Whatever.

Seriously time to move on. I shouldn’t have said yes to his “minute.” I shouldn’t give a shit about what he thought about me. I didn’t anyone else. Why him?

Instead of pondering that question now, I decided to do it later and asked, “I see you stopped by to spread cheer, but I’m in the middle of something. So maybe we can wrap this up so I can get back to it?”

His eyes looked to my untouched martini, my dress, my legs, my ass in the stool and around the restaurant before coming back to me. “What are you in the middle of?”

“Something,” I replied. “Now is there something you needed?”

He studied me, again did his scanning thing of me and our surroundings, then he looked back at my face and stated straight out, “I fucked this up.”

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 fuckin’ gorgeous. You’re a fantastic fucking 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 asshole because I was an asshole. I’m glad I had the chance to tell you I know I was an asshole.”

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 cocaine fell into the toilet.

I swallowed a laugh.

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

I answered his “what the fuck” with, “Kiss Helen good-bye, you thieving, asshole 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.

He was up a step, but I was in four inch heels. Being five nine that put me at tall. Still, he was way taller than me. So much taller, no matter what shoe apparel I was wearing, if he wanted to take my mouth, he’d have to work for it.

The thought made my inner thighs quiver.

Time to do what I came there to do.

“Zano, I know it’s late, but I was out and I thought I’d come by to say it was totally cool what you—”

I spoke not another word since his arm flashed out, hooked me at the waist and I was flying through the air. I landed full-frontal against his body and a quarter of a second later his mouth landed on mine.

He dragged me in as I opened my lips and his tongue thrust inside.

He kicked the door closed behind me.

We made it to the bed this time before I had my first orgasm.

But when I had it, we were both still fully clothed.

The next three, he gave me naked.

* * *

The next morning…

I woke up naked and mostly sprawled on Ren.

There was a heavenly throb between my legs that suggested strongly that the first time with Ren was not a fluke.

He really did totally know what he was doing.

“You awake, babe?”

I lifted my head from where it lay on his chest and looked at him.

God.

That hair, his face, his corded neck, the column of his throat, all sleepy or tousled and resting against a backdrop of wine colored sheets that I knew, because I could feel, were the softest sheets in history—definitely what dreams were made of.

“Hey,” I said as my good morning.

His lips quirked. “Hey.”

Yeah. A rough, drowsy, deep voice with all the rest.

Dream material.

Ren kept talking.

“Just in case you didn’t get my message last night, pretty fuckin’ pleased you came by to accept my apology.”

I felt my lips tip up.

His eyes watched.

I felt my happy place pulse.

His eyes moved to mine; my happy place must have communicated its happiness on my face because his face got dark. His arm, already around me, tightened, and he dragged me up his chest, even as he rolled. His body pinned mine to the bed as his lips covered mine for a deep, wet morning kiss that was so damned good, it made my happy place pound.

Ren then pressed a knee between my legs. I opened them in invitation, and for my graciousness, I got a hard muscled thigh pressed tight against my happy place.

I moaned down his throat.

He pushed his hips against my thigh and groaned down mine.

His happy place was happy, too.

I decided I needed to do something about making it happier.

So I did.

As did he.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, we were both still breathing a little heavily. Ren’s face was in my neck. He was buried deep inside me. Our skin was misted with damp. The fingers of one of my hands were in his hair. My other arm was curved tight around his back, and both my legs were wrapped around his thighs.

After a late night that included lots of mind-blowing sex, I had just discovered he was also good in the morning.

Why did I not find this surprising?

He lifted his head and his warm, sexy eyes caught mine. This had the result of making me catch my breath.

“You want me to make you breakfast?” he asked.

Jeez.

Seriously?

This guy could also cook?

I tested the waters.

“Are we talking instant oatmeal or eggs benedict?”

That got another lip quirk before he answered, “I was thinking croissants, eggs whatever way you want ‘em, fresh strawberries, bacon and tater tots.”

Did he say tater tots?

For breakfast?

“Did you say tater tots?” I asked in order to confirm.

“Baby.” His hips pressed into mine. I bit my lip at how good that felt and his face dipped close. “Tater tots rock breakfast.”

Ren Zano ate tater tots for breakfast and served them up to his fuck buddies.

He was a dream.

“I’m totally down for breakfast,” I answered.

At that he smiled and my world ended.

Again.

Because I wanted that smile every morning right after mind-blowing sex and right before my tater tots.

And I wanted it for a lifetime.

Don’t ask me how I knew this, I just did. Deep down, I knew it. Right to the very heart of me.

But I didn’t let on.

Again.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later…

“You’re right. Tater tots rock breakfast,” I said to Ren, incidentally saying it around a mouth full of ketchup-covered tater tots.

He grinned at me.

I returned the favor (closed mouthed, because food grins were gross) and looked down to my plate of food.

We were standing in his kitchen. Or he was. He’d cooked for me while I made coffee and then watched him cook. His scrambled eggs were fluffy, cheesy and delicious. His bacon was crisped to perfection. His croissants were bought fresh from a local bakery and they were buttery and amazing.

But when he offered me my filled plate and told me to take it to the dining room, I hefted my ass up on the counter and commenced eating.

This might have been rude, but I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. I accepted his apology. I accepted his body. I gave him mine. That was as far as this was going to go.

You might think I was crazy, but a man doesn’t fight over a woman, take her back, carry her from a crashed car that would eventually explode (told you the Rock Chicks were magnets for trouble—when I said trouble, I meant trouble), and speak her name in his sleep with another woman in his bed and not be hung up on her.

This was fact.

So I wasn’t going to set myself up for that kind of heartbreak. I wasn’t like Ava, blonde with lots of tits and ass. Okay, so I had some ass, but not lots of it. And I was a girl so I had tits, just not the kind of rack Ava had. I was also a brunette.

I wasn’t his type.

I was just available.

And I’d continue to be available, especially if fantastic sex came with breakfast that included tater tots.