CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Gizmo
“Y ou good, brother?” Vince asks.
I glance his way and want to grit my teeth at the way he’s studying me, looking for any signs of... what the fuck ever, but then again, he is the one who came and got me. He didn’t push for more answers than I gave him. He just fucking knew what I needed because of where I was. “For the tenth time, yes. I’m good.” I slap a hand on his back.
“Wouldn’t be doing my job if I weren’t checking.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
He barks out a laugh. “None of us like this touchy-feely shit. I get it. You get it. I’m just glad you’re doing all right.”
Am I? I wasn’t five hours ago.
“Yep. I’m doing all right.” Especially as I mull over Hendrix’s words too. “You could have called me. I would have been there for you, no questions asked.” I have no doubt that she would have— she’s that kind— but why put extra stress on her when this is only temporary?
“I’d be doing a helluva lot better with a drink in my hand, but I promised her,” I say with a lift of my chin in Hendrix’s direction and then a growl I don’t even realize I emit as another man walks up to Hendrix. I can’t fucking blame them. Not when she’s wearing that deep purple dress that hugs her curves just like I’d prefer to be doing instead of being across the room thinking about it.
Madison comes nowhere close to touching what Hendrix has.
“Her,” he says with a hum in his throat that I want to ignore. “I remember what it was like to say shit like that— her —when it came to Bristol. Like you want to pretend that fucking ache in your chest isn’t there but you can’t fucking ignore it.”
“I’m not ignoring shit. She’s here for... a set time. We’re simply enjoying that time.”
He snorts. “ Enjoying . That’s a word. So is, I don’t want Hendrix to see me like this .” He says my own words from earlier back to me. The ones I uttered when I was a fucking mess and Vince wanted to bring me home.
“Those are several words but we know math isn’t your strong suit, so I won’t hold it against you,” I joke.
“Yeah, well, those several words told me a lot about your headspace when it comes to you and—” He lifts his chin much the same way I did and then winces.
I follow his line of sight and roll my shoulders as another man—an actor—approaches Hendrix.
“You look like you’re ready to rip someone’s head off,” Vince says.
“Shut up,” I grunt.
“Is that where we are with this now? Already?”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask, but don’t look his way.
He laughs, clapping me on the back. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”
I don’t respond. Because he’s not wrong.
Rocket saunters up, grinning as he takes a sip of his scotch and looks where we’re looking. “Gotta hand it to you, Giz, you sure as shit know how to pick ’em. I mean, she’s fucking hot and funny and—”
“You met her for ten minutes. Back off, fucker.”
He raises his eyebrows and looks at me. “Remember that bet way back when? The drums for breaking up with my girl?”
“How could I forget? She was good at a lot of things,” I say to wipe the smug look off his face.
“Yeah, well, I think it’s time to reciprocate that bet. When your time is up with her, maybe it’s my turn to have your seconds.”
Fury flashes instantly in a way I’ve never experienced before. My glare is nothing compared to how tightly clenched my fists are. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”
Rocket raises his hands in surrender, his chuckle drawing others to look our way. “Relax. I was just messing with you.”
But I’m not laughing. Because this isn’t a joke.
Across the room, Hendrix glances my way. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I forget that Rocket and Vince are standing there or that no doubt, Hawkin is somewhere close by about to chime into their razzing.
You could have called me.
Those words ring in my ear. They were sincere, and despite the fact they came from someone I definitely hurt earlier, she said them as a woman trying to help me right a wrong.
A lump forms in my throat and I struggle with these foreign feelings. I don’t quite understand them.
Then my phone buzzes.
Hendrix:Why are you looking at me like that?
I smirk.
Me: Like what?
Hendrix:Like you want to cause a scene.
Me:Maybe I do. Sounds par for the course.
Hendrix: You’re supposed to be on your best behavior. Remember?
Me: And you’re not supposed to be charming every man who comes and talks to you.
I watch her smile curl up as she reads the text.
Hendrix: Maybe this is all part of my master plan.
Me: Master plan? To do what?
Her eyes widen slightly, a flush creeping up her neck. And damn if I don’t want to drag her out of here right now. All I can hope is that the text she’s typing me gives me a reason to do just that.
Hendrix: To find somewhere very soon, very near, where you can put that smart mouth of yours to good use.
Me: Are you asking what I think you’re asking, Cookie? Say the words. Tell me what you want.
Hendrix: I want you to fuck me, Jase. Hard. Fast. In this dress. Against a wall. On the floor. Bent over. I don’t care so long as it’s soon.
Me: Is that so?
Hendrix: Maybe I want to fuck the Madison Sinclair right out of you. Operation Live-A-Little.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I reread the text again to make sure she really just sent that to me. That she really just said that.
Yep.
She sure as fuck did.
My cock stirs and I don’t need anyone, let alone these fuckers, to see it. “I’ll be right back. Hendrix needs to be rescued.” The lie is quick and easy and is greeted with chuckles from the guys.
But I don’t care. All I see is the purple dress. All I can think about is slipping it up over her hips, bending her over, and sliding into her tight pussy.
Operation Live-A-Little is the best fucking plan I’ve ever had.
Hands down.
I reach Hendrix in seconds—her lips parted, eyes darkened, and cheeks flushed—and grab her elbow with a little more force than necessary.
More like desperation.
“Let’s go,” I mutter.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she taunts.