Rock Chick Revolution (Rock Chick #8)(12)

That was a surprise statement so my head cocked to the side. “What?”

His gimlet arrived, taking his attention again. He told the bartender to put it on his table’s tab and turned again to me.

“I didn’t come over here to be a dick. I came over here to apologize for being a dick.”

Now that…

That threw me.

The men of my acquaintance didn’t apologize. They admitted no wrong verbally and instead did things (maybe) to make amends physically.

Of course, most of that was the Hot Bunch dealing with their Rock Chicks so I had not experienced it personally. Still, I’d heard about it. All about it. And sometimes I’d witnessed it. But I’d never experienced it.

I said nothing.

Ren kept talking.

“I had a good time with you. You’re funny. That whole thing you got goin’ on.” He flipped a hand out to me, my guess his flip indicating all that was me. “It’s good. It works for you. It works in a big way for me. You’re f**kin’ gorgeous. You’re a fantastic f**king lay. It was a good night. I got pissed you took off when I wanted more. Came to your house, acted like a dick and you didn’t deserve that shit. No excuse for it. But you gotta know, I felt like an ass**le because I was an ass**le. I’m glad I had the chance to tell you I know I was an ass**le.”

On that, as I stared at him, lips parted, he grabbed his drink and slid off the stool.

Looking down at me, his gaze moving over my face and hair, he finally caught my eyes and said quietly, “And you look good tonight, honey. Beautiful.”

Still staring at him, lips parted, he turned and walked away.

It took me a while to stop focusing on all that he said, and the vision of him burned into my eyeballs walking away (he seriously could rock a suit), in order to pull myself together.

But I was Ally Nightingale, so pull myself together I did.

I turned back to Zach, but grabbed my martini on the go. I wasn’t a martini girl. More like tequila. Though I was like Ren, I enjoyed booze and could drink anything. But the martini was what I had and I needed to wash what just happened away, at least for now, so it would have to do.

Fifteen minutes later, Zach got up to go to the bathroom.

Thirty seconds after that, I followed him.

I didn’t have to do the tipsy act when I hit the men’s room because no one was visible when I walked in. But there were shoes under a stall, standing sideways so not using the facilities, just using the stall for privacy to hide a nasty habit.

Loser.

I opened the stall next to Zach’s, stepped up on the toilet, balanced and looked over the divider.

He had a vial in his hand and a spoon to his nose.

“Hey, Zach,” I greeted.

He jumped and his vial of coc**ne fell into the toilet.

I swallowed a laugh.

His head snapped back to look up at me. “Ally, what the f**k?”

I answered his “what the f**k” with, “Kiss Helen good-bye, you thieving, ass**le cokehead.”

Then I stepped off the toilet, pushed out of the stall and moseyed out of the bathroom, ignoring Zach making desperate fumbling noises in his stall and calling my name.

I took the back exit.

It was closer, for one. Zach wouldn’t expect it, for another.

And I wouldn’t have to see Ren as I walked through the restaurant, for last.

* * * * *

I sat in my Mustang outside Ren’s place, staring at his door.

His house really was great. It looked like it could be in The South. It had that kind of grace with a veranda, big multi-paned windows, a brick paved walkway and lush landscaping. It had a welcoming settled feel like old houses did. I liked it.

You look good tonight, honey. Beautiful.

I sighed.

A simple compliment. And highly effective.

It works in a big way for me.

My thing worked for Ren.

Well, one could say Ren’s thing worked for me, too.

Big time.

And he’d apologized for being a dick. Straight up. I’d been a bitch, stupidly spitting in the eye of the tiger by making an idiot remark about his drink after he’d approached to apologize. Then he didn’t push the drink issue and apologized.

Class.

I got pissed you took off when I wanted more.

He wanted more.

Well, one could also say I wanted more, too. Hell, my Lelo Lily was constantly on her charger, she was used so much, me on my back in my bed, my Lelo between my legs, Ren in my head.

Fuck.

It was going on summer so the days were longer, but it was full-on dark so it was really late.

Still, I threw open my door, folded out of my car and clicked on my high-heeled sandals across the street (I hadn’t changed, for a reason that would hopefully work for me), up Ren’s brick paved front walk and to his ash green front door.

He had a doorbell so I didn’t pound. And anyway, I wasn’t pissed. I just rang the bell, and seeing as I could see light filtering around the drapes to my left, I figured he was up.

Ren didn’t strike me as early to bed, early to rise.

He wasn’t.

The door opened and there he stood wearing the trousers from his suit (dark blue with a hint of a shine, perfect freaking fit) and his tailored shirt (blue, gray and black stripes on white, open at the collar, rolled back at the cuffs; hot).

“Ally,” he greeted, staring down at me, and strike that on the list of one of the many things that did it for me with Ren.