"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" I ask. Better for her to hate me than to get friendly with a fifteen-year-old girl.
"I'm not stupid," she says.
"Perfect little Addison has actually seen a real-life joint before?" I ask, my voice clipped. I'm edgy now that she's out here. Addison has this way of looking at me that makes me nervous, like she knows me better than she does. She looks at me as if she sees through me and all of my bullshit. I don't like it. "Color me fucking surprised."
She rolls her eyes, which should make her more annoying, but somehow makes her hotter. "I've seen a joint before," she says. "I've also seen guys like you, too, with your misunderstood Emo crap. It's not that unique, you know."
"Well, shit, you've got me," I say, an edge in my voice I don't try to hide. But it's not because I'm irritated. It's because I want to put my mouth on her and that's a bad idea. For a million reasons. And if there's one thing I've figured out in the past two months of being here, it's that Addison is something else. She doesn't screw around and she's not the kind of girl you just fuck around with. I hold out the joint. "Want a hit?"
Addison shakes her head, and I can't help but get in another dig at her. "Yeah, I thought so."
"Your father would probably have a heart attack if he caught you out here, you know," she says.
My father. She brings him up as if his opinion matters to me more than anything. "Why do you think I'm out here by the horse stable?" I ask. "Why are you out here, anyway? Stalker, much?"
Addison's cheeks flush red, and I note her embarrassment. She's easily embarrassed, but for some reason I don't find it annoying. I enjoy riling her up, which probably says something fucked up about me. "You're so full of yourself, Hendrix," she says. "I come out here sometimes, to get away. You're intruding on my space, jackass."
"Jackass, huh?" I laugh. "I didn't think a good little girl like you cursed. What the hell does America's country music sweetheart have to get away from? The private chef didn't cook your eggs the way you like them this morning?" I'm joking, but the part about the private chef is totally true. They have a private chef in this place. Ri-fucking-diculous.
She looks down at the ground and shrugs. "Nothing," she says. "Whatever. I have to get back to the house." She turns to look at me before she leaves, tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "We can be friends, you know. You don't have to be so mean. I know you're upset about moving here and stuff, but it would be cool to be friends."
I look at her for a long time and take another drag on the joint. She looks so earnest and fucking...nice...that for a second, I almost tell her that it would be cool to hang out with her. Then I remember that my father is an asshole and that I never asked to move to Nashville Tennessee and live with America's country sweetheart in this Stepford mansion and this Stepford neighborhood.
Still, I feel a pang of disgust with myself when I open my mouth to speak. "It would be cool if you sucked my dick, too, sweetheart."
Addison's face flushes scarlet, and she opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
"Exactly," I say. "So if you're not going to make yourself useful, then leave me the hell alone."
A hurt look flits across her face, then she sets her jaw and narrows her eyes at me. "I'd suck your dick, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to find it."
I'm going to retort that I'm happy to help her with that, but she's already spun around and I watch her retreat, her ponytail bouncing as she walks away. I chuckle. Maybe Little Miss Perfect has a little bit of an edge, after all. That's not what I expected. Perhaps there's more to her than I thought there was.
* * *
PRESENT DAY
Addison is mostly ignoring me, her nose buried in that damn cell phone of hers, texting or checking her social media accounts or whatever the hell it is she's doing. I have no idea what the problem is with that girl, why there's a massive stick up her ass. Sure, I treated her like crap when we were teenagers. But she has to know that I was a normal jackass teenage boy. Blame it on hormones.
It's been a week since I moved in and she's barely spoken a word to me, and when she does, it's terse, business-like. Appropriate. We talk about the schedule, where she needs to be and what she needs to do. Nothing else. I tell myself that's probably for the best, really.
The problem is that when she walks around the house in these short-shorts and tank tops, I can barely fucking breathe. And when she passes me in the hallway, the smell of her shampoo makes me hard.
Her damn shampoo.
There might be something wrong with me.
Her chilliness is good. She should keep hating me. I need her to keep hating me. It's what's best for her. It's what's best for me.
There's a knock on the front door, and the doorknob jiggles. When I pull it open, Addy's sister Grace is bent over, tying a kid's shoe. She speaks without looking up. "Oh my God, Addison, why is the door locked? You always – "
"Grace?"
She turns around. "Hendrix!"
"How are you, Grace?"
"Hendrix, look at you!" she squeals, drawing me in for a hug. "You're all grown up! Mom said you were back helping Addison, but I didn't really expect you to be here. This is Brady."
"Hey, Brady." I squat down, but he hides his face in Grace's leg. "He's what, three?"
"In a couple of months," she says. "He's shy with strangers. Come on, baby, let's go see Auntie Addy."
Addison is already behind me. "Where's my favorite nephew?" she asks, and Brady looks at her, timid at first, then breaks into a huge grin and runs headlong, crashing into her. She scoops him up in her arms, turning to walk past me without making eye contact, while she coos at the kid. "Guess what I have for you, baby doll? I was at the store the other day, and there was an awesome truck that had your name written all over it. Do you want to see it?"
Grace is inside the door, a diaper bag on her shoulder, and she exhales heavily before tossing the bag on the sofa in the living room. "Hell, Hendrix, look at you."
"Look at me?" I ask, grinning. "Look at you. You have a kid. Holy crap. When did you become an adult?"
"I know," she says, laughing. "Did you ever think I'd be Mrs. Mom?"
Brady bursts back into the living room, truck in hand, making "zoom" noises as he runs the truck across the arms of the sofa, then climbs onto it with his shoes on. Addison trails behind him. "You're a great mom, Gracie," she says.
"Brady, shoes off." Grace is pulling off his shoes as Brady continues to stomp on the sofa, muddy footprints on the fabric, but Addison just laughs.
"It's only dirt," she says. "Let him be."
"He has to learn he can't totally destroy your house, Addison, even if he's a toddler," Grace says. "She's totally happy being the cool aunt who lets him run completely and utterly wild when he's here."
Addison grins, and it's the first time in the past few days I've seen her look really happy. "That's part of being an aunt," she says. "I get to give him toys and sugar, and then send him back to you."
Grace laughs. "See the crap I have to put up with?"
Addison shrugs. "Free babysitting, Gracie," she says. "Are you going to your shoot?"
Grace nods. "Is it bad that I'm totally nervous? I'm nervous. I haven't done a photo shoot in ages." She turns to me. "It's a modeling thing."
"I was going to ask if you were a model now," I say, meaning it. Grace has always had that kind of look.
"Hardee-har-har," Grace says. "I look like a hot mess. That's what being a mom does to you."
"You're not supposed to show up at a shoot looking gorgeous. They'll redo you," Addison says.
"I'm stupid for doing this," Grace says. "I'm too old. And I'm a mom. I totally have a mom pooch right here." She grabs at the flesh on her belly.
"I'm not listening to you," Addison says, making a show of putting her fingers in her ears. "La la la la la. Now, get out of here or you're going to be late. Hendrix can drive you."
"What? No. I've got GPS in the car. I
don't need a babysitter. I mean, no offense, Hendrix."
Addison snorts. "But I do, apparently."
"What?" Gracie looks between her and me, and opens her eyes wider. "Ohhh...Mom said Hendrix was going to be your assistant."
Addison frowns. "Yeah, assistant."
"Actually," I interrupt. "That's why I was hired. Your mom forced Addison to take me on as a charity case. I lost my job, and Addy is just too nice to tell you that."
"Oh, Hendrix, that sucks," Gracie says. "For you, obviously. I wouldn't want to have Addison as my boss, either." She sticks her tongue out at Addison, who makes a face at her, but still avoids looking at me. "I have to run, but I want to catch up later. And don't feed him sugar, Addison. Hendrix, you have to make sure she doesn't. Last time Addy babysat, she gave him a cupcake and I practically had to peel Brady off the walls when we got home."
"Roger," I say.
"Oh, cute, you're so military still," Gracie says, planting a kiss on Brady's head before she heads for the door. "Okay, I'll see you later today. I don't know how long these things take, so I'm not sure how long I'll be. Are you absolutely positive you've got this, Addy?"
"Oh my God. You act like I've never babysat Brady before. Get out of here," Addison says. She busies herself playing with Brady for a few seconds, before looking up at me. "You told Grace that you're my bodyguard."
I shrug. "Yeah, so? It's what I was hired as."
Brady grabs his truck from Addison's hand and bounces off the couch to "zoom" it along her coffee table, and she turns around to face me. "So, you know that's not exactly how it is. You made it sound like I chose to hire you out of the goodness of my heart."
"And?"
"So why did you say that?"
I shrug. "It seemed like the thing to say at the time."
She looks at me for a long time before speaking. "Did you really get fired?"
"I quit, but they were going to fire me, so it's the same thing."
"Why did they fire you?"
"Hell, you're nosy."
"You're my employee, aren't you? I'm supposed to know these kinds of things," she says. But the corners of her mouth turn up and I know she's joking.
"Am I?" I ask. "I thought I was your bodyguard."
"That means you work for me," she says.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to guard your body."
Addison narrows her eyes at me. "Very funny," she says. "Not in the way you apparently mean."
"How do you know what I mean, Addy-girl?" I ask. "You have a dirty mind."
Brady runs for Addy, crashing into her leg with all the force of an almost-three-year-old boy, and she looks down at him and laughs. "What do you want to do, Brade-man? You want to go to the park?"
"Yes! The park! The park!" Brady shouts.
Addison looks up at me and grins. "Well, since you're my employee, you can be in charge of the diaper bag."
I should be annoyed, carrying the diaper bag and tagging along with Addison and Brady down the sidewalk to the park. But I'm not. We take turns pushing Brady in the swing and following him as he runs through the grass, and we don't talk about much of anything.
Except I watch Addison's face beam as she plays with him, and the way she tucks her hair behind her ear as she glances over her shoulder at me when she's chasing Brady through the grass, and I feel...lighter somehow, not edgy the way I usually feel. I find myself laughing as Brady tries to catch the rubber ball I toss at him.
On the way back to the apartment, when we stop for ice cream, I nudge Addison. "You're a bad aunt, you know," I say as Brady shovels a spoonful into his mouth. "Grace is going to kill you."
She grins at me. "I'm a great aunt," she says. "And besides, he'll run it off before we give him back to Grace anyway. Or swim it off. There's a pool in the apartment building."
The image of Addison in a swimsuit flashes in my head, and my cock stirs, right here in the fucking ice cream shop. I force my thoughts the hell away from Addison.
"Brady loves swimming," she says. "Want to go swimming, Brady?"
"Let's go swimming!" Ice cream drips down his cheeks and he pounds the table with his fist.
"Swimming," I say. Damn it. The last thing I want to do is see Addison in a swimsuit at the pool.
Of course, I'm lying to myself. It's the only thing I want.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ADDY
SIX YEARS, EIGHT MONTHS AGO
I'm slicing through the water, the repetitiveness of the strokes doing what they always do, lulling me into a near-hypnotic trance. Before I was discovered on the reality show, we couldn't afford a pool or swim lessons or anything like that. I barely knew how to float. That changed when I was on the show. Hell, everything has changed since I was discovered. Now I have a heated pool, in its own glass enclosure outside. That's freaking fancy.
Most people swim in the mornings, but I like to swim at night. After the sun goes down, the lights on the sides of the pool turn the water an iridescent teal color. The water muffles the sounds from outside and I turn my brain off, losing all sense of time and place while I just swim in teal-colored water and tune the rest of the world out.
I'm usually alone out here, no one caring enough to intrude on my swim time, but when I pull myself up to the side of the pool, Hendrix is sitting in a chair, lighting up a cigarette. I wipe the water from my face, resting with my arm on the edge of the pool. The cool evening air hits my skin and makes me shiver.
So does the way Hendrix looks at me.
"How long have you been there?" I ask.
"A few minutes," he says. His eyes never leave mine, and the way he looks at me makes me glad to be mostly hidden in the pool.
"You shouldn't smoke," I say.
"Thanks for the lecture." He exhales smoke in rings at me, and I roll my eyes.
"It stinks, and it's not healthy," I note. I know I sound like a total downer, but I can't help myself. Hendrix has such a blasé attitude about life, like he doesn't give a shit what happens. It gets under my skin.
"I don't need a lecture about the risks," he says. "My mom died of cancer."
"And you're still smoking?" I ask, my voice rising. I'm annoyed with his cavalier attitude about everything. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Hendrix shrugs. "It's my life, Addy-girl," he says.
"Not for long, if you keep it up."
Hendrix laughs. "I should be more like you, right? All work and no play?"
"What?" My voice squeaks. "What do you think I'm doing right now?"
"That?" Hendrix asks. He doesn't finish his cigarette, though. He puts it out, halfway through, and leans back in his chair, looking at me. Sometimes I wonder what he's thinking when he looks at me like that. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want to know. He's definitely evaluating me. Judging me. "Even when you're swimming, you look intense."
Intense. No one has ever called me intense before. "What, have you been watching me?"
"Yes." He speaks the word with no hesitation or embarrassment, and I have to look away, swallowing hard.
"You've been watching me swim?"
Hendrix shrugs. "Nothing better to do in this place," he says. "I've been bored."
"I thought you had friends."
"They're boring."
I laugh uncomfortably. "I'm so flattered that spying on me is less boring than hanging out with your friends."
"You should be."
"Are you getting in the pool or are you just going to sit there watching me like a creep?"
Hendrix laughs. "I don't swim."
"Why not?" I ask, sinking down into the water, up to my neck. I'm chilly, but I'm also aware of the way Hendrix is looking at me, and I'm not sure I like it. Or, more accurately, I'm not sure I'm supposed to like it. "Oh, no, wait, it's not cool enough for you, right?"
Hendrix makes a weird face, and looks away. "I can't swim."
"Can't, as in, you don't know how to swim?"
"Nope," he says. "Never had a reason to learn."
"Were
n't you in military school?" I ask. "They don't teach you that there?"
"It wasn't the fucking Navy," he says.
"I can teach you." I blurt out the sentence, immediately regretting it. Why did I just say that? I don't want to be stuck spending any more time with Hendrix than I have to. Do I?
"You're going to teach me to swim," Hendrix says. I'm not sure if it's a question or a statement.
I shrug. "No big deal. Forget I even offered."
"Okay," he says.
"Okay, like you want me to teach you to swim?" That's the last thing I expected.
"Show me what you got, sweet cheeks."
* * *
PRESENT DAY
"Show me what you got, Addy-girl." Hendrix stands in the shallow end of the pool in my apartment building, his hands on the edges of Brady's float. "You ready to race, Brady? Think we can beat her?"
Brady laughs hysterically, but grips the edges of his float tightly. "Yes, yes, yes! Race! Go, go, go!"
"You asked for it." I feint a mock dive into the water, but don't really, instead taking my time floating on my back as Hendrix kicks Brady to the other side of the pool. Brady's laughter echoes through the room as Hendrix reaches the end.
"Touch the edge of the pool so we win, Brady!"
"Oh, you're too fast for me, Brade-man." I high-five Brady, and make eye contact with Hendrix, and for a second, I feel like I'm a teenager again, my heart racing as I look at him. All of those nights in the pool, teaching Hendrix to swim; the gradual tenuous friendship we developed, both of us guarded, prickly porcupines; and my unspoken attraction to him that I was never quite sure he reciprocated, even when he kissed me...
Of course, that didn't stop him from bragging that he did more than that, lying to his friends about me. The memory of that night flashes in my head, and I look away from Hendrix, diving back under the water and swimming the length of the pool to the other side. When I come up for air, Brady is wailing and Hendrix is standing, chest deep in the water a few feet away, pulling him out of the float. "She's right there, Brady, see?" he says, turning toward me. "He's scared because you disappeared."
A Very Dirty Christmas Page 53
