"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."
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 fucking 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 fuck 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.