Rock Chick 02 Rescue

Rock Chick Rescue

Kristen Ashley

Published by Kristen Ashley

Copyright 2011 Kristen Ashley

Discover other titles by Kristen Ashley

Rock Chick

Rock Chick Redemption

This book is available in print from online booksel ers.

www.kristenashley.net

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* * * * *

This book is dedicated to the memory of

Patricia Ann Mahan Lovel

My Mom

She had a majorette’s smile

that could brighten a room and, if she flashed it at you, I swear, for a moment, you’d be dazzled.

Acknowledgements

First, I want to thank Kel y “Kelita” Brown for being my best friend for over twenty years; demonstrating how the words “as such” can be so danged funny; teaching me how to play the drinking game “Ooblie Dooblie”; naming her daughter after me; and editing this book during school holidays.

Second, to my biggest fans and cheerleaders, The Premier Rock Chicks, Cat “Lily-Landa” Kruzek and Dena

“Lotus Blossom” Cocetti and my Rock Guru, Wil Womack, thank you for reading, liking every word… and tel ing me you did. Love you guys.

Third, thank you to my readers, my family and my friends for being so supportive of my writing and the first book in the series,
Rock Chick
. By the way, this book you can flip straight forward to Chapter… erm…

No, you don’t want to miss al the fun (wink, wink).

Last, to my stepdad, Reggie “Reggae” Lovel , thank you for showing me what unconditional love means after Mama had her stroke. And thank you for taking care of Mama al the years after her stroke (and the ones before). And thank you for loving
me
so… freaking… much.

Rock on…

* * * * *

Chapter One
My Name Is Jet

My Name Is Jet

Don’t get excited, I’m not cool and hip. My real name is Henrietta Louise McAlister and that suits me a lot better than Jet. Dad was a fan of Paul McCartney and Wings so he nicknamed me after the song.

I’m not a Jet in any way, shape or form. When someone notices me, which is rarely, and I tel them my name, they look at me funny.

I’m five foot seven and I have ash blonde hair and hazel eyes. Therefore, I’m an in-between girl; not tal , not short…

not blonde, not brunette… not green-eyed, not brown-eyed.

Just kinda
not
.

* * * * *

This is my story, such as it is.

* * * * *

I was born in Denver, Colorado (therefore a rare “native”) twenty-eight years ago to Ray McAlister and Nancy Swanowanski. I have a little sister who’s two years younger than me, her name is Charlotte but we cal her Lottie.

Dad started cal ing me Jet straight away and Mom went along with it because she’d do just about anything to make Dad happy enough not to leave. He was kind of a lying, cheating sonovabitch (wel , not kind of, he
was
one). That’s how I got the name and that’s how it stuck.

Anyway, none of Mom’s ploys worked. Dad left when I was fourteen. He came back to visit (which drove Mom nuts), sent a few Christmas and birthday cards (none of which had money in them, which drove Mom nuts) and phoned on occasion (usual y col ect, ditto with Mom going nuts) but mostly he was gone. Since, when he was around, he was pretty hilarious and definitely over the top, Lottie and I missed him.

I did wel in school and had friends. I graduated and got a job as a tel er at the Arapahoe Credit Union. It was steady, quiet, you knew what to expect and I liked working there.

Lottie, who got al the personality in the family (she was just like Dad), left town the minute she graduated. She went to LA to be an actress. She didn’t become an actress, as such. Instead, she got a boob job, got her ash blonde hair highlighted true blonde and became somewhat famous for being real y good at lounging on muscle cars with half her ass hanging out. I see her picture every now and again in a magazine some guy is flipping through or on a calendar at the garage where I get my oil changed. Maybe I shouldn’t be proud, but I am; she’s happy so I’m happy for her.

* * * * *

Things were going pretty steady until eight months ago.

I have to admit, my life was kinda boring and things have certainly become a heck of a lot more interesting.

I’d never want my Mom to go through what she went through for me to have an interesting life though.

See, Mom had a stroke eight months ago. It was bad; she lost her whole left side. Then she lost her job, her insurance and her apartment. Since she was in a wheelchair, I had to move to a different apartment with Mom

— the kind of apartment with rails in the bathroom and bigger hal s and doorways that wheelchairs can get through. A lot of old and disabled people live in our building, either because they have to or because they’re preparing for when they have to.

Anyway, the place was a lot more expensive than what I had. Furthermore, Mom was getting on her feet a bit. She’d never get the use of her arm back but her leg was moving and she was beginning to get around on her own. So, to keep that good work going, I had to pay for physical therapy and occupational therapy, twice a week each. That’s a lot of cabbage to be coming out of the bank account on a weekly basis when there’s no insurance to help. So I had to get a second job working nights at Smithie’s; good money, lots of headaches from customers and exhausting because I was on my feet the whole night.

Then, I had to quit the Credit Union three months ago because I was fal ing asleep at the drawer. I needed a stress-free, flexible job. Yeah, right, you say. But I had my first stroke of luck and found the coolest job in the world. It was working during the day at Fortnum’s.

Fortnum’s is a huge, old, musty, used bookstore (in the back) and groovy coffee shop (in the front). The owner, India Savage, known to everyone as Indy,
is
cool and hip.

She’s a Rock Chick, gorgeous, with a lot of red hair and a kil er body. She’s absolutely hilarious and one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met. She inherited the store from her grandmother several years ago and she put in the espresso counter. She has a bunch of characters working there and she had some big drama happen to her and her boyfriend Lee Nightingale a couple of weeks before she hired me. Though, if you paid attention, you’d realize that Indy’s past was littered with big dramas, this latest one was just the biggest.

Smithie’s is a strip joint, better known as a titty bar. I don’t dance; I’m a cocktail waitress. The tips aren’t bad; they’re better for dancers (for obvious reasons). Though they’re good enough to keep Mom in OT and PT

appointments. Smithie is a good guy and takes care of al of his girls, including me (though I kinda drive him nuts).

Surprisingly, he wants me at a pole, dancing. He keeps trying to talk me into it but I just tel him he’s crazy and he laughs at me. Working there is relatively safe (considering) because Smithie invests in excel ent bouncers. Smithie says, “Doesn’t do me no fuckin’ good to have my girls quittin’ every few weeks. It’s like anything in life, you take care of it, it takes care of you.”

At Fortnum’s I work with Duke; a Harley guy, Tex; a crazy guy, Jane; a quiet lady and sometimes Al y; Indy’s best friend. Al y is also a Rock Chick and Indy’s boyfriend, Lee’s sister. They have a long history, Indy, Lee and Al y. I envy them that, they’re al real close, including Duke, Tex and Jane. Indy also has other family and friends who come by al the time. Lee’s a private investigator and al the boys who work for him and his friends come into the store too, including Lee’s best friend Eddie.

* * * * *

Eddie is where my life gets interesting, even if it’s only in my dreams.

* * * * *

See, the minute I clapped eyes on Eddie Chavez, I fel in love with him. Not that he’d ever notice me if I wasn’t under his nose. In fact, watching him (which I do, a lot), I think he has a thing for Indy.

At least I thought that in the beginning. He doesn’t look at her like that so much anymore.

Anyway, sometimes, I’d catch him looking at her in a way that made my insides feel funny. Sometimes, in the middle of the day (between shifts at Fortnum’s and Smithie’s, one of the only times I can get any decent sleep) while I was trying to catch some z’s while Mom watched soaps, I thought of Eddie looking at me the way he looked at Indy.

Sometimes, trying to sleep, I thought of Eddie doing a lot of different things with me and
to
me, but that didn’t exactly help me sleep.

* * * * *

I kinda screwed things up with Eddie.

No, that isn’t true; I
really
screwed things up with Eddie.

Though not intentional y.

* * * * *

See, he’s hot. Not hot
. Hot
. He’s so flipping handsome it burns your eyes to look at him.

He has to be six foot maybe six foot one, tal for a Mexican-American, olive-skinned, with dark hair and even darker eyes. He has a lean body made up of compact, defined muscles and he’s one of those guys who makes whatever he wears look the bomb, instead of one of those guys who looks like he was trying to be the bomb in what he wears.

Eddie’s a cop and from what everyone says, he’s a good one, though not a conventional one. He kinda goes his own way, which isn’t exactly encouraged by the Denver Police Department.

Anyway, when Eddie’s black eyes turn to you, I swear to God, your breath starts burning your lungs, his eyes are so hot.

He’s lush.

Since I’m not lush, there’s no hope and I’m in love with him— I get a little weird around him.

Weird as in, stupid.

* * * * *

The first time he spoke directly to me was about a week after I started at Fortnum’s.

Eddie was waiting at the end of the counter for his cappuccino. I was re-fil ing the stacks of cups so I had two big columns of cups in my hands. Eddie was talking to Lee (who, by the way, is also
hot
).

Eddie’s eyes cut to me and he smiled, al super-white teeth in tanned face. The effect of this when trained on me total y flipped me out.

Then he said, “So, Jet, what’s your story?” Since he used my name, I couldn’t exactly ignore him so I looked at him blank-faced and said, “Story?” I hadn’t told Indy or anyone about anything, not about my Mom nor Smithie’s. People had been real y nice about Mom but it was weird, talking about her and us and how we were having to make a go of things. They got this look on their face that said, “poor you” and it kind of pissed me off because, you know, shit happens. We al deal.

Anyway, Eddie turned more toward me, Lee’s eyes had moved to me and I was beginning to feel the heat come into my face.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, “your story.”

I started to panic so I had to find a way to say as little as possible and get the hel out of there. “No story. I’m just Jet.”

“Just Jet.” His smile didn’t dim and I was beginning to feel my insides curl.

“Yeah.” I set the cups down and started refil ing.

Eddie turned to Lee and he said, “Don’t know about you but I think there are hidden depths to Just Jet.”

“There are hidden depths to everyone,” Lee replied, stil looking at me and I could swear he could read my mind and was trying to get Eddie to leave me alone.