Rock Chick Redemption
Page 56

It didn’t take much to know this was another one of Lee’s boys. Not Big Truck Dude, this guy was tal but lean, wearing black cargo pants, a black, skintight t-shirt and black boots. He had black hair, cut close and the absolute best facial hair I’d ever seen on a guy in my life. A thick, black mustache that grew across his lip and down the sides of his mouth, shaved clean and precise. He looked like Harley Man morphed with Just Plain Hot Man.
“Hey,” I said to him.
One side of his mouth went up in a sexy half-grin.
Good God.
“Dog wants out. Hank’s delayed. Go back to sleep.” I nodded, stunned silent at the amount of information he was able to share using the fewest words possible.
He stepped aside, Shamus walked through the door, tail wagging, and he closed it.
I laid there for a second, thinking there was no way in hel I was going to get back to sleep.
Then I went back to sleep.
* * * * *
I woke up, again felt confused, again realized what was happening and I got out of bed.
I tried the inner door and found it was a bathroom. I hauled my shit into it, did my mega-morning-preparations (even though I forgot my body wash, I found an unopened bar of Irish Spring under the sink and I forgot my hair-smoothing lotion so I had to make do with just my finishing wax). I hadn’t done half bad with my outfit, considering I was half asleep. Rich forest green, low rider corduroys, oatmeal, shawl-necked cashmere cardigan that I wore without a shel , belted at the waist with a wide chocolate suede belt and matching suede flats.
Once I was done, I walked through the other room to the door, needing coffee, needing food, needing to check on Shamus and needing to know where Hank was.
I tried to open the door, gave it a yank, my hand slipped off the handle and the door didn’t move.
I stared at it and tried again.
The handle didn’t twist and the door stil didn’t move.
I was locked in.
I felt panic edge through me.
“What the f**k?” I whispered.
Then I heard a disembodied, “Roxie.”
I looked around searching for the source of the sound.
It came back.
“This is the control room. Hang tight. We’re bringin’
someone in.”
“What?” I asked, feeling stupid, talking to the room.
“We’re bringin’ someone in to the holding room. We need you to hang tight. Once he’s secured, we’l come and get you.”
“Holy cow,” I whispered. Then I panicked.
“It’s not –” I started to say.
“It isn’t Flynn,” the voice interrupted me.
I let out a deep breath. Then I took in a sharp one, realizing he knew why I was panicked.
Okay, whatever, it’s not like my life being certifiably f**ked is a secret. I thought.
I sat on the arm of the reclining chair and listened to see if I could hear them bringing in whoever.
I couldn’t.
Then the door opened and Just Plain Hot Guy was standing there.
I got up.
“Hey again,” I said.
He did one of his half-grins.
“Hungry?” he asked.
I nodded.
He stepped sideways and did a sweeping gesture of his arm, tel ing me to precede him.
Man of few words.
I walked out, he fel into step beside me and we walked down the hal .
“I’m Roxie,” I said.
“I know,” he replied.
Wel , there you go.
“And you are…?” I prompted.
He looked at me. His eyes were dark but I noticed they were also blue. Indigo.
Good God.
“Luke,” he said.
“Nice to meet you Luke.”
He did another half-grin.
I tripped.
It turned into a ful grin.
Shit, shit, shit.
We made it to the end of the hal . At the door, he stopped and put his hand on the handle.
“Our receptionist wil go out and get you some food.
Whatever you want.”
I nodded, thinking that was nice; visions of Aunt Bea from “The Andy Griffith Show” tumbling through my head.
He opened the door and I walked through and stopped dead.
The woman sitting behind the gleaming reception desk was as far away from Aunt Bea as you could get. She looked like she’d just walked off a runway, high cheekbones, shiny blonde hair, ten pounds underweight; absolutely beautiful.
“Hi, I’m Dawn,” she said brightly when she saw me; a smile on her face that I noticed didn’t reach her eyes. She did a ful body scan and then her smile turned smug.
Bitch. I thought.
“Hi. I’m Roxie,” I said.
“I know,” she said this like it was a joke.
“Breakfast,” Luke cut in, clearly having other things to do and those did not include common niceties like introductions or hanging around listening to Dawn being a bitch.
“Um…” I was feeling funny about giving her my order.
“Coffee?” Luke cued me.
“Yes… a skinny caramel latte?” I asked, unsure.
His eyes moved to Dawn and so did mine. She’d lost her smug smile and looked peeved. It was pretty clear she didn’t feel like running out to get me a caramel latte.
“What else?” Luke asked, looking back to me.
“I don’t know. A scone, a muffin… something like that,” I felt tremendous pressure. Perhaps I should order plain fruit and unsweetened granola and ask them where I could do my morning yoga (though I didn’t practice yoga).
“Got that?” Luke asked Dawn, he was done and it was time to move on.
She nodded, grabbed her purse out of the drawer and skedaddled, walking like she was on a catwalk, one foot in front of the other, her ass swaying under the skirt of her expensive, tailored suit.
Bitch. I thought again, watching her go.
“No comparison,” Luke said after the door closed behind Dawn and I turned to him.
“Excuse me?”
“Dawn’s a man eater. You’re not. No comparison,” Luke answered and I didn’t know how to take that.
“Is that good?”
The half-smile came back.
“Most men prefer to do the eating.”
Holy f**king cow.
“Uncle Tex told me you were shot,” I blurted out, desperate to get off the subject of Just Plain Hot Guys eating anything.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“How’re you feeling?” I asked, although it was a stupid question. He looked healthy and fit, very healthy and fit.
“Alive,” he answered.
That kind of said it al .
“Wel , I’m glad for that,” I told him because I couldn’t think of anything better to say.