Cannon (A Step Brother Romance #3)

Okay, that's what I've seen, too. Sometimes he brings girls home, when our parents are gone, which is a lot. But I mean, why shouldn't he? It's not like Hendrix and I have something going.

Anyway, I didn't get the option of continuing with public school, not since I started performing. I'd be too disruptive to a regular school. Plus, the tours and photo shoots and appearances meant that I'd have to take too many days off. So I've had tutors. And watched from the sidelines as Grace and Hendrix get to have normal lives with normal friends.

"Screw 'em," Hendrix says, in his understated Hendrix way.

"Yeah."

"They're selfish bastards, you know," he says. "Try not to take it personally, even though I know you can't help it."

I shrug. "It's no big deal," I tell him. "But I'm glad you came with me."

Hendrix pulls into the parking lot and squeezes my leg again, sending heat rushing through me. "This is the part where I'm supposed to say 'knock 'em dead,'" he says, pausing for a beat. "But you probably shouldn't try to knock anyone dead."

I slap his hand. "Don't even suggest I'm going to hit someone in the car during my freaking drivers license test, Hendrix," I say.

"I'm not going to jinx you," he says, at the same time as I tell him, "You'll jinx me."

"Buy me a cola," we both say at the same time.

He laughs. "Stop being stupid. Let's go get your dumb license."

"Can I drive your car home?" I ask, as we get out.

"Fuck, no," he says. "You think I'm going to let you out in public behind the wheel?"

"Hendrix, come on. I've driven it before," I say. But he's grinning and I know he's joking. He's totally going to let me drive his car. It's a beater, this old Mustang he bought with his earnings from working last summer. He didn't want to buy it with anyone else's money, his father's or mine. It smells vaguely like gym socks, but it's still awesome.

He pushes the door open to the department of motor vehicles, turning toward me while leaning on it. "You know what we should do, though."

"What?"

"Road trip."

"Yeah, right."

Hendrix shrugs. "You don't want to hang out with me, just be honest, sweet cheeks. I was even going to let you drive part of the way."

"We can't just drop everything and take a road trip somewhere."

"Who's watching you? Our parents left for the weekend," Hendrix says. He leans close to my ear, his voice a whisper. "Unless you're chicken, Addy-girl. Are you afraid I'm going to corrupt you?"

I'm afraid you already have. A shiver runs up my spine. I know he's not talking about sex, but for some reason, it feels that way and my heart pounds so loudly in my chest it feels like it's going to explode. "Okay," I say. "But only if I pass the test."

Hendrix slides into one of the cheap plastic seats in the waiting room. "Go pass your fucking test already, Addy-girl," he says. "You and I have a date with the open road."





PRESENT DAY


Shit. The blood pumps loudly in my ears, and my heart races. I close my bedroom door, leaning up against it like I'm barricading it with my body. As if Hendrix is going to follow me into my bedroom or something. I'm sure he hates me now. He was furious when he walked down the hallway. When he walked away from whatever just happened between us.

Oh God. What the hell just happened between us?

My brain refuses to process this information. Whatever happened out there in the hallway was just some weird too-early-in-the-morning-to-count parallel universe kind of thing. That was not Hendrix and I.

What was I thinking, wandering out there in a t-shirt and panties?

I was thinking that Hendrix had left to go running and that I had the house to myself.

I don't even know why I'm up this early, anyway. I should be getting better sleep with Hendrix here. He's been really helpful in some ways, scheduling and taking care of things, before I even know to ask. He's been cooking, too. It's kind of like having a personal assistant and bodyguard and chef rolled up into one.

Except that I haven't been getting more sleep. My sleep has been restless, fragmented by dreams, torn apart by half-lucid memories of the past, of Hendrix before he left for boot camp. And by how I felt about him back then.

Seeing him standing in my hallway, inches away from me, wearing boxer briefs that hug his perfectly formed ass and his holy-shit-huge cock...well, that isn't going do anything to help me get him out of my head, either. I think that image is going to be permanently burned onto my brain. And what he did a minute later, the way he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me toward him…even now, it's like every part of my body is turned on, wired somehow, on a cellular level.