"It used to," Hendrix says softly.
I feel my cheeks flush warm, and I open my mouth to respond, but Beatrice chooses that exact moment to set two cups of coffee down with a ker-thunk. The liquid spills over the rims of the mugs, pooling onto the table, but she's gone without a word. I soak up the mess with a napkin, grateful for the distraction. I'd forgotten what a complete and utter jackass my stepbrother used to be -- clearly, he's still just as arrogant as ever. "I don't know what you're implying," I say, my tone imperious, "But if you think my world ever revolved around you, you're completely delusional."
"That's right," he says. "You used to despise me."
"Used to?" I ask, reaching for the basket of sweetener on the table. Hendrix grabs it before I do and slides it just out of my reach. "Hey, I need one of those for my coffee."
Hendrix tosses a packet of sugar at me. "Don't tell me you're still harboring old grudges," he says.
"I'm not harboring anything," I say, sighing. Why does Hendrix have the ability to put me on edge so easily? "Will you just give me the sweetener? I don't use this sugar."
"A little sugar would do you some good, sweet cheeks," he says, giving me a long look. Why is it that everything he says sounds like an innuendo?
The truth is, a little sugar probably would do me some good. It's not like I've had any luck in that department lately. The ex-boyfriend wasn't exactly a winner when it came to sex. Probably because he was too busy getting it from other girls.
Hendrix finally relents, sliding the basket of sweeteners across the table, and I rip open a packet. "You never answered the question," he says.
"What question was that?" I ask. "The one where you asked if some sugar would do me any good?"
"No," Hendrix says. "The one where I asked if you're still harboring an old grudge."
I shrug. "Can't harbor something you never cared about to begin with."
I'm lying. Hendrix was the biggest dick ever, but especially in the months before he left for the Marines, when he apparently decided he was just too cool to hang out with the wholesome little country singer. But that didn't erase the months before that, when we became close friends. And all that time I fantasized about being more than just friends. And that one time, when he kissed me, when we were much more than just friends.
But Hendrix Cole's sugar is exactly the last thing on God's green earth I need to be thinking about now, after what just happened with the record label.
"Well, I was a dickhead," Hendrix says.
"Past tense?" I ask.
"You know, all the shit I gave you, I never --" Hendrix clears his throat and leans forward, his forearms on the table. But, with perfect timing, the waitress interrupts him again.
"Well, now, I've got your eggs and bacon and sausage and biscuits right here," she says, setting the plates down in front of us and dropping a jar of syrup on the table in the middle of the array of plates.
"You eat all of this every time you come here?" I stare at the pile of food in disbelief. "I'm not sure whether to be disgusted or impressed."
"Now, hang on," Beatrice says. "That's not all of it. I didn't have enough room on the tray for everything, so I'll be back with the pancakes and pie." She flounces off.
"Did she say pancakes and pie?"
Hendrix grins. "They have good pie," he says.
"Who eats pie for breakfast? And who eats pancakes and pie?"
"I can have pie with breakfast. I'm an adult."
"You sure could have fooled me," I say, taking a long gulp of my coffee. I don't know whether I believe there's a new and improved grown-up Hendrix lurking under that muscled exterior.
But Beatrice brings the pancakes and the pie, and I suddenly realize I'm ravenous. We dig into the food and Hendrix is Hendrix -- inappropriate and stupid -- and soon I'm forgetting everything that's passed between us, and I'm laughing so hard I snort coffee up my nose, which makes me laugh even harder. It feels good to laugh. It's been a long time since I laughed the way I'm laughing now.
And then we're finished eating before I remember that I've forgotten to ask what the hell the plan is here.
*
"Well, fuck me sideways," Hendrix says, whistling as he stands in the foyer to the apartment and looks around.
"You're very classy."
Hendrix shrugs. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I've never pretended to be classy, sweet cheeks."
"Stop calling me that," I say, shutting the door. "It's too – "
I pause. I want to say that it's too much like something a pet name a boyfriend would use, but just the thought of equating Hendrix with my boyfriend makes my heart race, and I don't know why.
"It's too what?" he asks. "I can't just call you Addy all the time. What would be the fun in that?"
I roll my eyes. "I call you Hendrix."
"That's because you're boring."
"Whatever. I'm a music star. As if you're more interesting than I am."
Hendrix laughs, and as annoyed as I am with him, the sound immediately fills the room with warmth. "Sure you are, sugar tits."