Rock Chick Redemption by Kristen Ashley, now you can read online.
Part One
Chapter One
Love at First Sight
It’s happened to me twice, love at first sight.
The first time was Bil y Flynn. The second was Hank Nightingale.
Bil y didn’t take and he broke my heart.
Hank, wel Hank’s a heartbreaker, to be certain, but I wasn’t going to stick around long enough for him to do it to me. It wouldn’t be my choice, not sticking around, but that’s what was going to happen al the same and probably for the best. At least for Hank.
* * * * *
Bil y and Hank are night and day, dark and light, bad and good. Bil y’s the former of al those. Hank’s the latter.
See, Bil y’s a criminal, Hank’s a cop.
Bil y looks like a young Robert Redford but instead of boy next-door charm, he has a bit (okay, a lot) of James Dean’s Rebel without a Cause drifting through him.
I knew Bil y wel ; I’d been with him for seven years (the last three of which I tried to break up with him and that didn’t take either).
Hank looks like no one I’d ever seen before. To put it simply, he’s beautiful. He’s tal with thick dark hair, whisky-colored eyes and the lean, wel -muscled body of a linebacker.
Hank has a cause: Hank’s about justice.
And Hank has more cool in his pinkie finger at any given moment than Bil y would have in a lifetime.
Don’t ask me how I know this because I only knew Hank for a few days. Though, it started when I learned he liked Springsteen. Anyone who likes Springsteen, wel , enough said.
* * * * *
A little about me.
For some bizarre reason my Mom named me Roxanne Gisel e Logan and everyone cal s me Roxie. I have an older brother named Gilbert (we cal him Gil because Gilbert is a shit name) and a younger sister named Esmerelda (we cal her Mimi because Esmerelda is a shit name too).
Needless to say, I lucked out in the sibling name stakes.
Dad let Mom name us. I think he did this so he could give her a hard time for the rest of her life. Dad and Mom love each other, a lot, and show it, a lot (too much if you ask me). Growing up with your parent’s constant public displays of affection was kind of embarrassing. Regardless of this, they were always ribbing each other and arguing… but in a nice way.
* * * * *
I didn’t grow up thinking I was going to live essential y on the run (even though at first I didn’t know that) with a criminal boyfriend, no matter how cute he was. I grew up thinking I’d have a great job where I could wear designer clothes, I’d make a shitload of money and I’d have dozens of peons kowtowing to my every whim.
Before I met Bil y, I was on my way.
Don’t take that as me being screaming ambitious or anything; I partied through high school and col ege. I studied enough to make A’s and B’s (mostly B’s) but it was real y al about beer, the occasional bottle of tequila and rock ’n’ rol .
Dad said I was lucky I was a smart girl or I’d be f**ked.
Mom warned if I didn’t get smarter, I’d end up f**ked (though Mom didn’t use the f-word, I knew what she meant).
They were both right, in their own way, though Mom was more right.
Lucky for me, both my Mom and Dad—and Mom’s father and her grandfather—al graduated from Purdue University (my great-granddad even had his name up on a plaque in the student union because he died in World War I). I was grandfathered into Purdue: in other words, my family had such a history, and so many members in the Alumni Association, they couldn’t say no. I got my degree no matter how much time I spent at Harry’s Chocolate Shop (the bar at Purdue that I’m pretty sure my Mom, Dad, Gramps and great-granddad al spent a lot of time in as wel ).
* * * * *