"Finally!" Sapphire yells in my face. "I didn't think you'd grace us with your presence, even for my birthday, since you've become a complete recluse and gone into hiding!" She grabs my shoulders and kisses me on each cheek twice, her extra-pretentious air kiss, before she takes my hand and leads me into the club. The music is irritatingly loud and the base sends vibrations through the floor that make it feel like it's traveling through my body.
The club is packed, and Hendrix is behind me, his hand on the small of my back as he guides me through the crowd. His touch does the same thing to me it always has – it sends a thrill of arousal rushing through me, and I immediately think of what it felt like when he ran his hands over my naked flesh. Part of me wants to just stop, right here, and spin around in his arms.
Someone gets too close to me, and Hendrix puts his forearm up to protect me. I want to tell Hendrix that I'm sorry for the morning after. And the whole week. And for being a complete bitch. I've wanted to tell him that a hundred times this week. I even knocked on his door once, but stopped, my fist frozen in mid-air, unable to follow through.
The smart part of me knows that what happened between Hendrix and I was colossally stupid. But so is this tonight, going out to a club with my old friends. Maybe part of me wants to get a reaction from Hendrix.
I can't continue with him, the way it has been, silent between us, our own private two-person cold war. I want something to happen, even if it's a goddamned explosion, fireworks, a fight that goes nuclear.
As soon as Sapphire air-kisses me, I remember how fucking awkward it was for me before, going out with them while they partied and got stoned and acted so damn pretentious. Why did I used to think this was fun, anyway? Lounging around on a chaise in my makeup and short dress in a roped-off VIP area while my friends laugh and people in the crowd snap photos that will wind up on the cover of a tabloid? It's risky.
We're not even here for ten minutes before Hendrix leans over and yells in my ear. "Are you about fucking finished here?" he asks. "You've made an appearance. You need to get out of here before anything gets out of hand."
Sapphire leans over and yells in your ear. "Your bodyguard is way too over-protective," she says. "You need to loosen up, have a little fun. Besides, there's someone here who wants to say hi to you."
Jared. He's flanked on either side by two of his douchebag friends, and my heart sinks in my throat as I look at him. He walks straight toward me, but Hendrix steps between us.
"Down, boy," Sapphire says, making a barking sound. I could punch her right now. Hell, I could punch Jared right now.
"Call off your attack dog, Addison," Jared says. "I just want to wish Sapphire a happy birthday."
"Hendrix," I say, my voice tight. Hendrix doesn't move, and I stand up, nudging him to the side. "I can handle this myself," I say, irritated that he thinks of me as some incapable girl he has to protect from absolutely everything in life.
Hendrix leans in close to me, his hand brushing against the side of my waist, and it sends a shiver up my spine. "He doesn't touch you," he says to me, his tone warning. "He lays a finger on you and he's dead."
"You're threatening to kill my exes, Hendrix?" I ask. I can't tell if my words are lost in the thumping of the club music, and I think my friends are staring at us, but I don't care. I'm sitting there feeling badly about how immaturely I've behaved, thinking about apologizing, and then Hendrix goes and says something like that.
"Your bodyguard doesn't know his place, Addison," Jared says. "You might want to put him back in his kennel."
Hendrix spins around and grabs Jared by the arm, pulling him out of the VIP area. Jared's friends are on Hendrix immediately, but he shrugs them off like they're nothing, tossing Jared out into the crowd.
"I'm going to the bathroom," I say, pushing my way past them. "And I don't need an escort."
I weave my way through the bodies of people in the club, my hand over my forehead, shielding my face, and breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the bathroom without anyone recognizing me. Inside, I exhale deeply, leaning against the wall and closing my eyes.
"Oh.My.God. Are you Addison Stone?" The girl looks up from the counter and sniffs loudly. She stumbles up to me, half-drunken, her eyes glassy. "I just love you. You look so hot. Can you take a selfie with me?" She doesn't wait for a response, just leans in close to me and tries to snap a photo, but I duck out of the way.
"Sorry," I say. I can't imagine the clusterfuck that would result from a bathroom selfie with this obviously high party girl, when it got uploaded to social media. I just want to get the hell out of here.
When the bathroom door opens, I'm relieved. But only momentarily, since it's Jared. "Addison," he says. "Someone said that's your brother. Is that your fucking brother out there? He's an asshole."
I roll my eyes. Not this right now. "The ladies room, Jared? Oh, that's right, it's your favorite place to get some. Not from me, though, thanks anyway."
"Of course not," he says, glancing at the cokehead who's watching us with interest. "Missionary style, boring as fuck Addison, getting it on in a bathroom?"
"Fuck you, Jared," I say, stepping around him, but he grabs my wrist, and I jerk it away.
"I came here to talk to you, Addison."