?” she asked.

No, I definitely didn’t want to talk about Luke. I didn’t want to talk about him, think about him or see him ever again (liar, liar, liar).

“I need to get some work done,” I said.

“Do you want to talk about the kidnapping?”

I shook my head and gave her a small smile. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds.”

She stared at me a few beats to assess if I was lying, since I wasn’t (really) she nodded. “Get some work done, I need to call my Dad.”

I went upstairs and worked for a couple of hours. Around five o’clock, Sissy walked in and started to sort through her suitcases. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door.

“That must be Dad,” Sissy said.

What?

I swiveled around in my chair. “What’s your Dad doing here?”

“I’m staying with him for a couple of days.”

What, what, what?

I got out of my chair and followed her down the stairs. She was carrying one of her smaller suitcases.

“I thought you were staying with me,” I said to her.

“I was, now I’m going to stay with my Dad.” She was at the door and unlocking it.

“Why?” I asked.

She opened the door so I didn’t get my answer. Though I knew my answer.

Shit!

“Hey Dad,” she said.

Mr. Whitchurch smiled at his daughter and gave her a big hug. I could see straight off he looked worried because of the strain around his mouth. This meant Sissy must have told him what was going on and I tripled-vowed revenge against Dom because he made Mr. Whitchurch worried.

I’d known Mr. Whitchurch since forever and liked him. It was a bummer when he and Sissy’s Mom got divorced and Mrs. Whitchurch moved to Wyoming. Fortunately (for me), Sissy stayed in Denver with her Dad. Mr. Whitchurch and I got along great, most recently because we both hated Dom.

“Beautiful Ava,” he said, kissing my cheek. He’d always called me “Beautiful Ava”, even when I was Fatty, Fatty Four-Eyes.

“Hey Mister Whitchurch.”

“Hear you been takin’ care of my daughter.”

“Nothing she wouldn’t do for me,” I told him.

He stared at me and sighed. “Dom’s a shithead,” he said.

“Dad!” Sissy snapped.

“Well, he is,” Mr. Whitchurch was not to be denied.

Sissy glared at him. He took her glare in stride. He’d been getting Sissy Glares for twenty-nine years and he knew she never meant them.

“Um, Mister Whitchurch,” I interrupted the Sissy Glare, “can Sissy and I have a second?”

He looked at me a beat, correctly assessed I had something weighty on my mind and nodded. Then he took her suitcase and walked to his car.

I closed the door and turned to Sissy. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to stay with your Dad?”

“I wasn’t going to stay with him.”

“Well, you’re staying with him,” I pointed out.