CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Gizmo
S omething’s off.
I feel it the moment Hendrix walks inside from the backyard, her posture stiff, her smile forced. She doesn’t join in the teasing or lean against the counter like she usually does as everyone slowly leaves the house to head home. Instead, she busies herself with cleaning.
With avoiding me.
I let it slide while the guys are here, but when the last of them filters out and the house falls quiet, I find her still wiping down the already-clean kitchen island.
“I’m not buying you’re fine. Fine is the kiss of death for a man. So what is wrong?”
She doesn’t turn around. “Nothing.”
Bullshit.
I push off the doorframe and step behind her, close enough that I see the tightness in her shoulders. “Try again.”
She exhales sharply and mutters, “Rocket’s date doesn’t have a brain in her head.”
“Which is probably why he’s with her. What does she have to do with you being upset?”
Hendrix slaps the sponge onto the counter and finally turns, arms folded. “She said you have a habit of hooking up with the help and moving on when you get bored.”
I stare at her. Then laugh. “That’swhat has you in a mood?”
She scowls. “It’s not funny.”
“Which part? The you being the help part? Because that’s pretty fucking hilarious if you ask me.” But by the set of Hendrix’s jaw, clearly it isn’t funny to her. Fucking Carly . I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “Hendrix, Carly has been around for, what? A month? How the hell would she know what I do or don’t do?”
Her lips press into a thin line, and I can see the moment she admits to herself how stupid it is to let a woman, a nobody , like Carly, get to her. Her shoulders fall. Her cheeks flush. I take a step closer, reaching for her hands, forcing her to look at me. “What’s the problem, Hendrix?”
“This is just... it’s all fucked up, right? You. Me. I mean, this was an agreement, an arrangement... no strings attached and then I... I don’t know how you feel about any of this and the not knowing is making me feel out of control. Like I’m losing my mind. I don’t know—”
“Hendrix. Stop.” She babbles when she’s nervous. I know that. She knows that. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on?”
She scrunches her nose up and takes a deep breath. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I reach out and brush my thumb over her bottom lip. “Clearly this is about whatever we are?” She digs her teeth into her bottom lip and nods. “If you want to know how I feel, just ask me.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “How do you feel?”
I laid down the gauntlet and now I’m terrified to pick it back up. Fuck. “I—” I don’t want this to be over. I don’t want to go back to life without your chaos mixed with mine. Instead of answering, I lift the hem of her dress and peel it over her head. “I think you’re incredibly creative.”
Her breath catches as I trail my fingers down her arms, then thighs until I’m at her feet, unbuckling her sandals, one then the other. “I think you’re phenomenally sexy.”
Her pulse on the inside of her ankles flutters against my fingertips as I slide my hands back up her legs. “I think you’re stubborn as hell.”
She exhales shakily as my fingertips play over the apex of her thighs through her panties. “Jase...”
“I think,” I murmur, lifting her up so she can wrap her legs around my hips and we’re eye to eye, “that you know how I feel, but that you also know saying it isn’t going to help anything when it comes to us.”
You’re a chickenshit, Gizmodo.
A fucking chickenshit.
Her eyes meet mine when I carry her, and I hope to fucking God she sees what I feel but can’t bring myself to say.
I’ve loved three people in my life besides my bandmates. My dad picked another life over me. My brother didn’t fight for me. And my mom left me.
People I love leave.
I hate how much I now fear that Hendrix will leave me too. I’m fairly certain that will crush me.
“I think this, you , has been the single greatest surprise in my life,” she says and presses a kiss to my lips. “And I think you taste like beer.”
“True.”
“And I’m pretty sure I think whatever this is scares the shit out of both of us and that’s okay too.”
She doesn’t protest as I carry her outside, the night air cool against our skin. The pool glistens beneath the landscape lights, but only I can see it since it’s at her back.
“And I think”—I walk us right to the edge of the pool— “I think we’re doing way too much talking and not enough living.”
Her eyes flash with realization. “You wouldn’t—”
I smirk. “Too late, baby. Time to Live-A-Little,” I shout as I jump in, bringing her with me.
Her shriek is drowned out by us going under water, but her arms never fall from around my neck and her legs find my hips again as we come up for air.
She beats against my chest with one hand while shaking her hair out of her face. “You bastard.”
“Yes, but you still love me,” I joke before I catch myself. My half laugh falls off as she runs a hand down my cheek and then presses a gentle kiss to my shoulder before looking up to meet my eyes.
There’s quiet all around us.
Even in my head.
She exhales, resting her forehead against mine. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I do.”