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.
"Why not just fire me?" I ask. "If it bothers you so much." Honestly, I'm shocked she's kept me around this long anyway. I don't know why she has. I'm sure she could have found another assistant who would manage shit and keep an eye on her. I really don't know why she needs someone to babysit her -- it's not like she's snorting coke off male strippers in the living room or dancing on tables at the club. I haven't even met these so-called friends of hers, the ones she was getting into trouble with.
Addy shrugs and looks at her phone, preoccupied with texting. She looks up at me. "Because my lawyer advised me not to," she says.
"You talked to your lawyer?" I ask. I'm not sure whether to be offended or impressed that she was smart enough to try to get rid of me.
"Yeah, duh," she says. "What, you think I just rolled over and took my label's advice? Do you think I'm dumb?"
"I think I've been with you this whole time," I say. "Practically."
Addy smirks. "I took a meeting with my attorney and it wasn't any of your business," she says.
"When?"
"Don't be so nosy, Hendrix," she says, her voice clipped. "Not everything in my life is your damn business. When I said before that I didn't need a babysitter, I meant it. On my attorney's advice, I'm stuck with you until this all plays out."
"Shit, you're no picnic either, sweet cheeks," I say. I rack my brain trying to figure out when the hell she talked to her attorney. I'm irritated that she tried to get rid of me. And after I've been so goddamned agreeable, doing her grocery shopping and cooking for her and refraining from ripping her clothes off in the damn hallway.
What I am is a goddamned saint.
"Well, then, maybe you should quit." She looks at me, her eyebrows raised, practically daring me to walk out.
"Nah," I say. "That would be too easy. I'd rather be up your ass twenty-four, seven."
"Up my ass," she says. "That's super professional, Hendrix."
"That's me," I say. "I am professional. Which is why I didn't say I'd be crawling up your ass like one of your thongs."
Addy wrinkles her nose. "The fact that our parents thought you should be the one babysitting me demonstrates their complete and utter lack of judgment."
"I agree," I say, raising my coffee cup in a mock 'cheers' gesture. "It's shocking. Appalling, really."
Addy slides off the barstool, her coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other. "They think you'd never look at me the way you did in the hallway," she says. She turns and walks away, without another word.
Our parents are fucking blind. I was looking at Addy that way for two years before I left. Looking at her that way is why I joined the Marines. I thought it would get her out of my system. Instead, I wound up thinking about her that way for five damn years.
I tell myself I need to stop looking at her that way.
Maybe this time it'll finally sink in.
SIX YEARS AGO
I lie on my back on the blanket I share with Hendrix, looking up at the night sky, my hands behind my head. We lie there together in silence, and I listen to the waves roll in, the sound soothing like a lullaby. Hendrix has been weird today, even though we've spent the entire day hanging out together, doing stupid tourist shit, mini-golfing and go-kart racing and playing frisbee on the beach. Yeah, too-cool-for-life Hendrix played frisbee. Obviously something is wrong with him. I'm half-concerned he's about to tell me he has a serious illness.
"Do you ever think about what would have happened if you hadn't been on that show?" he asks, breaking the quiet between us.
"Yeah," I say. "My mom and Grace and I would be back where we were before the show."
"Was it that different?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say, laughing bitterly. "Of course it was that fucking different."
Hendrix tsk-tsk's me, pushing himself up to a sitting position. I can't see his face in the blackness of the evening, but I know he's looking at me and it makes me self-conscious, as I lie here. I feel the familiar heat rush through me at the thought of being under his gaze. "You're always cussing now."