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."
"Crap." I pick up Brady in my arms. "Brade-man, I was just swimming underwater! Surprise!" Then he starts giggling.
Hendrix already has his back toward me as he pulls himself out of the water to get towels. Part of me wants to explain my awkwardness, confront him about that night and get it out in the open. But the other part of me, the more reasonable side, reminds myself that as comfortable as it was this afternoon hanging out with him and Brady, that Hendrix is not my friend. He's on my parents' payroll, and he's pushing their agenda – and the studio's agenda.
After Brady is fed dinner and bathed and curled up on the sofa in the living room, passed out before we even had a chance to watch the cartoon I'd bought, Hendrix sits on the loveseat across from the exhausted toddler and I. "You're good with him," he says.
I shrug. "I would hope so. He's my only nephew."
The silence between Hendrix and I, with nothing else to distract us, is practically deafening. Hendrix clears his throat and gives me a serious look, his brow wrinkled. "I don't know why you -- "
As soon as he starts to speak, the knock on the door interrupts him, and I open it for Grace, the whole time wondering what Hendrix was going to say. "And?" I ask. "How was it?"
"It was amazing!" she says. "I think they liked me. The photographer seemed happy, and said I was easy to work with and -- "
"You look so great. I love the hair and the make-up and -- "
"Tell me this is what it feels like when they do your hair and makeup and everything for your concerts and your events," she says. Her face is radiant, and she looks ecstatic.
"Well -- " I start to say that it's really not, but then I stop. "It is," I lie. It felt that way in the beginning, but not anymore. Now it's just part of the routine, a burden more than anything, having to play a role. But I don't tell Grace that. Why ruin the magic? She's happy. And beautiful. "You should go surprise Roger."
Grace smiles, but there's no joy behind her eyes. "I think I will," she says, glancing at her watch. "If he's home, I mean. He's working late a lot."
"Roger is a corporate litigator," I tell Hendrix.
"That's about the last thing you expected, I'm sure," Grace says, laughing. "Me and a freaking lawyer."
Hendrix shrugs. "People change," he says. The words are directed at Grace, but Hendrix never takes his eyes off me.
People change. I'm not sure if Hendrix is trying to convince me or himself.
SIX YEARS, FOUR MONTHS AGO
"You're getting better," Addison says. She pulls herself out of the pool in one swift movement, her hands on the concrete edge, ignoring the steps that are less than three feet away, the same way she always does. I don't know why she doesn't get out of the pool like a normal person, other than the fact that nothing Addy does is normal. She's one of those people who looks normal on the outside, but turns out to have all these little quirks and things. Like the way she counts when she's nervous.
I don't know if it's weird that I notice this stuff about her. No one else seems to. Of course, no one really seems to give much of a shit about what she does, other than if she's showing up at the studio or going on tour.
That's my biggest problem. I notice way too much about Addison Stone. Like the fact that her eyes look so damn blue when she wears this one-piece navy swimsuit and matching swim cap, goggles perched on top of her head. It should be the most unattractive look ever. Except that it's not. The water runs down the sides of her face, and over her shoulders, and...holy shit...her breasts. Her nipples are hard through the fabric of her swimsuit, and I'm afraid to look down because my cock has got to be tenting the fabric of my trunks right now.