Still.

“Babe.” Clearly Luke was not about to be denied and, I could swear by the amused look on his face he knew my thoughts.

I crossed my arms on my chest. He gave me a half-grin.

“Lucas Stark, don’t you think that you –”

He interrupted me. “Don’t you have a gig to get to?”

I looked at my watch. It was well past six o’clock. We were meeting at My Brother’s Bar at seven for dinner and drinks before we went to the gig and I had at least an hour’s worth of Rock Chick on the Town prep work to do to my face, hair and wardrobe.

“I need to get home, like, now!” I said, bouncing in my Crocs.

Luke’s body shifted, his arm curved around my shoulders and he walked me down the hall, murmuring, “Let’s get you home.”

“Bye Sissy!” I shouted.

“Enjoy Stella,” she shouted back.

“Bye Shirleen!” I shouted.

“Don’t get shot at!” Shirleen shouted back.

“Bye Hot Bunch Boys!” I shouted.

No answer.

“Hot Bunch Boys?” Luke asked, pushing through the door into reception, his arm moved from around my shoulders to curl around my neck.

Oops.

In the immortal words of Britney Spears (or whoever wrote that song for her), I did it again.

Prudently, I decided after that to keep my mouth shut.

Luke let it go, we got in his Porsche and he took me “home”.

Which, by the way, was the loft.

Chapter Eighteen

Fight

We were listening to Stella and The Blue Moon Gypsies playing “Jessica” by The Allman Brothers Band. Indy, Ally, Jules, Daisy, Roxie, Jet and I were up front, right at the stage, shaking our booties like the crazy Rock Chicks we were.

Luke had taken me back to the loft and the minute the elevator doors opened I flew into my getting ready to rock preparation. Mace came over while I was in the bathroom laying on my Rock Makeup.

Before he left to do Secret Luke Things in the Night (his planned activities, I will note, he didn’t share with me but then again I didn’t ask, probably because I didn’t want to know), Luke walked into the bathroom, grabbed my hips, twirled me around, pressed me back against the sink and laid a hot and heavy one on me.

When he lifted his head, I asked (or more like mouthed, but with a bit of sound coming out), “What was that for?”

He framed my face with his hands (which for Luke was a weird thing to do, a sweet weird thing but weird nonetheless) and stared at me, a strange look on his face that made my stomach feel funny but in a good way, a scary good way. What he didn’t do was answer. He simply kissed my nose and left me with Mace.

I decided it was best for my peace of mind not to think about what was on Luke’s mind when he touched and kissed me like that. It was even better for my peace of mind not to think about what I felt when Luke touched and kissed me like that.

Instead, I focused on rock ‘n’ roll – my constant, my touchstone, the only thing other than Sissy that could get me through anything.

I pulled on my supremely faded jeans and a thick tan belt, the leather tooled with flowers and vines that had been painted. I topped this with a fitted, chambray cowgirl shirt, complete with pearl snap buttons at the breast pockets, down the front and four up the cuffs. I wore this over a white tank top and finished the outfit off with tons of silver and my fawn-suede cowboy boots.

It was cowboy chic, not rock ‘n’ roll chic but I was in Denver and Denverites swung both ways.

Mace wasn’t Mr. Talkative. In fact he was actually kind of broody but, like all of the Hot Bunch, this character trait worked for him (in a big way). I did find out that his name wasn’t actually Mace, his name was Kai Mason, he was from Hawaii and he wasn’t talkative. I found out the last bit because the first two bits took me a gazillion questions to get out of him so eventually I gave up.

The girls (and Mace) did dinner then we all went to the gig at Herman’s Hideaway on Broadway.

Santo had disappeared which I decided to take as a good sign that the bad guys were no longer after me. However I wondered what this meant regarding my tenure at Luke’s loft since, if the bad guys weren’t after me anymore, I wouldn’t need to stay with Luke anymore.

Another thought to put on the list to consider later.

We sent word to Stella that we were there but other than that we didn’t bother her pre-gig. As always she’d have a drink with us during a break.

Stella and the Gypsies came out only fifteen minutes late (they were usually half an hour late or more). They looked pissed off but ready to rock. This wasn’t unusual either, the band fought all the time. They were constantly in danger of breaking up but somehow, likely using all of the piss and vinegar she had (which was a lot), Stella kept them together. She was like the mother of a dysfunctional family and I knew (because she told me) that it took all her energy. If she wasn’t practicing guitar or the band wasn’t rehearsing, she was caught up in some band member’s mess. She did this because the Gypsies played so well together they were worth the struggle. She also did this because she cared about them, from what I knew probably more than they deserved.

Stella started the set with serious head-bouncing energy including the guitar riffs and piano of The Doobie Brothers’ “China Grove” and didn’t give herself a breather before she slammed straight into Molly Hatchett’s “Flirtin’ with Disaster”. She didn’t make us wait for the famous “black” portion of her set list starting with Ram Jam’s “Black Betty”, sliding straight into The Black Crowes’ “Kickin’ My Heart Around”, taking it easy a bit for the Doobie’s “Black Water” and Alannah Myles’s “Black Velvet” then twanging through the Black Rebel’s “Ain’t No Easy Way”. She gave us a break from screaming out lyrics and bouncing around like lunatics by slowing it down with The Marshall Tucker Band’s “Can’t You See”, one of the few songs she didn’t sing herself but handed off to her bass player, Buzz. It was after that Stella and the Gypsies started the “Jessica” jam.

Stella didn’t often pull out “Jessica” but when she did the crowd ate it up. This was no exception and the Rock Chicks at the front were acting like it was our last meal.

Stella was rocking into Melissa Etheridge’s “Bring Me Some Water” when Mace and I peeled off from the rest of the Rock Chicks for a beverage break, getting Fat Tire orders from the girls before we went to the bar.