At least the Colonel is somewhat responsible, better than the sperm donors that fathered my sister and I. Fathered is hardly the right word. They haven't been involved with us since they did the deed and left my mother. The Colonel might be okay. He's stiff as a board and doesn't smile much. And he makes everyone call him the Colonel, even though he's not in the Army anymore. So those are reasons to dislike him.
On the other hand, he does occupy my mother's time, gives her a distraction from micro-managing my life and career. So that's definitely a reason to love him.
But my mother and I aren't talking about the Colonel. We're discussing the Colonel's son Hendrix, who is tattooed and angry and the most gorgeous boy I've ever laid eyes on. "What do you mean, he's troubled?"
My mother gives me a long look, and for a second, I'm afraid she can read my mind, that she can see the very inappropriate thoughts I've had about Hendrix, that she can somehow sense the rush I get when I hear his name. I try to sound casual, nonchalant when I ask about him, try to give no indication of my curiosity.
My mother waves her hand dismissively and sighs. "You saw him, Addison," she says. "Tattoos and…well, anyway, you saw him."
Yes, I did see him. Hendrix Cole looks like trouble with a capital T.
Why does the thought of that thrill me?
*
PRESENT DAY
I stare at the menu, trying not to look at Hendrix, especially since I can feel his gaze on me without even glancing up. My body is still warm where his hands were when he carried me out of the building, and the thought of his arms around me sends a trail of goose bumps over my skin.
My cell phone vibrates, and I scroll through my unchecked messages, all about last night. Five from Jared the ex-boyfriend, none of which even apologize for getting a blow job from a redhead in the bathroom of the club. Two from my friend Sapphire: "OMG what a FUCKING TRIP. Sry @ Jared. U kno he's a player. U need 2 have revenge sex." One from Ada: "Sorry you had a fight. Jared will get over it."
Jared will get over it? He's the one with his cock in some other girl's mouth, and he's the one who'll get over it?
I put my phone in airplane mode. Screw Jared - and my so-called friends with their crappy advice. A waitress arrives at the table, and she stares at me for a minute, chewing her gum loudly. She taps her nametag, Beatrice, with the eraser end of her pencil, before directing the pencil at me, her eyes narrowed. "Anyone ever tell you that you look like that singer, Addison Stone?" It sounds more like an accusation than a question.
Hendrix peers over the edge of his menu. "Does she? I can't see the resemblance."
"She lives in Nashville, you know," the waitress says with a shrug. "That's what I've heard. I've never seen her around here, so it's probably not true. She seems more like a Hollywood type anyway."
"I've heard she's a huge diva," Hendrix says, and I kick him hard under the table.
"Anyway. Y'all ready to order, or what? I've got someone waiting for a to-go order. You want your usual?"
His usual?
Hendrix holds up his fingers. "Two," he says, taking my menu from my hands before I can protest. "And coffees."
Beatrice doesn't answer, just strides across the room, headed toward the cash register.
"You think maybe I wanted to decide on my own food?" I ask.
Hendrix shrugs. "Why, so you can order some low-fat egg white thing and vegetables?"
"You don't know that's what I was going to order."
He laughs. "Sure you weren't," he says. "I bet you're eating steak and eggs every morning. That's why you're skin and bones."
"You're so annoying. I'm hardly skin and bones. Two weeks ago, the tabloids said I was too fat." I glare at him.
"They're blind. You need some food."
He's so infuriating, bossing me around five seconds after showing back up in my life, but I know better than to bother arguing with him. "Why did she ask if you wanted your usual?"
"She wanted to know if I wanted the same thing I order every time I come here."
I exhale, exasperated, and throw a packet of sugar across the table at him. "Yes, I understand what 'the usual' means. You know what I'm asking. How long have you been back in Nashville?"
Hendrix gives me a long look. "Six months."
"What?" He's been back in Nashville for six months and I'm only just finding out about it now? Not that I'd want him to show up on my doorstep or anything. Not after the things he said about me right before he left. I remind myself that I hate him. But doing that is harder than I thought when he's sitting across from me, looking at me the way he is right now.
Like he's hungry and I'm what's on the menu.
"Did you miss me?" he asks, grinning.
"Oh my God, you're still as arrogant as you've always been," I note. "I've had a lot of stuff going on, in case you didn't notice. My world doesn't revolve around you."