A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  Hendrix.

  I repeat the name I haven't spoken in years. "Hendrix who?"

  Hendrix who, indeed. I know exactly who he's talking about. Is there really any other Hendrix?

  Has there ever been?

  My stepfather clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak, but the door behind him swings wide and as if on cue, Hendrix walks inside. Immediately, it's like all of the air is sucked out of the room.

  I sit there, my heart pounding so loud I think my chest might actually explode as I stare at him.

  Hendrix.

  My stepbrother.

  I was seventeen when he left to join the Marines just as soon as he turned eighteen. That one year age difference between us was everything -- a gulf a mile wide. He was one year older than me and a million times more superior, with dyed hair and piercings and total disdain for authority. He only joined the Marines to piss off the Colonel.

  I couldn't stand Hendrix from the moment I met him. I hated him on sight. And then, later, I wanted him, with all the wild lust and longing of a teenage girl. He walked into my life when I was fifteen years old, and at that age, he was the most irresistible thing I'd ever laid eyes on.

  I'd like to say I haven't thought about him since he ran off to join the Marines, but that would be a lie. I've definitely thought about Hendrix. But in my thoughts, he's still the irritating, sexy-as-hell teenager I used to know.

  Not this.

  This is…something else entirely. Five years has changed Hendrix. He's not a sullen teenager anymore. Now he looks like the freaking poster child for the Marines. Except with tattoos. Lots and lots of tattoos. They run up the length of his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of the t-shirt that stretch across his biceps, the same t-shirt that pulls across his very well-defined chest. I'm suddenly reminded why, five years ago, my heart would race every time I was near him.

  Hendrix stands there, his broad shoulders squared back, looking at me like he dares me to object to any of this. The way he gazes at me sends a shiver up my spine. It's the same way he looked at me the day he walked into my life. "Hey, Addy," he says, one corner of his mouth pulling up slightly in his trademark cocky grin, the one that used to give me goose bumps. "I'm back. Did you miss me?"

  I stand so quickly my knees go weak and I feel dizzy. I don't get weak-kneed. I've been in the spotlight for as long as I can remember. Hell, I've performed at Madison Square Garden. I don't get nervous in front of people. I sure as hell don't get weak-kneed over some guy. Especially some guy I don't even like. Hendrix was a total asshole to me when we were teenagers, and he might look different -- hotter, to be sure -- but that doesn't mean he's changed. "I'm not doing this," I say, imbuing my voice with a steadiness I definitely do not feel. I clear my throat. "Fuck this. I'm out of here."

  The suit from the agency stands and buttons his jacket. He doesn't look at me, just turns and addresses my mother before he leaves. "This was a concession on our part," he says. "Get her in line."

  "Addison," my mother hisses. "Do not ruin this."

  "Of course. I wouldn't want to embarrass you, or God forbid, stop the flow of money coming your way." My hands are shaking, and I steady them on the surface of the table. Why do I feel so light-headed? I pointedly ignore the look Hendrix gives me from the other side of the table. His eyes are on me, and I feel naked under his gaze.

  Hendrix has always had a way of making me feel that way.

  Nothing ever happened between us, but Lord knows I thought about it back when we were teenagers, before he left for the Marine Corps.

  "Addison Stone," my stepfather bellows. "We are trying to look out for your best interests."

  "Bullshit," I hear myself say, the words echoing through the stillness of the room. They sound stronger than I do, like they're coming from someone else, someone more sure of herself than I am. I step around the other side of the table and walk toward the door, all the while refusing to make eye contact with Hendrix. I'd rather go to some fake rehab for thirty days than have Hendrix escort me everywhere. "You're looking out for your own interests."

  "Damn it, Addison." My mother stands up, shrugging off my stepfather's grasp when he tries to get her to sit down, and rushes toward me, her face contorted with anger. "I've put too much work into you to have you blow this off like it's no big deal, just so you can party all night and act like a little slut, do you understand?"

  "A slut? Really, mother?" I hear myself say. But I feel light-headed, and my voice sounds weak. The room begins to sway, and I totter, regretting my choice of high heels. My mother grabs my arm, her fingernails digging into my skin, and I want to smack her, but I suddenly feel paralyzed, like I'm stuck in quicksand. I shouldn't have skipped breakfast, I think. Did I eat dinner last night?

  Then Hendrix is standing in front of me, positioned between my mother and me, his hands on my arms. When he speaks, his voice sounds muffled, like he's talking to me from underwater.

  I never noticed what an odd shade of blue his eyes are, I think, feeling strangely detached from everything. They're the color of the sky before a storm. That's what my grandmother would call it. There's a storm-sky rolling in, Addy, she'd say, taking my hand in hers. In the south, the sky turns this gray-blue, almost black, right before the heavens rip open and unleash a torrent of rain.

  I wonder what Hendrix is hiding behind those eyes.

  That's the last thought I have before everything goes dark.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HENDRIX

  SEVEN YEARS AGO

  "This is not the time or place for your bullshit, do you fucking understand me, Hendrix?" My father stands in front of me, his voice low and deep in his throat, speaking in hushed tones so that his new wife and her perfect little brood don't accidentally overhear him. He wouldn't want them thinking that anything less than the ideal father and son were becoming part of the family.

  "Whatever." I roll my eyes, speaking the word under my breath. My father, with all his rigidity and damn propriety ("There's a reason protocol exists, Hendrix, a reason for a chain-of-command; life needs order" and all that blah blah blah bullshit), decided that it would be perfectly fucking appropriate to marry the mother of a damn teenage country music star. They eloped. Didn't tell anyone. He went and did it two weeks ago, while I was still at military school. They didn't even have the courtesy to wait until I was on summer break or anything.

  It's not like I wanted to be involved in some stupid wedding anyway.

  Whatever.

  The Colonel didn't even bother showing up to the academy in person to tell me, not that I'd expect him to. He called to drop that bombshell over the phone. And since I got kicked out of military academy last week – none of the Colonel's bluster and blather could get them to keep me after I screwed the General's daughter – now I've been carted to Nashville fucking Tennessee, which I think must be redneck capital of the United States, to meet my new family.

  "Whatever?" The Colonel stands in front of me, his face contorted with rage. I know he wants to hit me right now, more than anything. But we're here in the entryway of his new wife's mansion, this ridiculous place that's so suburban-new-money it makes me want to vomit. So he wouldn't dare slug me, not here in the middle of everything. I'm sure she doesn't want bloodstains on her fancy tile.

  "Sir, yes, sir," I say, my tone mocking. I'll rile him up and not feel a damn bit of guilt about it. Why should I? He's the one who's dragging me along for the ride, inserting me into this new family life.

  A small voice cuts through the tension. "Are you Hendrix?"

  I turn around to see her, walking down the marble monstrosity of a staircase that curves up to the rooms upstairs.

  Addison Stone.

  When my father told me who he was dating – the "dating" part was a lie, by the way, since he'd already married Addison's mother, Wendy Stone -- I didn't recognize the name. Then I did a little internet research. Addison Stone was some kind of media sensation, discovered on one of those reality singing shows two yea