A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  "No, no, no." I shake my head. "There is no me and Hendrix."

  "There so totally is you and Hendrix!" She points at me. "You're guilty. I can see it all over your face. I should have guessed. You guys were always so close."

  "What?" I squeak. "We were not close."

  "Yes you were, you lying liar," she says. "Or should I call you a dirty liar? I thought you guys were doing it when you were in high school, actually. You weren't?"

  "No!" I squeal. "Last night was the first time!" I immediately cover my mouth with my hand.

  Grace cackles hysterically. "You can't hide anything from me, Addison Stone. Dish. Did you go all the way? Blowjob? Hand job? A little under the shirt action?"

  "Oh my God, I'm not telling you anything. This is really, really uncomfortable."

  "So, all the way then?" she asks.

  I throw a pillow at her, and she collapses with laughter, then stops abruptly. "Was it good?"

  "You have no comment about the fact that it's – oh, I don't know – fucking Hendrix we're talking about here?" I ask, my voice becoming more and more shrill by the second.

  "We are talking about fucking Hendrix," she says, snorting. "And I can tell by your evasiveness that it was good."

  "What? My evasiveness means nothing."

  Grace raises her eyebrows. "So it was bad?" she asks. "I'm shocked. Rumor was he was quite the manwhore in high school, and I assume that hasn't changed. I mean, did you see him now? He's like, completely ripped. He's gotten hotter over the years."

  "Don't you have a husband?"

  Grace cocks her head to the side. "I'm speaking objectively, not because I personally find him attractive. It's a factual statement. Hendrix is a hottie. And you fucked him."

  "Please stop saying that," I groan.

  "This calls for wine," Grace says, standing up and heading for the kitchen. I sit on the sofa, melting into a puddle of abject humiliation, while she returns with glasses and a bottle. I watch as she promptly pours a large quantity of wine into my glass.

  "Grace, that's nearly half the bottle."

  "I know," she says. "And I'm pouring the other half into this glass. I think this situation calls for half a bottle of wine each, don't you?"

  I take a very large sip from my very large glass. "I don't know what happened, Grace."

  "You screwed Hendrix," she says. "Let's start with that."

  "He's our…brother, Grace." I feel sick to my stomach even speaking the word.

  "Don't be a total idiot," she says. "He's our stepbrother. We're not related at all."

  "He moved in when I was a junior in high school."

  "So?" she asks. "It's not like we grew up together. We're not related, Addison. Seriously. Is this what you're wound up about?"

  "You don't see anything wrong with it?"

  "Like, morally or something?" she asks, her forehead wrinkled. "No, of course not."

  "It feels weird."

  "It feels weird because it's Hendrix, and you've always been head over heels in love with him." Grace takes a sip of her wine, looking smug as hell in the loveseat across from me. "Oh, close your mouth, Addison. Don't look so surprised. Of course I know you loved him. You've never been hard to read, you know. The question is whether you love him now."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  HENDRIX

  FOUR YEARS, NINE MONTHS AGO

  I stand in formation with the other recruits in my company in the middle of the parade deck at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot listening to the Marine Corps Hymn play. It's hard not to swell with pride in this moment, when I'm about to be a Marine. How much can one person change in thirteen short weeks?

  I'm positive my father wouldn't even recognize me, with my buzz cut in place of the dyed hair, the earrings gone now. I've gained twenty pounds, gotten stronger. I've also gotten more sure of things.

  Except about leaving Addy behind in Nashville.

  That I'm not certain about at all.

  I scan the faces of the crowd sitting in the bleachers, friends and family wearing shorts and sundresses in the San Diego sunshine, watching the final ceremony where we'll finally be called Marines and not recruits. Most everyone else has family here. I half-expected the Colonel to insist on attending, just so he could break out his uniform and strut in front of the Marines here, look down his nose at them and call them a branch of the Navy. But he chose not to grace the rest of us with his presence, instead sending me a letter a couple weeks ago. A huge music event of Addy's was his excuse.

  I'm glad he's not here. But I still find myself looking for Addy's face in the crowd.

  Later, I tell myself that I should leave her behind. I'm reporting for duty in Okinawa. If seven thousand miles of ocean between us doesn't help me forget about her, then I'm totally fucked.

  * * *

  PRESENT DAY

  I say I'm going to run ten miles, but I wind up running thirteen, keeping my pace long and slow. I'm going to run this damn girl out of my mind. This morning was fucked, completely. It was the most fucked anything's been in a long time. It was exactly the opposite of last night.

  Last night was everything it should be, being with Addy after years of thinking about her. I can still smell her. I can still taste her on my lips.

  Part of me thought that finally having her would quench my thirst for her. I thought it would let me shake her, make me finally want her less. That's how it's been with every other girl, and there have been lots of girls.

  I try to tell myself that Addy is no different from any other girl. Except I'm not stupid enough to believe that's the truth. The truth is that she shouldn't be with someone like me, and we both know it. It'll ruin her, destroy her career. And I'm no good for her, as damaged as I am.

  When I get back, Grace is gone and Addy is sprawled out on the sofa, polishing off the final glass of what looks like a bottle of wine. "You're back," she says without enthusiasm, and it immediately rubs me the wrong way. I wonder if she and Grace had a chat about what happened, and I'm suddenly defensive.

  "Sorry to disappoint."

  Addy sits up on the sofa, her phone in her hand, her finger on the screen scrolling through whatever the fuck it is she's looking at. I'm annoyed that she doesn't put it down, given the fact that we haven't said more than a handful of words to each other since it happened, and I consider ripping the phone out of her hand and tossing it over the balcony. But I don't. Instead, I silently congratulate myself on my stellar restraint.

  "You want to talk about what happened?" I ask. My voice has an edge to it.

  Addy stares at her phone, obviously considering texting or social media-ing more important than looking at the last person she screwed. She shrugs. "Not really," she says, her voice flat. "It's like you said. It never happened."

  I want to scream at her, grab her by the arms and shake her, tell her that's not what I meant this morning at all. Instead, I say, "Fine. It never happened."

  "Done," she says, without looking up.

  "Finished." I walk across the living room and down the hallway, irritated to no fucking end with that girl. I slam the bedroom door with a finality.

  Conversation over.

  * * *

  This is the stupidest damn fight ever. Addy and I are going on a week of speaking to each other in clipped tones, avoiding eye contact at every possible event – interviews I accompany her to, a charity event, back to the recording studio for days in a row, where I don't wait for her anymore. Instead, I drop her off and pick her up when she's finished, since there's no actual security threat. I'm a glorified babysitter, only far less glorified.

  So when Addy walks out of her bedroom wearing the tiniest of tiny dresses, white and barely covering her ass and gold heels that make her legs look a mile long, I nearly fall over. "Where the hell are you going?"

  "Out," she says. "It's my friend Sapphire's birthday."

  "Dressed like that," I say flatly.

  "Yes, dressed like this," she says. "It's just a birthday thing."