"I'm just trying to get a drink," I say, looking at the dark-haired girl standing in front of me. She's petite – really petite, my shoulder height even in the stilettos she's wearing. Cute, too, in a Nashville kind of way. This is probably just what I need. A distraction from Addy.
"Well, now," she says, her voice practically a purr. "If you want a drink, all you gotta do is ask for my number, sugar."
I can't help but laugh. "That's very…direct," I say.
"No use beatin' around the bush," she says, winking. "I mean, unless you're into that kind of thing."
Hell, she's laying it on thick. And she's gorgeous – country music star gorgeous, I realize. "Are you a singer?"
"You're kiddin', right, sugar?" she asks, putting her hand on her hip.
"Is that a yes?"
"What, have you been living under a rock?" she asks, cocking her head to the side and surveying me with deep brown eyes.
"Close," I say, shrugging. "I've been overseas a lot. Military." That's partially true. I don't add that I've been living in Nashville for six months.
"Oh, a soldier," she says.
"Marine, not soldier," I correct her. The mistake immediately grates on my nerves.
She shrugs. "Potato, po—tah-toh," she says, her voice flippant, and that annoys me even more. "I like a man in uniform. I'm Cassidy Belle."
"Well, I'm not in uniform anymore," I say. I want this conversation to be over. I was wrong about needing a distraction. Distractions like this one are annoying. She's waiting for something – for me to recognize her name, I think. Which I don't.
I also don't care. I'm tired of her and it's been ten seconds since I met her. I can't meet someone who doesn't immediately get on my fucking nerves. It's a personal problem, I guess.
"And you still don't know who I am?" she asks. Then she pouts, and I groan inwardly. Why did she have to go and pout? She thinks it looks cute, but it looks so stupid I can't take it.
"She's Cassidy Belle." Addy walks down the hall, trailed by Mr. Perfect. "You really don't know who she is?" Addy hugs her, and Cassidy pouts at me again.
"He doesn't," Cassidy says. "But his looks make up for his failure in that regard."
Addy ignores Cassidy's comment about my looks, and gestures to Mr. Perfect behind her. "Hendrix, I'm surprised you haven't heard of Cassidy."
"I don't really listen to country," I say, irritated by all of this. I feel like I'm at a cocktail party, schmoozing with all the rich folks and way the hell out of place. "Sorry."
Addy's brow furrows and she gives me a look. That's the look that says she's displeased with me. She can be displeased all she wants. I'm displeased she's flirting with Mr. Perfect here.
Cassidy sets her sights on Mr. Perfect, her expression lighting up. "Well, of course I know who you are," she says. "You're Dean Tucker. I'm a huge fan."
Dean grins. "Are you kidding?" he asks. "I'm a huge fan of yours."
And like that, it's giggling and arms touching and Addy and I are standing there watching the display, bystanders to this train wreck.
"What did you just say?" Addy whispers.
"Nothing."
"You said what a train wreck."
Shit. "I didn't realize I said it out loud," I say.
She speaks softly, even though the dynamic duo are already giggling and walking together in the other direction down the hallway. "Well, you did," she says. "And I think they're hardly the train wreck, Hendrix."
"As compared to what, exactly?"
"Us."
"You're saying we're the train wreck?" I ask.
"Of course we are."
"We can't be a train wreck, Addy," I say. "There is no us. There never has been. There's no collision. No wreckage. Nothing."
"Because you don't want it," she says, facing me. Her hands are on her hips, and I want to pick her up and slam her against the wall behind her, thrust my cock inside her, and take her. I want to own her. It's the biggest caveman-sounding bullshit ever, but it's what I've wanted from the first second I laid eyes on her as she walked down the stairs in her big-ass McMansion. Even when I couldn't stand her, I wanted her.
"What don't I want, sweet-cheeks?"
"You know," she says.
"Spell it out for me," I say. I lean against the wall, my hands above her head, intentionally not touching her, because if I lay a hand on her, it's all over. She'll own me. So I force my hands against the wall, not moving, and just look at her. I drink in her scent, and I stand there, paralyzed. "Because I think you were the one who said no. But if you do..."
"I don't," she says. Her mouth opens and closes, like she wants to say something else, but doesn't. She breathes in deeply, and I look at the tops of her breasts in her shirt and want to bury my face in those tits. Then she clears her throat. "I don't." More firmly this time.
"Good," I say. "Then we're agreed. Neither of us want anything."
"We're agreed."
"Good," I say. "Because it's time for dinner with the family and neither of us will be wanting anything inappropriate at a family dinner."
"Crap."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HENDRIX
FIVE YEARS, FIVE MONTHS AGO