"Screw 'em," Hendrix says, in his understated Hendrix way.
"Yeah."
"They're selfish bastards, you know," he says. "Try not to take it personally, even though I know you can't help it."
I shrug. "It's no big deal," I tell him. "But I'm glad you came with me."
Hendrix pulls into the parking lot and squeezes my leg again, sending heat rushing through me. "This is the part where I'm supposed to say 'knock 'em dead,'" he says, pausing for a beat. "But you probably shouldn't try to knock anyone dead."
I slap his hand. "Don't even suggest I'm going to hit someone in the car during my freaking drivers license test, Hendrix," I say.
"I'm not going to jinx you," he says, at the same time as I tell him, "You'll jinx me."
"Buy me a cola," we both say at the same time.
He laughs. "Stop being stupid. Let's go get your dumb license."
"Can I drive your car home?" I ask, as we get out.
"Fuck, no," he says. "You think I'm going to let you out in public behind the wheel?"
"Hendrix, come on. I've driven it before," I say. But he's grinning and I know he's joking. He's totally going to let me drive his car. It's a beater, this old Mustang he bought with his earnings from working last summer. He didn't want to buy it with anyone else's money, his father's or mine. It smells vaguely like gym socks, but it's still awesome.
He pushes the door open to the department of motor vehicles, turning toward me while leaning on it. "You know what we should do, though."
"What?"
"Road trip."
"Yeah, right."
Hendrix shrugs. "You don't want to hang out with me, just be honest, sweet cheeks. I was even going to let you drive part of the way."
"We can't just drop everything and take a road trip somewhere."
"Who's watching you? Our parents left for the weekend," Hendrix says. He leans close to my ear, his voice a whisper. "Unless you're chicken, Addy-girl. Are you afraid I'm going to corrupt you?"
I'm afraid you already have. A shiver runs up my spine. I know he's not talking about sex, but for some reason, it feels that way and my heart pounds so loudly in my chest it feels like it's going to explode. "Okay," I say. "But only if I pass the test."
Hendrix slides into one of the cheap plastic seats in the waiting room. "Go pass your fucking test already, Addy-girl," he says. "You and I have a date with the open road."
* * *
PRESENT DAY
Shit. The blood pumps loudly in my ears, and my heart races. I close my bedroom door, leaning up against it like I'm barricading it with my body. As if Hendrix is going to follow me into my bedroom or something. I'm sure he hates me now. He was furious when he walked down the hallway. When he walked away from whatever just happened between us.
Oh God. What the hell just happened between us?
My brain refuses to process this information. Whatever happened out there in the hallway was just some weird too-early-in-the-morning-to-count parallel universe kind of thing. That was not Hendrix and I.
What was I thinking, wandering out there in a t-shirt and panties?
I was thinking that Hendrix had left to go running and that I had the house to myself.
I don't even know why I'm up this early, anyway. I should be getting better sleep with Hendrix here. He's been really helpful in some ways, scheduling and taking care of things, before I even know to ask. He's been cooking, too. It's kind of like having a personal assistant and bodyguard and chef rolled up into one.
Except that I haven't been getting more sleep. My sleep has been restless, fragmented by dreams, torn apart by half-lucid memories of the past, of Hendrix before he left for boot camp. And by how I felt about him back then.
Seeing him standing in my hallway, inches away from me, wearing boxer briefs that hug his perfectly formed ass and his holy-shit-huge cock...well, that isn't going to do anything to help me get him out of my head, either. I think that image is going to be permanently burned onto my brain. And what he did a minute later, the way he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me toward him…even now, it's like every part of my body is turned on, wired somehow, on a cellular level.
I lean against the door, my breath still caught in my throat, my chest rising and falling. My nipples are hard, so sensitive, that the normally soft cotton fabric of the t-shirt I'm wearing feels more like sandpaper. I close my eyes, picturing Hendrix's hand in my hair, feeling the rough way he grabbed me, the twinge of pain that rocketed through me as he yanked the hair by the roots. When I slide my hand over my breast now, heat rushes between my legs, and I can't imagine anyone's hand there except Hendrix's.
Hendrix should be the last person on earth I fantasize about. I should be picturing anyone else -- one of the movie stars I know, any one of the myriad gorgeous male country singers I'm friends with, or hell, someone I've dated. Even that jerk-ass ex-boyfriend of mine.
Anyone but Hendrix.
But Hendrix is the only one I can picture, the only one I want to imagine.
I run my hand up the inside of my leg and between my thighs, finding my clit. My fingers roll easily over it, aided by my wetness, and I exhale heavily as arousal courses through my body. I imagine Hendrix's hands on me, roaming my body, Hendrix's hands in my hair.
Hendrix's lips on mine, his tongue finding my tongue.
His face buried between my legs.
When I slide my finger lower, finding my entrance, I'm already close to the brink. And when I press my palm firmly against my clit, my fingers lodged deeply inside me, I crash over the edge almost immediately.
It's Hendrix's face I see.
And Hendrix's name that escapes my lips, less of a word and more of a moan, when I come.
A minute later, the throbbing between my legs still hasn't subsided, and I open my eyes. The realization of what just happened overwhelms me.
I just came thinking about Hendrix.
It's not like that's the first time it happened. But it's the first time it's happened in years. It's definitely the first time it's happened with him right in the other room.
"Addy." Hendrix speaks my name, his voice low and gravelly, from the other side of the door.
Shit.
He wasn't even in the other room. He was on the other side of the door. Embarrassment washes over me like a tidal wave, and I swallow hard. Surely he didn't hear what I just did. Surely he didn't hear me moan his name.
"Open the fucking door," he demands.
I don't move. "No," I say, my voice softer than I intend.
"I know, Addy," he says. He doesn't push open the door, the way he so easily could. Do I want him to? A few weeks ago, I would have vehemently answered no to that question. After what he did to me, what he said...he could rot in hell as far as I was concerned. When he left, I never wanted to see him again. Except that I never could get him out of my mind.
"There's nothing to know," I say.
"I'm not deaf, Addy-girl." His voice is lower now, more gruff. Insistent.
Heat rushes to my face. He didn't just hear me. He couldn't. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"My name -- Hendrix," he says, his voice softer. "You said my name."
"I -- " I start. Crap. He was listening. Why would he stand at my door and listen to me?
"Open the door," he says.
I want to let him in.
I can't.
"No," I say.
"Goddamn it, Addy," he says. He pauses and for a minute, I think he's gone. I want him to be gone. I don't want him to be gone. Shit, I don't know what the hell I want.
"Hendrix?" I ask.
"Addy-girl." The way he speaks the word, formerly a platonic term of endearment, sounds a lot less fucking platonic now.
"You didn't hear what you thought you heard," I lie. How am I going to face him now?
"What did I think I heard?"
"Me..."
"You what, Addy?"
I'm silent. I can't say it.
His palm hits the door, and it makes me jump. "You coming, Addy. Say it."
"No."
"You were thinking about me."
I don't answer. If I answer, this goes somewhere else, somewhere I didn't see things going between us. Somewhere that would be dangerous for me and for my career.
"I'm not opening the door unless you want me to, Addy," he says. "But at least be fucking honest. Tell me."
He's safely on the other side of the door. I should be pleased about that. I should be happy that he's staying on the other side of the door.
The problem is that on the other side of the door isn't where I want him. I want him here with his hands on me, his fingers between my legs.
"There's nothing to tell, Hendrix." My voice cracks. There's nothing to tell, yet my body is on high alert, just like it was before, goose bumps dotting my arms and heat between my legs. Damn it, why does Hendrix have this kind of effect on me?
"Do you know what you're doing to me, Addy?" His voice is hoarse, muted through the door, but it's like he's right beside me, whispering in my ear. The same way he whispered to me in the hallway, half under his breath.
I want his breath in my ear, but I'm afraid to speak. I'm afraid to say yes.
I'm afraid of what I'm doing to him.
I'm afraid of what he's doing to me.
"I don't know," I say. The words barely come out. Can he tell that I've slipped my hand underneath my shirt, that I'm running my palm over my breast? My nipples harden to my touch, and I inhale sharply.
"Do you know what you've always done to me?" he asks.
My breath catches in my throat. What I've always done to him? My jaw clenches tightly as the memory of that night flashes in my mind, the things Hendrix said about me when he thought I wasn't there. No. Hendrix is full of shit. He was a player in high school, and he's a player now. Nothing is different. "No, Hendrix." I choke out the words. "Go away."
CHAPTER TEN
HENDRIX
SIX YEARS AGO
I sit on the balcony of the hotel room overlooking the beach, listening to the waves crash against the shore and jonesing for a smoke. I quit a month ago, but it's times like this that I really miss it. Times like this, when I'm sitting in a hotel room balcony, looking at the empty room and knowing that Addison is in the room next door. She's probably asleep now.
Shit, I wonder if she sleeps naked. No, that's not Addison. She probably sleeps in a little cotton t-shirt that barely covers that perfect ass of hers. Or what I imagine is her perfect ass. I've never seen it outside of that swimsuit she wears.
Fuck. Now I have a raging hard-on.
I need to stop thinking about Addy. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, blurting out "road trip" like that, like I'm some geeky guy who's falling all over himself to talk to her. She's a star. She's out of my league. She definitely doesn't look at me the way I look at her.
Oh, and she's my sister, for shit's sake. Stepsister. But I've been living with her for a year now. We're basically siblings.
It's fucked up.
I swear to God, I've never been as big of a whore as I've been this year, trying to screw thoughts of Addy right out of my head. I've brought a parade of girls through my room, one after the other, none of them right.
Too blonde. Not blonde enough. One breathed too loudly. Too short. Too tall. Too damn irritating.
I know I'm an asshole.
An asshole who's too fucking obsessed with his stepsister.
That makes me an even bigger asshole, I think.
Hanging around Addy is just so fucking easy. When I'm not feeling guilty and fighting my attraction for her, it's practically effortless. She's the easiest person I've ever talked to. Hell, I've talked more to her than anyone in my whole damn life. On the drive to Hilton Head, we talked non-stop, for almost eight hours. No weird or awkward silences. We talked about music and bands and life and our asshole parents and the future.
The problem is that it's too easy and comfortable. I can't get comfortable with Addison. Hell, I can't get that comfortable with anyone. Too comfortable is dangerous. Relying on people is dangerous.
That's the thing I know about life. When you love people, they leave you. I learned that lesson with my mother. Never let anyone get close – that's a lesson I taught myself. That's what my mother's death taught me.
I have to get away from Addy. Out of sight, out of mind. It's the only way. I break out my emergency smoke and the lighter.
By the time I finish smoking the cigarette, I've made a decision.
* * *
PRESENT DAY
Damn it, damn it, damn it. I push the door to my room, and it slams shut loudly, louder than I intended. Shit. Now Addison will think I'm angry at her, that I'm some dickhead who's throwing a temper tantrum because I wanted to fuck her and she didn't want to let me in her bedroom, when that's not it at all.
I'm fucking infuriated with myself. I'm infuriated with myself for standing there, one hand on her bedroom door and the other hand wrapped around my cock, stroking myself while I pictured her with her fingers inside her panties. The minute I heard her call my name, I could tell what she was doing, my name on her lips in the throes of orgasm. I wanted her to touch herself again, to bring herself to orgasm again while I was there. I wanted her let me in so I could finish what I started out there in the hallway.
My dick is still as hard as a rock, and I lean with my back against the bedroom door, running my hand down the length of my cock. I close my eyes, picturing Addison in front of me. I imagine my hands in her hair, traveling over her breasts, cupping her curvy ass.
I picture Addison on her knees in front of me, looking up at me.
Addison, with her sweet lips wrapped around my cock.
The image of Addy taking me in, Addy sucking me dry, pushes me over the edge with a vengeance.
It's her face I see when I come.
And it's her name I groan, not even bothering to try to stay silent. I hope she hears me. I hope she knows I just came, thinking about her.
* * *
It's two hours before Addison comes out of her room. I guess I should be impressed that she came out at all, honestly. I sort of figured she'd hide away in there all day, give me some bullshit excuse about how she was feeling sick. But she didn't.
I guess she has more balls than I thought she did.
She sits down at the counter in the kitchen without looking at me, and I pour a cup of coffee, sliding it toward her. "Thanks," she says.
"Did you go back to sleep?" I ask, sipping my coffee. Well, this is about as awkward as I expected it to be.
"Hendrix, we should talk about what happened," she starts. But she doesn't look at me, clearly embarrassed.
"Should we?" I ask. "Because nothing happened."
"Out in the hallway," she says. "And then...what you heard. And what I heard."
Oh good, she heard me, I think. But I shrug nonchalantly. "It was a momentary lapse in judgment," I say.
"That's it." She looks up at me, her eyes wary. "You were going to...kiss me."
I turn to grab the printout of her schedule and put it in front of her on the counter, intending to change the subject. "I was horny, and you were wearing...that shirt. And those panties."
"You saw my panties?" she asks.
"Shit, Addy." I shake my head, laughing. "You're something. Let's just write it off, all right? Nothing happened."
"That's it," she says, her voice wary. "You were just horny. I was just horny."
No, that's not fucking it, I think. That's what I want to say. That's not it at all. But I don't. "That's it," I lie. I force a shrug, and a casualness I definitely don't feel. "You know me, sweet cheeks. Have I ever been able to pass up a hot chick?"
"You think I'm a hot chick?" she asks, her cheeks flushing.
Damn it. I clench my jaw. "You're Addy," I say. "Not a hot chick."
"You're saying I'm not hot, then?" But the corner of her mouth turns up, and I think she's about to break
into her signature grin. Thank God she's not taking this seriously.
"You're the hottest girl I know," I say, looking her in the eye. That makes her face flush deeper.
"Obviously, the Marines have ruined you," she says. "You probably haven't been around any hot girls in years."
"That's probably it," I lie. "And it explains my lapse in judgment. It was basically temporary insanity."
"Yes." She nods. She doesn't look away, and for a minute, I think about walking around to the other side of the counter, picking her up and setting her on the marble, so she can wrap her legs around me. I want to take her right here, right now.
But I don't.
Addy clears her throat. "So it won't happen again."
I can't tell if she's telling me, or asking a question. "No, Addy-girl," I say. "It won't happen again."
I want to be telling the truth. It shouldn't happen again. It can't happen again. I know the stakes for her if it does. If I put my lips on her, it's over. Everything is over. Her career, her future. I knew the stakes when I signed up for this gig. Her record label would eat her alive.
So I steel my jaw, and shrug. "Honestly?" I ask. "Getting out of the Marines is like getting out of prison. Don't fault me if you're the first good-looking girl I've seen in a while. I just need a good lay, and that's it. It's nothing personal."
"Nothing personal," she repeats. She blinks - once, twice, three times, then nods again. "Yes. That's...how it should be."
"So, anyway. Here's the schedule for today," I say, looking down. "You want to go through it, or you need to finish your coffee first? You've got an interview this morning, and time at the studio this afternoon, and then dinner with our parents tonight."
"Dinner with our parents?" Addy asks, her brow furrowed. "When did that get added?"
"Are you going to deep-freeze them forever?"
She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. "That was my plan," she says.
A Very Dirty Christmas Page 55
