Addy's mother laughs. "She nearly lost her record deal," she says. "And you know nothing. You think she's not texting that boyfriend of hers? Or sneaking around with him? Ask her about it. You think you have a handle on her? She's charming you the way she does everyone else."
Anger rushes through me at the idea of Addy being with anyone, much less the douchebag ex-boyfriend who'd better not be in the picture, so help me God. "You don't think I'm doing my job? Fire me."
"I'm not going to fire you," the Wicked Bitch says. "That would make her rebel even more. But you're going to keep me apprised of what's going on. I'm her manager. I need to know."
"Every detail," I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Should I make you know what she eats and what time she takes a shit? I can send photos if you like."
"You're crude," she says.
I shrug. "I guess you can take the man out of the Marines, but you can't take the Marine out of the man, huh?"
She wrinkles her nose, looking at me like she's smelling something repulsive. "They didn't teach you diplomacy in the military."
"Diplomacy isn't exactly a priority," I say. "Any other job advice?"
"Watch yourself, Hendrix," she says. "Addy will have you wrapped around your finger in no time at all. She's a manipulator."
"Actually, I think you have her confused with someone else," I say. "You." I turn to head up the stairs, wondering if she suspects anything between her daughter and me. I wonder if what happened outside, or hell, the thoughts I've been having, are written all over my face.
FIVE YEARS AGO
"He left this morning," Grace says, flopping down on my bed. "I thought you knew he was leaving. He had to report for boot camp."
I feel like someone punched me in the stomach. "I thought he'd say goodbye."
Grace rolls over onto her back and twirls a long strand of dark hair around her finger. "That's weird, yeah?" she asks. "He said goodbye to me last night. I guess since you were at the movies, he didn't want to bother you when you got back?"
"I guess." My head is swimming, and I have to sit down.
"What's wrong?" Grace asks. "You look pale. Do you need a soda or something?"
"No, I --" I start. What can I say? I fell for my stepbrother, and he kissed me, and I was naive enough to think it meant something to him. Then I heard him tell all his friends horrible things about me, but I still thought he might make a last-minute declaration of love before he left for the Marines.
I'm a total idiot, a girl who's read far too many fairy tales.
"What?" Grace sits up. "It's not Hendrix is it?"
"Huh?" I ask, distracted by my thoughts of Hendrix. My stomach churns at the thought of him joining the Marines. What if something happens to him, and the last feelings I had toward him were hate for what he said about me? I'd never forgive myself. "No, it's not Hendrix."
"You guys were like, really good friends there for a while, huh?" Grace asks. She grabs one of the bottles of nail polish from my desk and starts painting her toes. "Ugh, pink. Don't you have any more edgy colors? Can you really see me wearing pink? I mean, no offense, it looks good on you, obviously."
"I think there's some in the bathroom," I say, numb. I don't care about nail polish. I can't think about anything except Hendrix.
"Don't worry about Hendrix," she says, hopping up and disappearing into the bathroom. "Although, can you really see him being a Marine? That would be like me joining the military. They're going to shit their pants when they see him walk into boot camp with blue streaks in his hair." When she reappears, she has a bottle of blue polish. "Speaking of blue, at least you have something that's more useable than that pink crap. Do you think he'll come back all 'roided out and like, prison hot?"
The thought of Hendrix getting "prison hot" makes me shiver, and I try not to think about what he might look like after being with the Marines. I've fantasized about Hendrix too many times to count already. Far too many times to be good for me. I need to put Hendrix out of my head.
PRESENT DAY
"Just a second," I call. The door opens before I can say anything else, and I reach frantically for the towel I tossed carelessly on my bed, getting tangled up in the pile of wet clothes on the floor at my feet. Looking up, I see Hendrix shutting the door behind him. I hiss at him through clenched teeth to get the hell out of my bedroom before someone catches him, but he just stands there, grinning at me. "Turn around."
"What?" he whispers. "Your taste is still on my tongue, but you don't want me to see you naked?"
"Don't say that." I scramble to get the towel wrapped around my body, mindful of the fact that Hendrix isn't doing what I tell him to do. Not only is he not listening to me, he's standing there shirtless, his chest still damp from the rain. Shirtless and sexy.
"Don't say what?" he asks, his voice low. He crosses the space between us so quickly that I inhale sharply. "Naked? Or that your taste is still on my tongue? Would you rather I say that I was licking your pussy?"