I kept it there. I locked it there. And part of me hoped I’d have those slices of our times together for eternity.
“You’re welcome,” I mumbled.
Then the jersey was crushed between us because Ren was on me, his hands were all over me, and I was on my back in his bed.
“Christmas quickie,” he murmured into my neck.
Excellent.
My hands started moving on his skin.
His head came up and his eyes, lit with humor, caught mine.
“And, just sayin’, babe, you lock my pendant away ‘cause you don’t want the questions the Rock Chicks will fire at you when they see my present around your neck, that’s cool. I’ll wait ‘til you let me in for you to wear it.”
He so knew me.
Everything.
That was a bit scary.
What was scarier was that he knew me in all my stubborn crazy, and it seemed he found it amusing.
I reminded myself it was Christmas and I was not going to get annoyed.
But even if it was Christmas, I couldn’t allow myself to hope.
So I just rolled my eyes.
On the downward roll, he was kissing me. While doing that, an extremely proficient multi-tasker in bed, he commenced doing other things with me.
It was the best beginning of a Christmas ever.
Like a dream.
* * * * *
The rest of the day wouldn’t go so well as the Rock Chicks, Hot Bunch, Tex, Duke and a variety of other people witnessed my scene with Ren at Roxie and Hank’s wedding and they were in my business about it.
I’d had some experience staving off such enquiries so it wasn’t tough to keep the wolves at bay.
The problem was, after that scene, the Rock Chicks were on the scent. And this was not good.
But I couldn’t concentrate on that. So I put it off (and put it off and then more putting it off) and decided to face that particular music if and when the time came.
I had enough on my hands dealing with Ren and me being f**k buddies.
Or, as Ren saw it, Ren and me being a Ren and me.
A game where I made my plays, Ren made his.
A game where our plays were the same even when I tried to convince myself they were different.
A game that would end on a morning in May in a moderately priced motel in a small Colorado Mountain town.
And it ended decisively.
Fast Forward—Hit Play
Chapter Seven
Unconscious
May in a moderately priced motel in a small Colorado Mountain town…
I got into the bedroom, my hands on my jeans and was about to shove a foot through when they were yanked clean away.
I reared up and made a grab for them as Ren clipped, “Ally, what the f**k?”
“Give me my jeans!” I snapped loudly but he held them away.
Thus began a stand up tussle that included some slapping and grabbing (me), defensive maneuvers (Ren); my part desperate, his part possibly confused. Finally, he tossed the jeans behind him and since he was a tall, powerfully-built Italian hothead standing between me and my jeans, an obstruction I was not likely to breach, I grunted in frustration and shoved his chest (also in frustration).
He took two steps back and lifted both his hands, palms out my way.
“Right. Enough. Calm down and tell me what the f**k you’re talkin’ about,” he demanded.
I locked my eyes with his.
“You fought over her that night.”
His head jerked and he asked, “What?”
“That night!” I shouted. “That night we hooked up. You fought with Luke over Ava.”
Suddenly, his body went completely still, as did the air in the room, and his eyes didn’t leave me but they’d gone funny as he whispered, “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I hissed.
He shook his head, not in the negative, like he was trying to clear it.
Then he asked disbelievingly, “You’re tellin’ me we’ve been in each other’s space for over a year and you’re throwin’ this shit in my face now?”
“Well, if that’s not enough…” I shot back instantly, slamming my hands on my hips, something Ren’s eyes watched before they came back to mine and I saw they were heating.
This was a warning signal I’d made a habit of not heeding. And at that point, I did the same and kept right on talking.
“There was the night at the art gallery where you said you had eyes on me but I never caught your eyes on me. But I did see you gazing at Ava!”
I sounded like a jealous bitch. I knew it. And I didn’t care.
Because the big bossy jerk asked me to Ava’s wedding!
Those eyes I was talking about narrowed and he returned, “I might have looked at Ava, Ally, but f**k, only because she was there.”
“You didn’t look, Zano, you gazed.”
He blinked then asked, “Jesus, have you lost your mind?”
“No.” I answered. “I’m a woman and I know.”
“You know,” he replied.
“Yep,” I bit out. “I know.”
“You know, for a year I’ve been bangin’ you, busting my ass to find a way in with you, you gave me every sign I was succeeding… and before you open your mouth to deny it, I’ll remind you about Christmas morning,” he warned me.
Since I’d opened my mouth to deny it, at his reminder, I snapped it shut.
He kept going.
“And that entire f**kin’ year you’ve been thinkin’ I’m in love with another woman and you didn’t say anything?”
God.
Was he serious?
“What do I say, Zano?” I retorted. “What questions do I ask when I don’t want the f**king answers?”
“If you’d asked, you might have found you wanted the answers,” he fired back.
Then, all Italian hothead badass, he lost it.
Lifting a hand, he tapped the tips of his fingers to his temple and jerked his hand out at the same time leaning into me and shouting, “You’ve totally lost your goddamned mind!”
“You know I haven’t,” I snapped.
“No,” he clipped as he turned. His movements rough with suppressed anger, he stalked to my jeans, still talking. “What I know is, I wasted a goddamn year on a lunatic. Jesus. Fuck me,” he bit out, bending and tagging my jeans. He turned and tossed them to me, continuing, “You hide it well, Ally. All that f**king crazy under all that hot. You had me snowed, thinkin’, you allowed me to dig deep, I’d get the warm and sweet with the hot, not a hot f**kin’ mess.”
I’d caught my jeans and I had nothing to say to that remark but no chance to say it before he prowled by me, his anger now at such an extreme that his movements were fluid as his adrenaline flowed.