I’d been looking forward to hanging out with my friends, having some fun now that the party was pretty much taking care of itself. But then he showed up and ruined everything. I couldn’t think about anything else with him so close.
The way he’d worked my body at the back of Davey’s just one week ago . . . if I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to go there, I could still feel his fingers on my rain-slick skin, still feel the ecstatic oblivion he’d provided without wanting anything in return.
He’d given me one of the best orgasms of my life, but it was what happened after that I couldn’t seem to work out. Hendrix had taken care of me. He’d met my physical needs, then taken me into his arms and made me feel . . . safe? I couldn’t quite put my finger on the warm, fuzzy emotion it had brought up.
Then, naturally, we’d argued. He’d gone right back to the asshole he’d been from the start, and I knew there’d be no repeat performance, even if I wanted one.
So, when I wasn’t fighting memories of how good he’d made me feel, I was obsessing over how he could ruin me with one carefully worded sentence delivered to anyone in my orbit.
How had I allowed myself to get into a situation where a man like Hendrix fucking Hawthorn had that much power over me?
I sighed and took another swig. At least the alcohol was making it easier to not give a shit for a little while.
Setting the bottle on the ground, I pulled a cigarette and lighter out of my cleavage. I’d stolen it from Amaya’s pack earlier in the night when no one was looking. I didn’t really smoke, especially not where anyone might see me—not that I judged my friend for doing it, but I couldn’t afford to have anyone think I had any bad habits. When people thought you had one bad habit, they tended to start wondering what others you might have. If they only knew . . .
I lit the cigarette and inhaled, then pulled my knees to my chest and stared at the still, dark water as I blew the smoke out.
The sound of someone approaching made me turn my head and lower the cigarette out of view. I was fully prepared to dump it in the pool, but when I saw who it was, I just faced forward again and took another resigned drag.
Why couldn’t I get away from him? Even in my own house?
Hendrix came to a stop right next to me, his boots touching the edge of the pool, and whistled low. “Nice view.”
I glanced up at him. He was looking out past the pool, taking in the twinkling lights of Devilbend and the Californian landscape beyond.
“Best in Devilbend,” I deadpanned.
He folded his tall frame down next to me and draped one arm over his bent knee. Gripping the neck of the bottle with the tips of his fingers, he twirled the vodka on its base; the glass crunched against the travertine pavers. “There really is no happy medium for you, is there? It’s either one extreme or the other.”
I raised a questioning brow and took another drag.
“You’re either the perfect princess, headed for the ivy league, or you’re drunk on vodka, smoking, and going to Davey’s dressed like sin.”
“You think you know me?” I shook my head. He wasn’t wrong, but I’d die before admitting it to his face.
“Can I have a drag?” He held his long fingers out for the half-smoked cigarette.
I sighed and handed it over. He was taking everything else anyway.
He pulled on it, squinting at me, then blew the smoke in my direction before handing it back. “You try to be what everyone expects you to be, but deep down, even you must know you can’t control everything. And that thought terrifies you. But you don’t know how to deal with it, so you go out and do stupid shit as a fuck you to the universe. Or just to prove to yourself that you can. Or just to let off steam. I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
Yet. As if he was actively trying to figure me out. As if he was convinced he would eventually. The arrogance . . . I wanted to punch him in the throat for his assumptions, but part of me also liked that he wanted to know more.
“You have no idea what you mean . . . what you’re talking about.” Shit. I was wasted. I hated how slurred my words came out, that I stumbled on them. I didn’t want to show him any weakness.
“Yes, I do.” He stopped swirling the bottle and put it behind him, out of sight and reach. “I didn’t have your control issues, and I definitely didn’t give a shit about my reputation like you do, but I used to do reckless shit in order to feel alive too. I know the high you’re chasing, and trust me, it can only end in disaster.”
“Is that what happened?” I let my knees drop to the side, brushing up against his leg, and leaned on one hand for balance. After one last drag, I put out the cigarette and left the butt on the ground. “Is that why you moved here? You did something disastrous? Did you crash daddy’s Porsche?” I stuck my bottom lip out and mock-pouted.
He scoffed. “I wish. I . . . I’ll never forgive myself for what I did.”
He stared at the pool, and the mocking expression fell from my face. He was serious. And I was too drunk to deal with this conversation. My head spun, and I involuntarily tilted into him, grabbing his shoulder for balance.
Immediately, he gripped my elbow. He smelled like cinnamon, like that night in the rain, but there was a hint of cigarette smoke too. It was heady, alluring, and in my inebriated state, I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in to get more of it.
My lips were inches from his, my body remembering how infuriatingly good it felt to have his body pressed up against me. I wanted him—badly, the pressure between my legs building. But in that moment, in the cold night, with the still pool water reflecting all our flaws, I realized what I craved more was how he’d made me feel after. When he picked me up and told me he had me, and I believed it with every fiber of my being.
“Shit.” I dropped my head to his shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut, my breaths coming in pants.
He sighed and ran a hand down my spine, the touch gentle, hesitant. “You’re wasted. Come on.”
He pulled away, but he didn’t disappear as I expected him to. He helped me to my feet, steadied me, and wrapped an arm around my waist as he slowly walked me back toward the house.
The sounds of the party got louder, the weight of my life heavier, with every step.
I pushed down the confusing emotions in my chest, blinked back the perplexing tears.
Just before the last bend in the path, I made him stop and took a step away from him, breathing deeply, willing myself to sober up. It was fine to have a few drinks, have fun with my friends—I didn’t want people thinking I was a robot—but I couldn’t have anyone seeing me completely wasted either.
Hendrix held on to my elbow until it was clear I wasn’t going to faceplant, then let go, the last connection between us severed.
I pulled my shoulders back and ran my hands over my dress to check for dirt. Hendrix stepped in front of me, and I froze as his gentle fingers smoothed down a few errant strands of my hair.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, brushing the very tips of his fingers across my cheek. I gritted my teeth to resist leaning into the feather-soft touch.
“I’ll go around the side of the house. So people don’t get the wrong idea.” He smirked, then turned and walked away.
I watched his broad back until he disappeared into the darkness, then I walked back into the chaos.