Kristen Ashley - Rock Chick Revolution

I was confused, and I wasn’t a big fan of being confused. Especially not late at night when a hot guy who had fucked me but who was in love with a good friend of mine was banging on my door and asking me bewildering, but clearly angry, questions

“What the fuck what?” I asked.

He kept scowling at me.

Then it became apparent he was done simply scowling at me. I knew this when he put a hand in my belly, shoved me back and followed me, walking right into my apartment.

He slammed the door.

I lost my mind.

“Zano, hello?” I snapped. “I didn’t invite you in. And something to know about me, I’m not the kind of girl who gets off on some guy doing whatever the hell he wants to do, especially around me, and especially especially when it happens to be something I don’t want him to do.”

“You invited me in, Ally,” he replied. “Around the time you came when my mouth was between your legs on my stairs. Then again when you came when my cock was driving into you in my bed. Then again when you wrapped your mouth around my cock, also in my bed. And a-fuckin’-gain when you found it while riding my cock, also in my bed. And last, when you wrapped your sweet, hot, naked body around me and passed out in my bed.”

Okay, I’d had a variety of Rock Chick chinwags where the girls let it all hang out about their guys and how they communicated in Asshole, but I’d never experienced it personally. And Ren had just demonstrated he was fluent in Asshole.

It must be said, I didn’t like it much.

Therefore, I invited acidly, “Rewind and try that again.”

He didn’t accept my invitation.

Instead, he turned. I saw him locate the light switch and flinched when the overhead light came on.

When I quit flinching, I noted his angry attention was back to me and he asked, “Were you drunker than I thought last night?”

“No,” I answered.

“So you remember what went down last night.”

“Yes,” I snapped, then tried to get him onto a subject I wanted to talk about, namely him leaving, but I didn’t get the chance.

He kept talking.

“All that went down last night?”

“Yes!”

My voice was rising because I did remember all that went down last night. And how I felt when I woke up that morning. But mostly I remembered the name he called me when I was lying there, thinking he was my one, and he was lying there holding on to a substitute body that, since he had no shot with the real one, was just going to have to do.

“So tell me, honey, if you weren’t hammered and you remember all that went down last night, why did I wake up to an empty bed this morning?” he asked.

“I had shit to do,” I answered, and it wasn’t totally a lie. I always had shit to do. I was a busy girl.

“You had shit to do,” he said low, and his eyes were a tad bit scary.

But I didn’t scare easily.

“Yep,” I replied.

“And it was so pressing you couldn’t wake me and tell me you had to go?”

“Yep, it was that pressing.” Now, that was totally a lie.

“And it was so pressing you couldn’t find a minute to jot down a note?”

Okay, suffice it to say, I was done with this bullshit. If he needed someone to give it to him regular while he waited for Ava, and to continue to give it to him regular when he realized that he’d never get Ava, he’d have to find someone else.

In order to communicate that to him, I stated, “Dude, we hooked up. That’s it. Or that’s all I remember. But maybe I was drunker than I thought. Did I miss the part where you slid a ring on my finger?”

This was the wrong thing to say, and I knew it when the room filled with something so oppressive, it was stifling. No joke. I literally couldn’t breathe.

As I mentioned, I didn’t scare easily.

But the truth of it was, I didn’t get scared. There wasn’t a situation that I remember ever being in where I didn’t feel in control or think I could find a way to regain control. I also had the gene passed down through my family where I could sense when things were going bad in a way that I would lose control and not get it back, and I was smart enough to get the fuck out of Dodge when I found myself in those kinds of situations.

But right then, feeling suffocated by the sheer force of Lorenzo Zano’s anger, I felt a hint of genuine fear.

Then his anger dissipated.

Vanished.

It did this instantly when he said, “I get it. You’re a Nightingale.”

My back snapped straight at his tone, which said it all about his implication. I just didn’t know for certain what he was implying, just that it was no good.

So I asked, “What does that mean?”

“That means both your brothers laid waste to most of the talented pussy in Denver. Took what they wanted, walked away and never looked back. Not surprising, you a Nightingale, that’s your thing. Except you collect cock.”

And on that very effective parting shot, he turned, jerked open the door and slammed it behind him.

Standing in my apartment in the dead of night staring at the door, I didn’t feel my heart squeeze.

I felt it shrivel up and die.

* * *

Not surprisingly, in the coming days as Ava’s drama (that partly had to do with her courtship with Luke, but mostly had to do with the fact that the Rock Chicks were magnets for trouble) played out, I saw Ren again.

Both times he was up in Ava’s business, giving her soft looks and taking her back.

However, he did look at me. Once. When Ava’s drama reached its grand finale.

But the look he gave me was far from soft.

Unsurprisingly.

I acted like I didn’t give a shit.

Deep down, though, I knew it didn’t make any sense.

I also knew it killed.

Rock Chick Rewind

Three weeks later…

I was sitting at the bar in Club, a happening hotspot in Cherry Creek that posed as a posh eatery but was mostly a pickup spot. I had on a little black dress that did the best it could (and its best was far from bad; the dress was scorching) with what little cleavage I had. I had on killer strappy black sandals that I’d borrowed from Indy, who had borrowed them from our friend Tod, the premier drag queen in Denver, and she’d not returned them.

Tod wouldn’t mind. He was generous with his shoes. I had three pairs of them in my closet already. He also had two pairs of mine.

I was there because I had my eye on Zach Gilligan, the guy a friend of mine, Helen, was dating. They’d been together for a while and she liked him a lot. But she suspected from some of the behavior he was exhibiting that he had a nasty habit that was the reason she had cash going missing from her wallet more than once. And last week, she’d “lost” the diamond pendant her grandmother gave her when she graduated from the University of Colorado ten years ago.

She feared her cash and the diamond she treasured was going up his nose.

I had no idea how I was going to prove this fact, outside of watching him with his buds, eating steak, drinking martinis, laughing, and him being the loudest and liveliest of the lot because he was so obviously coked to the gills. But I couldn’t just tell Helen he looked high. She was into him and really didn’t want to believe he was stealing from her.

It was going to have to be an eye witness account.

I was hoping that eye witness account wouldn’t include me following him to a meet with a dealer. I tried to give dealers a wide berth. Jules got jacked up by a low level dealer and ended up killing him before he killed her because he’d already put a fair amount of effort into that (in other words, two bullets in her body). For obvious reasons I wanted to avoid situations like that.

I didn’t even own a gun. I wasn’t prepared for getting on dealer radar, nor did I ever think I would be. Though, since I planned to keep doing what I was doing, I knew it might happen.

I just wasn’t prepared (yet).

So I was waiting for my shot to follow him to the bathroom. If guys were in there and they saw me when I entered, I’d pretend I was tipsy and went in the wrong door. But I was willing to do it in the hope I’d catch him in the act. If I caught him in the act, Helen would believe me. Totally. We were tight.

I was thinking this when I heard a familiar voice say from behind me, “Ally.”

Chills slid over my skin and weight settled in my gut as I realized my mistake.

In order to watch Zach with his boys in a back booth, I’d put my back to the door.

Which meant I was ripe for attack.

Fuck.

I turned on my stool and looked up at Ren.

He was wearing a well-tailored suit that looked good on him.

As for the rest, everything that was him, top to toe, was the thing of dreams.

It was then something I always loved—the fact that Denver was huge, sprawling, dynamic, eclectic, diverse and energetic, but could still be a small town—became something I hated.

Living there my whole life, I never went out without knowing there was a very good chance I’d bump into someone I knew, liked, and would shoot the shit with them in a grocery aisle or arrange to go to a movie or end up in a bar sucking back Fat Tires until we had to order a taxi.

Then there were times, and there were few, when I ran into someone I most definitely did not want to see.

Like now.

“Hey,” I greeted.

“Hey,” he replied. He looked at the empty stool beside me and back at me. “Got a minute?”

I didn’t. I had to keep an eye on Zach and time his bathroom break so it worked for me, and hopefully for my friend Helen.

But I didn’t want to blow off Ren. That might give him the impression he’d shredded me. Or at the very least upset me.

He had shredded me. No doubt. It made no sense. Drinks, conversation, great sex and just one night. How that could lead to me feeling dead inside, I had no clue.

I just knew it did. And I wasn’t one of those chicks who denied things. I was real with everybody. Including myself.

But not including Ren. No way in hell I was going to let on he’d done that to me.

Therefore, I said, “Sure,” and turned my whole body his way.

He sat and caught the bartender’s eye.

As we were waiting for the bartender to arrive, I looked for a hot babe hanging back and found none, so I asked, “You here alone?”

His eyes came to me. “Business dinner. Saw you, told them to start without me.”

That was interesting. We hadn’t really parted on good terms. If it were the other way around, I wouldn’t make the approach.

Before I could dig deeper, or, the better option, find some way to blow him off without letting on I was doing it, the bartender came.

Ren ordered, “Vodka gimlet,” and I felt my eyes widen slightly. “What?” he asked when he looked at me.

“You’re a gimlet man?” I asked back.

“I like booze,” he answered. “I’ll drink anything but tonight I’m in the mood for sour.”

I didn’t know what to do with that.

His brows went up a couple of centimeters. “You got a problem with the gimlet?”

“I’m a bartender, Ren. A gimlet order is rare. But when it comes, it’s women who order it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Know you’re tight with men who drink blood and eat nails, babe, but just to say, what a man drinks does not make that man.”

I didn’t know what to make of that either, except I didn’t like it all that much. Much like I didn’t like his parting shot of weeks ago, also a slur on my family.

“Do you have a problem with my family that I don’t know about?” I asked.

“No, and don’t know how you got that from what I said. What I got a problem with is you giving me shit about what I drink.”

“I wasn’t giving you shit. I was just surprised,” I corrected him.

“Ally, in case you don’t know this already, a man is not gonna take kindly to anyone sayin’ he drinks a woman’s drink or does a womanly anything.”

I had to admit, he had a point. And I had to admit, I’d done that. I also had to admit, that was a wee bit uncool.

Still, he didn’t have to get so irritable about it. I mean, I was very well acquainted with his manhood and his ability to utilize it with exceptional proficiency. I’d communicated learning this knowledge by having orgasms the likes of which he could not mistake as fake. Therefore, I’d hardly question it.