Rock Chick Revolution(153)

Shit.

I rushed to the dressing room, got dressed, grabbed my stuff and hauled ass. My palms were itching, but I didn’t want anyone to see me reading the note.

So I waited until I was sitting at a stoplight before I yanked the paper out of my pocket, unfolded it and read it.

We pay, or they do it. We talk, and they do it.

They have more guys. Eyes all the time.

We don’t pay or we talk, they’re gonna hurt Smithie.

I stared at the paper.

Then I whispered, “Fuck.”

* * * * *

I sat cross-legged on the bed in my jeans and tee (but I’d flipped off my flip-flops).

Ren was up against the headboard, sheet to his waist, chest on view.

For once, I didn’t appreciate the view. My mind was on other things.

He was studying the note which, incidentally, was what my mind was on.

In other words, I was obsessing over it.

Ren had elected not to go to Smithie’s that night and instead stay in and get some shuteye.

But I’d woken him up after I flipped off my flip-flops and turned on a light.

Then I’d shown him the note.

He looked from it to me. “You want me to put Lucky and Santo on this?”

This surprised me.

“Would Lucky and Santo be helpful?”

“One of many things those two have goin’ for them is everyone underestimates them.” He held my eyes. “Heads up to you, don’t underestimate them.”

I nodded.

That was good to know, and as Curious Rock Chick, also a relief to have that intel.

“So you want me to put them on this?” he pressed.

I leaned toward him and put my hand to his chest. “No, baby. But thanks for the offer.”

“Ally—” he started, his voice cautious, and I knew where he was going.

This was bigger than me. Even bigger than me and Darius.

This needed team play.

So I cut him off in order that he wouldn’t worry. “I have to talk to Lee.”

Ren let out a breath.

I took one in and said, “I had this feeling when it started. It wasn’t bad. It was bad. Darius on it, bringing in Bobby and Brody, I felt better.” I tipped my head to the note. “That? Smithie needs the big guns.”

To that, Ren weirdly asked, “Do you know what’s amazing?”

“Well… no,” I answered, bemused at this turn of conversation.

“That you give a shit enough about what you do, and about Smithie, to be big enough to set pride aside to do the job right.”

He.

Was.

So.

Awesome.

“You’re just saying that so I’ll kiss you,” I replied.

“No. I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s true. Though, I’m also sayin’ it so you’ll kiss me. But mostly I’m sayin’ it so you’ll f*ck me.”

My happy place spasmed, but my eyebrows drew together.

“I was dancing all night and you want me to do all the work?

“Babe, you dance for eight, ten minutes tops. That hardly puts you out of commission.”

“I also had a run today,” I reminded him.

He grinned. “Yeah, I remember.”

That grin—another happy place spasm.

“So I’m thinking my man needs to put in a little effort,” I kept going.

“I did that after your run.”

This was true. And it was more than a little. This was because, before I got back from my run, Ren had cleaned my Lelo.

“Okay, a little more effort,” I amended.

“Are you sayin’ you’re good with missionary?” he asked.

“Missionary is growing on me,” I shared.

Ren grinned a grin I felt in my nipples and my happy place.

Then he set the note on his nightstand and lunged toward me, taking me to my back on the bed with him on top.

His lips to my lips, his eyes looking into mine, he suggested, “Let’s see if I can take it to number one.”

I was all for that.

Totally.

And I shared this by lifting my head and kissing him.

Hard, wet and wild.

Ren kissed me back the same way.





Chapter Twenty-Nine

Top of That List



My eyes fluttered open as I woke.

Ren’s arms gave me a squeeze.

“Babe, you awake?”

I grinned to myself and rolled from Ren spooning me to me snuggling front to front with my man.

He wrapped a hand around my jaw, tipped my head back and moved in, giving me a soft, sweet morning kiss.

Oh yeah. This together togetherness rocked.

And did in a way that would last forever.

So that rocked a helluva lot more.

He disengaged and said in his sweet voice, “Mornin’, baby.”

“Mornin’,” I replied, snuggling deeper into his warm, hard body. Then I declared, “I have to apologize.”

He did a slow blink and asked, “For what?”

“For going back on the promise I made myself last Sunday that I’d make you breakfast in bed every Sunday morning until the day my arthritic hands couldn’t crack open an egg.” I watched his face get soft(er) and thus hot(ter) and kept talking. “But I have to talk with Lee, and I have to get to Fortnum’s to check in.” I snuggled even closer and finished on a whisper, “But you pick a day this week, I’ll make up for it.”