I parked in front of Ren’s and I was a little freaked.
This was because I’d texted him after Operation Takedown Baddies and told him our plans for the evening had to change. I also asked him to phone me when he had a few minutes to talk so I could explain.
He didn’t phone, and when I phoned him he didn’t pick up.
During the Not-Really-Fuck-Buddies phase of our relationship, we didn’t text or call to shoot the shit, be funny or flirty.
But we did text and even call to sort things like his place or mine or tell each other we were on our way.
This had obviously intensified since our time in Carnal, but even before Ren had never ignored a text or phone call from me. If I called, I couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t immediately answer. Not even one. And he might not return a text instantly, but I never had to wait more than an hour to get a reply.
So the fact that he didn’t do any of that and hours had passed freaked me.
I didn’t want our relationship to fall into a pattern of taking each other for granted. This wasn’t to say that I expected him to hop to the minute I tried to connect with him. But I also didn’t want to slide into a place where he assumed it was cool to delay connecting with me because he knew he had me where he wanted me and I could fit into the schedule of his day. Especially not if something I had to say was important.
Which this was.
I folded out of my car, threw the door to and beeped the locks, crossing the street and making my way up to Ren’s.
I’d never asked, but looking around on my way up to his house, distractedly I figured he had to have a gardener. Denver was arid, but that didn’t mean yards could not be lush and green. However, for them to be so, you had to put a shitload of effort into it. Ren’s front and back yards were amazing. Thick and flourishing, mostly plants and grasses, but here and there was a hint of color that made it interesting.
And it wasn’t him slaving away to make it that way.
I put the key in the lock, turned it and walked in, kicking the door closed behind me. Then I stopped dead.
The front of Ren’s house was one long room with two seating areas. One was just a seating area. The other was the TV area.
He was sitting on a couch to my left in the TV area. The TV, however, was not on. His suit jacket was off, but he had not changed out of his shirt or trousers. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled back, though. He had one arm slung across the back of the couch. The other hand was upending and touching his cell on his knee.
Upend, slide, touch it to his knee and repeat.
This was weird.
His eyes were on me.
They were angry.
I felt the air in the room was heavy and I knew I was in trouble.
“You have a good afternoon?” Ren asked quietly, but not in his sweet. Not even close.
It was then, belatedly, it hit me.
Shit, shit, fuck.
I had not told him about Operation Takedown Baddies, and Lucky was on me so he’d know and report that to Ren.
I hadn’t really thought about that, what with having a gun jammed into my ribs and being given the opportunity to end this crap in plenty of time to fully enjoy Ava and Luke’s wedding without it hanging over anyone’s head.
It was good Lucky didn’t get involved because that could have been bad.
But even though he was currently angry, I thought it was going to be okay that I did not share this with Ren. Evidence was suggesting that if I kept calm and explained things, this was taken positively.
I also had an explanation, so I hoped once I gave it to him, he would take it positively. Or, at least, with a minimal amount of yelling.
“I texted and phoned,” I reminded him carefully.
“Yeah,” he returned immediately. “After you got a .38 shoved in your ribs.”
Oh man.
“Ren, honey, I’m so sorry,” I said, taking a step to him. “I didn’t think. I’ve been on my own awhile, doing this gig awhile, and I’ve never had to report in to anybody but Darius or Brody. In fact, even when I was with Carl, I never really reported in to anybody about anything. But what happened this afternoon went down as a surprise and I had to stay focused. But I should have called and next time I will.”
He hadn’t moved in the entire time I spoke, but when I was done, he asked, “Next time you will?”
Okay, it was time to get down to this.
That was to say, it wasn’t an optimal time seeing as he was pissed. But it was time.
I took another step toward him. “Yeah, babe,” I said softly. “Next time I will.”
He said nothing and kept staring at me.
I took a further step toward him.
“I should have explained my decision earlier, but things between us had changed in a really good way. A way I liked. We weren’t fighting. We were working things out, getting to know each other better, understanding what was in our future. I didn’t want to mess it up because I knew you wouldn’t be happy with the decision, but the decision I made was important to me.”
“And that decision would be?” he prompted, brows up, when I stopped talking.
