Rock Chick Revolution (Rock Chick #8)(34)

It was the kind of shiver Ren usually felt and did something about. But before he could, I pulled away, leaned into him to put the pendant on his nightstand then pushed further over him so my h*ps were at his gut and I was hanging over the side of the bed.

I reached under it to where I hid my present days ago (don’t get excited—I hadn’t since learned how to pick a lock—Ren had given me his key and his security code).

I pulled it out, pushed up and sat on the side of my hip as I set his present on his stomach.

“Fuck,” he murmured, eyes on his present.

“Well, that wasn’t the response expected,” I remarked.

He pushed up to rest against the headboard but did so looking at me, eyes warm but lips quirking, all the while asking, “So, f**k buddies give Christmas presents?”

It was Christmas. I was not going to get annoyed.

I told myself this, smiled and said, “Shut up.”’

He smiled back. My heart squeezed and he opened his present.

Then he burst out laughing when he shook out what was inside.

“Do not take this as me supporting your Bears habit,” I warned and his warm dancing eyes came to me. “But Sweetness is Sweetness and everyone is allowed to worship at the shrine of Walter Payton.”

This I’d proved by giving him a number 34 Bears jersey.

Ren’s hand shot out, hooked around my neck, and he pulled me to him for a hard, closed-mouth kiss.

When he let me back an inch, he said softly, “Thank you, honey.”

The way he said that hit me someplace deep, where he lived in me, where I kept him and what I wished we could be.

I kept it there. I locked it there. And part of me hoped I’d have those slices of our times together for eternity.

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled.

Then the jersey was crushed between us because Ren was on me, his hands were all over me, and I was on my back in his bed.

“Christmas quickie,” he murmured into my neck.

Excellent.

My hands started moving on his skin.

His head came up and his eyes, lit with humor, caught mine.

“And, just sayin’, babe, you lock my pendant away ‘cause you don’t want the questions the Rock Chicks will fire at you when they see my present around your neck, that’s cool. I’ll wait ‘til you let me in for you to wear it.”

He so knew me.

Everything.

That was a bit scary.

What was scarier was that he knew me in all my stubborn crazy, and it seemed he found it amusing.

I reminded myself it was Christmas and I was not going to get annoyed.

But even if it was Christmas, I couldn’t allow myself to hope.

So I just rolled my eyes.

On the downward roll, he was kissing me. While doing that, an extremely proficient multi-tasker in bed, he commenced doing other things with me.

It was the best beginning of a Christmas ever.

Like a dream.

* * * * *

The rest of the day wouldn’t go so well as the Rock Chicks, Hot Bunch, Tex, Duke and a variety of other people witnessed my scene with Ren at Roxie and Hank’s wedding and they were in my business about it.

I’d had some experience staving off such enquiries so it wasn’t tough to keep the wolves at bay.

The problem was, after that scene, the Rock Chicks were on the scent. And this was not good.

But I couldn’t concentrate on that. So I put it off (and put it off and then more putting it off) and decided to face that particular music if and when the time came.

I had enough on my hands dealing with Ren and me being f**k buddies.

Or, as Ren saw it, Ren and me being a Ren and me.

A game where I made my plays, Ren made his.

A game where our plays were the same even when I tried to convince myself they were different.

A game that would end on a morning in May in a moderately priced motel in a small Colorado Mountain town.

And it ended decisively.

Fast Forward—Hit Play

Chapter Seven

Unconscious

May in a moderately priced motel in a small Colorado Mountain town…

I got into the bedroom, my hands on my jeans and was about to shove a foot through when they were yanked clean away.

I reared up and made a grab for them as Ren clipped, “Ally, what the f**k?”

“Give me my jeans!” I snapped loudly but he held them away.

Thus began a stand up tussle that included some slapping and grabbing (me), defensive maneuvers (Ren); my part desperate, his part possibly confused. Finally, he tossed the jeans behind him and since he was a tall, powerfully-built Italian hothead standing between me and my jeans, an obstruction I was not likely to breach, I grunted in frustration and shoved his chest (also in frustration).

He took two steps back and lifted both his hands, palms out my way.

“Right. Enough. Calm down and tell me what the f**k you’re talkin’ about,” he demanded.

I locked my eyes with his.

“You fought over her that night.”

His head jerked and he asked, “What?”

“That night!” I shouted. “That night we hooked up. You fought with Luke over Ava.”

Suddenly, his body went completely still, as did the air in the room, and his eyes didn’t leave me but they’d gone funny as he whispered, “Seriously?”