A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  Tustin's mother chokes on her food, downing a sip of water and finally standing to excuse herself.

  "Hendrix," Addy's mother cautions. Addy is staring at me, her eyes big, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. "This is not appropriate dinner conversation."

  "Hendrix." Addy looks at me, her expression pained.

  "Well," Tustin says. "I don't know about you, but I'd prefer to turn the subject to a slightly more cheerful topic of conversation."

  I don't look at Addy, or any of them, when I leave.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ADDY

  FIVE YEARS, THREE WEEKS AGO

  I pull at the dress I'm wearing, this little black dress my mother said was completely inappropriate but that I bought anyway. I'm practically an adult, at least in music industry terms. And screw her, anyway. She's attempting to control me, trying to dictate which boys I date or don't date. Mostly don't date.

  Not since the kiss.

  The kiss, the one that changed everything. The kiss that made Hendrix pull himself away from me like he was in the worst kind of physical pain, then turn and walk away. He's barely spoken to me since it happened, nothing more than a handful of sentences, and even though he doesn't parade a string of slutty high school girls through the house the way he did once upon a time, I know he's still screwing his way through a slew of girls. He has to be.

  It shouldn't bother me. He's leaving for boot camp in three weeks and tonight is his graduation party.

  He should never have kissed me. I should have never kissed him back.

  And I should be able to stop thinking about that kiss.

  I push my way through the bodies of people from Hendrix's high school, all of his friends, stopping when someone asks for a photo or begs me to squeeze into their graduation selfie. The whole time, I'm scanning the crowd in our house, looking for Hendrix, before I finally give up and head outside. There are kids in the yard, stragglers, but most of the crowd is inside, and I round the corner of the house before I take off my heels that are digging into the lawn and just walk barefoot in search of someplace quiet.

  I stop short when I see Hendrix and his friends, passing a bong back and forth as they lean up against the guesthouse. I almost say hello, and then I hear my name, and freeze, standing out of sight.

  "Addison is a hot piece of ass. That's all I'm saying," one of Hendrix's friends says. I don't think I've ever met these friends, although I recognize a couple of them.

  "I hear she screwed one of the producers on that show she was on," another says. "It's how she got on the show in the first place. I knew she was a slut."

  My cheeks flush warm. Hendrix is standing there, letting his asshole friends talk shit about me like that, when he knows none of it is true?

  "She was like twelve years old when she was on that show, you idiot," Hendrix says.

  "I'm going to tap that as soon as you're out of here, you know," one of them says.

  "Whatever," Hendrix says. "I'm sure she's not going out with your dumb ass."

  "Who says I'm going to take her out anywhere?" he asks. "She has a great voice. I bet she has an even better mouth."

  "Gonna give her some vocal lessons with my dick, dude," the other guy says, and they hi-five each other and bust into raucous laughter. My face is burning hot, and I stand there with my feet rooted in the ground, listening to the exchange instead of walking away, because apparently I'm some kind of masochist.

  "Yeah, I understood what you were saying," Hendrix says. "Well you're too late, because I already tapped that."

  My heart races, my blood pumping so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear what they're saying. I'm leaning against the house listening to Hendrix tell his friends he fucked me.

  "You're a lying sack of shit, dude," one says.

  "Don't believe you."

  "Believe me or not, I don't give a shit," Hendrix says. "You want my sloppy seconds, go right ahead."

  "I'm not sticking my dick where you've been. She was a fucking great lay, though, yeah? Someone that hot has to be."

  "One of the worst," Hendrix says. "Dead fish."

  "Maybe cause you weren't doing it right."

  "Or cause you're her fucking brother, man. That's pretty foul, even for your low standards."

  "Stepbrother," Hendrix says. "We're not related. But you want to take her for a ride, be my guest. Just remember what I said. Cold fucking fish. And she has cellulite on her ass."

  I stumble away from the house, walking through the grass in my bare feet as quickly as I can, before I break into a run across the lawn behind the house, one hand clutching the fabric of my dress and the other holding my shoes. I'm breathless when I reach the trees on the far side of the property, and I stand with my hand on the trunk of a tree, my chest heaving, feeling like I'm going to vomit and trying unsuccessfully to choke back the tears that begin to run down my face. But once the floodgates open, there's nothing stopping them, and I sink to the ground.

  * * *

  PRESENT DAY

  "Hendrix." I'm trying to open the stupid umbrella while I totter on my heels. Meanwhile, Hendrix is storming across the backyard with a purpose, and I know where he's going. He's headed straight for the grove of trees. My grove. Our grove. The place where he kissed me.

  It's the last place I want to follow him. I don't want to look at it again. I don't need reminders of the past. And in the pouring rain, no less.

  "Fuck." The stilettos on my ankle boots sink into the grass. "These are brand new shoes, Hendrix. Two thousand dollar shoes. In case you care!" He doesn't respond, and I yank my boots out of the stupid grass and peel them off, one at a time. Then I throw them as hard as I can, and watch them bounce on the lawn.

  I should just finish dinner. I should ask the too-handsome Tustin about banking and investments and whatever the hell he does in his suit and tie, buy companies or fund movies, or order people around all day. I should find a normal fucking boyfriend.

  I shouldn't traipse across the lawn in my bare fucking feet in a downpour, chasing after a ghost from my past.

  But I don't turn back toward the house.

  When I reach Hendrix, he has his back toward me. "Will you just stop for a second?" I yell. "You're soaking wet."

  "Can't I get five goddamned minutes of peace without you coming after me?" he asks, not turning around. "Go back to your dinner, Addy."

  "It's not my dinner," I say. "You're the one who dragged me to it, not the other way around."

  "It's your date," he says.

  "You're jealous," I say. I'm standing behind Hendrix. I want to reach out and touch him, spin him around to look at me, but I don't.

  "Is that what you want me to say, Addy?" Hendrix growls. He finally turns, grabs my arms, and I drop the umbrella. I want him to kiss me the way he kissed me before he left for the Marines. But he doesn't. His grip tight, he pushes me against the tree, and the rough bark digs into my skin. The rain pummels us, and Hendrix's clothes are completely soaked through, his t-shirt half-transparent, the fabric clinging to his skin, outlining every inch of his muscled chest.

  "It's the truth," I say. "You're jealous because someone else is interested in me. Say it."

  "No shit I'm jealous," he says. "Some douchebag in a suit doesn't get to have you, Addy."

  "Oh, but you do?" I ask. His hands on me, my breath comes in short gasps, my emotions confusing and overwhelming. I want him, but I can't forgive him. I want him to leave, and I want him to stay. "And if you don't have me, you'll just pretend you did, right?"

  Hendrix furrows his brow and steps back, but his hands are still on my arms. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing," I say. "Forget I said it." Suddenly, I want nothing more than to get out of here, but Hendrix doesn't move.

  "Screw forgetting," he says. "Say what you have to say."

  "I heard you that night." I blurt it out, feeling shaky and vulnerable.

  "Heard what?" Hendrix looks confused, rain running down his forehe