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After getting caught on the side of the road puking our inebriated guts out by Jimmy and Danny, Ally and I smartened up.

After that, when Ally and I were underage, out partying and were done over-imbibing, we called Lee and he came to get us. No matter what, no matter where, Lee would show up in his vintage Mustang, hold open the passenger side door and grin as we stumbled out of someone's house and into his car.

Lee knew the exact sounds a person would make before they were going to hurl and thus knew when to stop and haul a body out so they could do it on the side of the road and not in his car.

Lee also had lots of experience with holding a girl's hair back when she threw up. In our partying days, we tried calling Ally's other brother, Hank, a couple of times but he would always give us a lecture.

Hank's the oldest of the three Nightingale children and therefore felt the need to behave responsibly.


He may have lectured but he didn't snitch, snitching was a shade too far. Not surprisingly, Hank became a cop. No one knows what Lee is.

He's six foot one, has thighs that could crack walnuts, has just the right assets to fill both the seat and crotch of his jeans, a killer smile, thick, dark brown hair with just enough wave and whisky-colored eyes. In High School, Hank was good-natured, chivalrous and had a steady girl. Not much has changed except there was no longer a girl. Liam "Lee" Nightingale could hot-wire any car going, had both a Mustang and a motorcycle, started smoking when he was thirteen, was rumored to be able to get a girl pregnant by just looking at her and was also voted Best Smile.

He's six foot two and gives the impression that faded jeans had been divinely created just for him. Lee also has thick, dark brown hair with just enough wave and chocolate-colored eyes with a heavy rim of long lashes. Lee was good-natured as well, but in an entirely different way. Without any effort at all, mostly by crooking his finger, casting a glance or, if a girl was playing hard to get, he'd pull out The Smile , Lee nailed everything that was female, had long hair, big boobs, a fine ass and was breathing.

Every female, that is, but me, no matter how hard I tried and let's just say I tried real hard. I, too, have big boobs, a helluvan ass, long, russet hair with just enough wave and was, as far as I could tell, not the walking dead. I'd been throwing myself at Lee since I could remember. I should have picked Hank. If I'd have picked Hank, I would now be married with children, probably very happy and definitely getting it regularly.

But I like them bad. I'm a rock 'n' roll chick, that's just the way it is. Ally and I decided when we were eight that I was going to marry Lee so I could be her "real" sister. She was going to be my maid of honor, we were going to live across the street from each other in houses with white picket fences and Lee and I were going to name our first daughter after her.

We even made a blood pact on it by sticking our thumbs with safety pins and mashing them together. We spent the next twelve years attempting to make that fantasy a reality in every way our somewhat devious and definitely outrageous minds could dream up.

Rock Chick Reawakening by Kristen Ashley

I also grew up like a member of the family which made me practically his little sister by default and, in my last effort to throw myself at him when I was twenty and he was twenty-three , he'd told me exactly that. It was pretty fucking embarrassing, but then again, so were all of my other attempts and that never stopped me. Still, for some reason, that last one really hurt.

Lee wasn't cruel or anything he was just,,, final.

The Great Liam Chase ended right then and there, at least for me. Ally still has very high hopes. Not to mention Kitty Sue, who I think has always wanted me to fall for one of her sons and it's been pretty clear that her druthers would put me with Lee.

Probably because she thinks we deserve each other. I resigned myself to seeing Lee at Christmas, Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, every birthday celebration, most family parties and barbeques, over at Hank's when we're watching a game and the like unfortunately, this means I see Lee a lot.

Usually, there are always enough other people around to run interference. If, on the odd occasion that he's at his parents' house for dinner these days it's less odd and more like Kitty Sue is getting a bit desperate and becoming far more obvious at playing matchmaker and I'm also invited, I make my excuses mostly lies and leave as fast as my boots will take me.

This usually pisses off Ally and Kitty Sue but they hadn't thrown themselves at the guy for over a decade and been rebuffed repeatedly and then had to live the rest of their lives seeing that guy at dinner and on holidays. It's mortifying, let me tell you. Not to mention, Lee went from Bad Boy to Badass in half a decade.

By the end of that decade he was Badass Extraordinaire. You didn't mess with Lee. I may have been a bit of a wild child, but I knew enough about playing with fire and getting burned and Lee Nightingale had gone from a bonfire to a towering fucking inferno in ten years.

Don't get me wrong, Liam Nightingale still has killer good looks only slightly marred by a small, crescent moon scar under his left eye. He also still has a killer bod that looks great in jeans, great in sweats, great in suits, great in anything. He also still has a killer smile on the odd occasions he flashes it. But he's also dangerous. I don't know how to explain this, he just is, trust me.

I still listen to music way too loud.

I still wear my red hair long and wild in a tangle of waves that fall in a deep V down my back. Let's just say, my body is my gift and my curse. A body like mine isn't difficult to maintain, just feed it loads of crap to keep the curves but keep in shape because you've got to lug it around everywhere. These days, though, my parties have real, home cooked hors d'oeuvres and bowls of cashews and nobody passes out in my bed or pukes in the backyard anymore.

My grandmother left me the store when she died. It would seem a rather staid profession, owning a bookstore. Then I went to the door because Darla would shout the house down and I liked my neighbors, they didn't need a ten thirty in the morning, biker bitch from hell standing on my doorstep and shouting the house down.

I opened it but not far and moved to stand between it and the jamb, keeping my hand on the handle. Totally spent her days looting. It took effort but I stopped my eyes from rolling. Bitch, if you're in there you better come out here, right fuckin' now!

Ginger, you crazy, stupid, bitch! Get your ass out here! Ginger isn't here. Ginger is never here. You know that. So shut up and go.

You're helpin' her,,," She lifted her hand, pointed her finger at me, thumb extended upwards and then she crooked her thumb and made a gunshot noise that puffed out her cheeks and made her lips vibrate.

I would have taken a moment to reflect on how good she was with verbal sound effects if the serious as shit look in her eye wasn't scaring the crap out of me. So, instead of congratulating her on the only real talent I suspected she had, I whispered, "What? You and her, you don't get smart. You get me? Then she lifted her hand, did the gun thing with the sound effect, finger pointed at my head. Then she turned around and walked swiftly down my front steps.

I stood on my front porch staring at her.

My mind absently noted that she was wearing a tight tank top, an unzipped, black leather motorcycle jacket, a short, frayed jeans skirt the wearing of which was a crime in several states for a variety of reasons - both fashion and decency, black fishnet stockings and motorcycle boots and it was around forty degrees outside. She didn't even have on a scarf. The rest of my head was caught up with my sister and Darla's sound effect.

But my father and his wife Meredith had disowned Ginger awhile ago. It was approximately ten seconds after they came home from a vacation to Jamaica and lost their happy, island holiday mojo when they saw their daughter on her knees in the living room, her head between the legs of a bare-chested man, his jeans opened, his head lolled on the back of the couch because he was passed out and Ginger was so whacked on whatever she was taking she had no idea her activities were getting her nowhere.

And, incidentally, the living room was a disaster as was the rest of the house. As you can probably see from this story, I was loath to bring my father into another situation involving Ginger.

Especially since this wasn't the worst story I had, it was just, for Dad and Meredith, the last. They were currently living a carefree, Ginger-free existence and I didn't want to rock that boat. Therefore, I didn't call Dad. Instead I thought of Ginger's boyfriend, Dog.

Dog was a member of a biker gang and Dog was as rough as they come. But I'd met Dog, I liked Dog. Dog was funny and he liked my sister. She was different around him. Not a lot, but at least she was palatable.


Okay, so Dog was likely a felon but, as ironic as it was, he was a good influence on Ginger and those didn't come around very often as in never. Not in twenty-five years. So, since I was getting the hint from Darla, Ginger's one and only friend, that Ginger's trouble was a little worse than normal, I needed firstly to do something about it and secondly, since this was Ginger, call in reinforcements or better yet, lay the problem on their door.

Enter Dog.

I drove to the auto supply store on Broadway and found a spot on the street. Even before I knew Dog, and thus figured out this was probably a front for a biker gang's nefarious dealings, I knew about this store.

Rock Chick Series

It was called Ride and I'd shopped there mainly because I could find an excuse for shopping anywhere. But Ride was awesome. It had cool stuff in there. I bought my windshield wiper fluid there. I bought new car mats there last year and they were the bomb, supreme car mats, the best I'd ever had. And when I was in my twenties and going through one of my many phases, in an effort to pimp my ride, I also went there and bought a fluffy, pink steering wheel cover and a glittery, pink Playboy Bunny thingie to hang from my rearview mirror.

And everyone knew Ride had a triple-bayed garage in the back but it wasn't for normal cars and motorcycles. It was for custom-built cars and motorcycles and it was world famous. They built cars and bikes and they were extremely cool. I'd read an article in magazine about the place.

Movie stars and celebrities bought cars and bikes from there and, from the pictures, I could see why. I wanted one but I didn't have hundreds of thousands of dollars so that was a bit down on my List of Things I Want, right under a Tiffany's diamond bracelet which was directly under a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. I got out of my car and walked down the sidewalk to Ride hoping my outfit was okay.

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Rock Chick Reawakening by Kristen Ashley

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