Rock Chick Revolution (Rock Chick #8)(7)

I couldn’t say all this wasn’t exciting—sometimes way exciting, sometimes hilarious, sometimes not a small amount of insane—but the end was always good. The guy got his girl, the girl got her guy, and everyone was happy.

As happy as I was for my friends—and make no mistake, I was happy, and the rides to get to the end of their kickass, modern-day fairytales were all sorts of sick, delicious fun—I was thinking it wasn’t going to happen for me.

But until recently, I’d been going out for a while with Carl, who was a good guy. He was into me, the sex was great, the banter almost better, but something about him just didn’t do it for me.

It didn’t make me look the way Indy looked at Lee, Jet at Eddie, Roxie at Hank (I think you get me).

Like he was it. Like the search was over. Like I’d made the epic journey and found treasure beyond my wildest imaginings.

I didn’t usually think shit like that.

I was a Rock Chick. I had a lot of friends. I had a lot of good times. The concept of “anything goes” was pretty literal for me. I didn’t have issues speaking my mind. And I didn’t have issues creating a drama if the situation deserved it. I also didn’t give a shit if someone disagreed with the situation deserving it.

I was… me.

I wasn’t girlie.

I wasn’t romantic.

I didn’t have fantasies (except those that came while wielding a vibrator).

Let’s just say the knight in shining armor concept did nothing for me.

I also didn’t want the picket fence, the two-point-five kids, the meatloaf in the oven and the snuggle during Letterman that would lead to missionary sex that lasted ten minutes and then dreamless sleep.

But that wasn’t what my Rock Chicks were getting.

They were getting something else. Something big, bold, bountiful and amazing.

For one, I knew all about their sex lives, and missionary was on the menu but it was far from the only choice.

But that wasn’t it. Not even close.

And I was beginning to want a little bit of that for me. So when Carl got accepted into the FBI not too long ago and went off to Virginia to train, he’d asked me to come.

I didn’t go. Instead, I let him go.

It sucked but he wasn’t it for me. I dug him, we had great times.

But I wanted it.

So listening to possibly the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on pining about a woman, who might be my friend, but who already had her own hot guy (she just hadn’t accepted that…yet), was not something I was up for.

But Ren didn’t do that.

As the beer and bourbon flowed, we both got talkative.

I noticed a few things right off.

He was not a lightweight. He could totally hold his liquor (like me). Which, you think it’s right or wrong, I thought was hot. It was an indication he enjoyed life however he wanted, like me.

This didn’t mean we weren’t feeling easy, and getting to feel easier. But it wasn’t leading to loaded, which led to sloppy, stupid and unattractive.

And once the event was put behind us, he didn’t once bring up Ava or Luke.

He asked about me.

And he sounded interested.

And last, along with being hot, in a hot guy way that was totally cool, he was funny.

So in the end, it was almost like a date.

A good one.

Maybe even the best I’d ever had.

And it got better when we got to know each other, got more comfortable, and the questions became more meaningful. The banter became teasing. Then suggestive teasing. Then the physical distance evaporated when Ren slid closer to me in the booth seat, pinning me against the corner. Something I was wishing he’d do, and he did.

But it was more. In doing this, focusing his attention solely on me, he made the bar melt away and made me feel like I was the center of his universe.

I’d never felt that.

But I bet Indy, Jet, Roxie and Jules had.

And none of it was about booze and earlier emotional upheaval.

It was about connecting.

Ava and Luke and what happened that night drifted away, and it was about Ren getting to know me and me returning the favor.

And enjoying every second of it.

The end of it went like this:

“You have to give me a minute,” I told him, “I’m having trouble fighting the urge to run shrieking from the bar.”

He grinned. I watched it and I liked it.

“Babe, not a crime to be a Bears fan.”

“Zano, totally a crime to be a native Denverite and be a Bears fan,” I contradicted with the God’s honest truth.

His arm was on the back of the booth and suddenly his fingers glided through my hair, sliding it off my shoulder, then moving away; a smooth there-and-gone-making-you-want-more move that worked on me huge.

“Lived in Chicago a long time after my dad died,” he said after the smooth move, and at his words, I focused through my buzz closer on him. “Mom couldn’t deal, moved us back to her hometown to be closer to her sister and cousins. I was there from three to thirteen. I was born here, Ally, but bred to be a Bears fan.”

Well, if there was a reason to dis the Broncs, that was it.

But what he shared was deep. It felt good he trusted that little bit to me and so it couldn’t be ignored.

“Sorry about your dad,” I said softly.

Something I didn’t get moved through his face before he said, “Long time ago.”