Hendrix (Caldwell Brothers #1) (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Hendrix

I shove the panties in my back pocket. “I’ll be back. You two think you can stay sober enough to sweep the floor?”

“Whoa, man, is it your time of the month?” Jagger laughs as he tosses the bar rag over his shoulder.

“Yeah, something like that.” I start for the door. “I’ll be back with your ride,” I say to Olivia without bothering to look back as I walk out the door.

Once the door closes behind me, the cold air hits my lungs, and I finally let out a breath. I stand there for a minute, trying to figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do about this little predicament I’ve found myself in. Sins of the father. I don’t want it to be like that.

After I realize my balls are in serious danger of freezing, I start the walk home. I should have left earlier when it was warmer, but that little, crazy chick held my attention and kept me amused the entire fucking night.

This shit is not good, not good at all. Fucking Jagger. It is his fault. I mean, sort of. If he had only gone to that damned benefit like he was supposed to, none of this would have happened.

I open up the garage door and look at the car, shaking my head while thinking about how much time I have spent on it. I mean, who the fuck does that? Not me. Well, not for some chick I fucked the hell out of and had no intention of seeing again, even if I didn’t know it was her when I started.

Then, she shows up at my bar, acting like the modern day version of some fairytale princess who needed saving. Cinderella and the little panties she left at the ball. Yet, I am no fucking Prince Charming. I don’t even like to cuddle and shit after getting laid. I need a few moments after I come to get my shit together before I even want to be touched. Although, I sure as hell am not the kind of guy who comes, gets up, and walks out. And she fucking ditched me. She, miss smut panties who loves cartoon cats and fairies, ditched me, and I cleaned up her ride.

I was someone’s bitch, and I didn’t even know it.

*.*.*.*

I walk in the bar to see Jagger leaning over the bar, smiling as bright as one of those florescent beer signs hanging in my damn window. The way she is looking at him is bothersome to say the least.

In the time it took for me to go home and come back, she has worked her way from tipsy to sloppy drunk. Here she is, grinning at Jagger, drunk off her ass. Then, she fucking snorts when she laughs, and the proverbial glass panties now fit Miss Smutty Panties’s ass, covering up that sweet as fuck pussy.

“You about ready?” I ask both of them. Jagger is staying with me, so at least there is safety in numbers.

“I got a lady waiting down the block.” He winks at Livi then walks toward the door. “Take it easy on this little one. She’s shit-faced.”

Take it easy. Take it fucking easy?

As I walk around the bar and hit the lights, I glance over, and Livi looks away.

“You ready?” I ask as I walk around the bar.

“Yesss,” she slurs.

As she stands, she stumbles. I have to force myself to keep my hands from reaching out to make sure she doesn’t fall. While she grabs the bar to steady herself, I just stand and stare.

“I shouldn’t have done the shots,” she slurs again and then shrugs. “I’m not good at shots.”

I don’t respond because I am well aware of how she is with shots. Who the fuck says that? A half crazy and drunk girl.

“Or drinking actually. I’m really, really bad at drinking.”

I give her a moment to collect herself, taking some odd comfort in her being uncomfortable. Hell, I’m uncomfortable.

“That’s obvious. Look, let’s get you home.” I walk slowly so, if she falls, I can catch her.

When we make it outside, she laughs out loud, giving a little snort and covering her mouth. For a moment, I forget I’m angry with her for deceiving me, which is what I assume is exactly what she has done. Damn if she doesn’t make it hard to be angry with her, though. The little snort brings me back to the closet, which is where I wish the shit had stayed.

I catch her gaze as she takes in her car. Even in her drunken stupor, she is lit up in excitement. Her eyes are brilliant with a chaser of bloodshot, but either way, she is beaming.

“You did this?”

“It was nothing,” I say as I open the passenger door, playing it off that way.

“It certainly was—is—well, both,” she says as she crawls into her car. I swear she smells the seats before sitting back and moaning, “Oh. My. God. You even cleaned in here.” She peeks up at me through the open door.

“Can you sit back so I can shut the door?”

Once she does as I asked, I walk around the car, open the door, and start to get in. Livi is draped over the console, rubbing the steering wheel.

“You replaced the cover.”

“I know a guy, and he had some stuff lying around, no big deal.”

“It is a big deal. She’s gorgeous. I don’t ever remember this car looking like this.” She sits back, and I finish climbing in. “Thank you, Hendrix. Thank you so much.” She covers her face with both hands. “No one has ever”—she sniffs—“ever, ever, ever made me feel like you.” She stops and looks up. “Uh-oh, wrong story, wrong story.”

I am trying not to laugh. I’m supposed to be annoyed. Hell, if she isn’t making it difficult because she is fucked up. Nah, she is wasted.

“How about you get your apartment keys out of your bag, so, if you pass out on me, I can get you inside?”

“Of course,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Of course.”

I pull out on the street, and she still doesn’t sit up from digging in her purse. When I speed up, she giggles, finally sits up, but then suddenly holds her stomach. She stops giggling immediately and covers her mouth.

Oh, hell
, I think as I pull over quickly.

I reach across her and open the door just in time for her to throw up, but she only half makes it out of the car. She doesn’t stop, either. The shit goes on forever.

I have her hair in my hands for two reasons: one, so she doesn’t puke on it; and two, because if she starts falling out, I have a firm enough grip that I’m sure I can prevent it and pull her back.

After she stops throwing up, she sits back, panting. I look around for something she could use to wipe her mouth off on. When I can’t find anything, I reach in my back pocket where I usually have a bar rag or a grease rag and hand it to her.

She looks shocked and then I look down.

“Livi, I got nothing else in here. These panties will have to do.”

“But, I don’t—”

“Just use them,” I say, and she takes them.

When we pull up to her house, she is asleep once again, and I can’t wake her up. I also can’t find her keys, and the car reeks of vomit.

Fuck it
, I say to myself as I make a u-turn and head home. It’s not like I can leave her in the hallway of her building. I wouldn’t want to anyway.

As I hit the remote and open the garage door to pull in, Floyd is hanging out on her pillow, waiting for me like she always does.

I get out and look at her. “We got company tonight. You think you can behave?”

She lays her head down and, I swear to fuck, sighs.

“Trust me, it ain’t going down like that,” I tell her as I walk around the car and open the door, careful not to open too quickly since Livi is leaning on it.

I carefully lean in, avoiding the vomit, and lift her up. She is out cold. I bet I could drop her on the ground, and she wouldn’t remember it, not that it would be a smart move at all.

I blame Jagger for this, too.

Once upstairs, I kick off my boots then pull her shoes off before walking up the stairs and into my bedroom where I lay her on my bed. She might as well stay up here. She needs some clothes and who the hell knows if my brothers have clean anything in their rooms. Damn, she looks good in my bed.

She doesn’t open her eyes, but she whispers, “Sleep.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I am situating her on a pillow when I notice some shit splattered on her shirt. I don’t want my bed smelling like puke. The sheets get changed on Monday, and I’m not doing wash until then.

I stretch my leg out and grab the clean clothesbasket with my foot and drag it across the floor. Then, I pull out one of my T-shirts and throw it over my shoulder. I look at Livi for a moment, trying to decide if I can deal with the smell or not. The answer is not. I pull her shirt up and try my best not to look, which is nearly impossible.

I quickly throw one of mine over her head and shove her arms in. I then lay her back on the bed and throw a blanket over her.

I look beside the bed at Floyd. “We aren’t in here tonight, girl. We’re taking Morrison’s spot. But, first, we have a Chevy that needs some attention.”

After cleaning up her car, I make my way upstairs. I am dog ass tired, yet can’t stop thinking about that fucking night two weeks ago. The way her pussy tasted, the way it milked my cock, and I laugh to myself. Cinderella and her panties.

I end up taking a quick shower, hoping I can wash away some of my thoughts of that night. I wrap myself up in a towel then walk in my room to grab some clean clothes. Normally, I wouldn’t bother—I prefer to sleep in the nude—but not tonight, not with
this
guest occupying my bed.

I keep my back to her and pull on some sweats. When I turn around, though, she is looking at me.

“Shit, you were supposed to be asleep.”

“I’m asleep,” she says with a hard swallow.

“You need a drink?”

“If you don’t mind, that would be great.”

I take my time getting a glass of water and a couple Tylenol. She is gonna need them. Hell, I take two myself, and I didn’t even have a drink tonight.

When I walk in the room, she is sitting up with Floyd lying next to her. I stop and watch her pet my dog. Floyd isn’t a bitch and doesn’t bite, but she never even gets up on Jagger’s bed when he is home.

Dammit, Floyd
, I think,
don’t you get sucked in, too
.

She looks up at me. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it tonight,” I say, walking across the room and handing her the water and pills. “Take them. You’re gonna feel like shit tomorrow.”

She looks down at the shirt then up at me with questions dancing in her eyes.

“You threw up on it.”

She takes the pills, swallows them down, and then nods. “Right.”

“Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Hendrix, I need this job,” she whispers, looking at the glass in her hand.

“We’ll figure something out.” I turn to leave. “Come on, Floyd.”

“I can call a cab,” Livi says, stopping me in my tracks.

“Nah, you’re fine here. Get some sleep.” I turn the light off on my way out then walk down the stairs to my spare room that Morrison uses for a crash pad when he’s in town.

This is gonna be one long night with very little sleep, filled with thoughts of what to do with the snorter in my bed.

Chapter Ten

~Olivia~

There is a pounding sound around me. Why is someone knocking at my door? I don’t ever have visitors. I groan. Why won’t it stop? If I lie here quietly, they will go away. Besides, my eyelids are too heavy to open. I need to go back to sleep, and whoever is at my door can come back later.

Suddenly, this doesn’t feel right. I pat the bed around me and crack one eye open. The light from the window shines brightly, too brightly, and then mind slowly starts to catch up.

The pounding isn’t my door. No, everything around me is quiet, possibly too quiet. The pounding is the second hangover of my life barreling down on me.

I reach up and lay my arm over my eyes. What a mess.

I had sex in a closet with a stranger. I left him standing there with no intention of looking back. What I gained from it was empowerment. Now, I feel like I took it from the one guy who has truly ever been nice to me. He must think I am a slut. I wonder if he thinks I knew it was him. I wonder if he thinks I’m using him. He gave me a job that paid me just enough tips to keep my water turned on and then he fixed my car. What did I do? Nothing.

My car.

Oh my, he fixed my car. He made it better than it has ever been since I bought it from my mom when I was seventeen. Clean, the car was so clean … until I puked in it.

Embarrassment washes over me. I am a complete mess. My life is a complete mess. My car is a hot mess.

Before I can think about it further, the sound of padding paws grabs my attention. I look over the edge of the bed to find a Pit Bull looking at me.

Leaning over, I pet the dog as it sits beside me, resting its head on the bed with the little nub of its tail thumping against the floor as it soaks up my attention.

Could I hide in here all day with his dog? No. Eventually, I am going to have to face Hendrix. What am I going to say, though? What
can
I possibly say?

“Floyd, get down here, bitch,” Hendrix calls out, and the dog’s ears come up before it takes off to find its master.

So much for the hope I could sneak out while Hendrix still slept.

The throbbing in my head does not dissipate as I try to figure out what to do next. Why did I drink so much last night?

Mortification, that’s why.

The minute Jagger flung my panties onto the bar, I would have done anything to hide from reality.

Sitting up, I groan before glancing around me and finding the clock. Then, I proceed to freak out.

Ten a.m!

Ten in the morning.

Two hours past eight a.m. Two hours past my scheduled arrival at the hospital. Two hours late for my job. Two hours late for my career. No call, no show. I am thoroughly screwed. Not only will I possibly lose my regular job, but I am pretty sure, after knowing I am the girl from the closet, Hendrix will fire me, too.

Jobless means soon to be homeless.

My feet hit the cool, wood floor, and I immediately search for my phone, my clothes, my-brain, and they’re just not here. None of those things are here. My heart pounds, keeping nearly the same rhythm as my head. I am sick, literally sick, to my stomach.

I run to what I assume is the bathroom and make it just in the nick of time. I am instantly hunched over the toilet, throwing up again, though only once, thank God.

I decide to take a quick shower. I feel awful, and I’m already late for work and probably completely screwed. If there is any hope at all that I can keep my job at the hospital, I have to walk in without smelling like, like…

I throw up again, and with it, comes tears.

I flush the toilet and strip off my clothes. I am a wreck, a freaking wreck. I just need to get out of here, rewind the past twenty four hours, and move on.

Move on? Fat chance. I am literally trapped in a bathroom, physically and emotionally, by fear. This is crazy, and I can’t believe I allowed myself to put my guard down. I thought that night would make me a stronger person. I thought that night would help me move forward from the events of my past. Oh God, I can’t afford to put my guard down again.

After I shower, I brush my teeth with my finger, and then walk back into the bedroom where I grab a pair of sweat pants out of a clothes basket and a T-shirt, sniffing them to make sure they’re clean.

I look in the mirror, roll my head and shoulders, and reach back to rub my inspirational panties, but there are none. As a result, I dig deep into my emotional bag of tricks and grab for strength. The panties have been working for years now, but in times like this—panty-less and needing strength—I grab onto whatever dusty bit of strength I can.

The Queen B. Yes, Beyonce. My song of choice, “Run the World.”

Who runs this mother? I run this mother
. I am strong. I can face this. I have faced worse. I run my world. I run my world. I run this mother.

With Queen B’s words playing in my head, I walk out of the room with all the fake confidence I can muster up. I walk down the stairs, ready to face him—Broody Caldwell, the man I allowed to bang me in the closet, the one who gave me the best sex of my life then gave me a job when I was about to get my water cut off, the guy who fixed up my car and helped me more than any other person ever had—and demand … Oh, pickles, could I demand anything of him? Nope. No, I couldn’t. Regardless, the inner Queen B is here, and I know she can take this on.

I get to the bottom of the stairs and the dog comes to my side. Broody Caldwell is in the kitchen, no shirt, sweat glistening on his tattooed skin, and ‘Caldwell’ is literally staring me in the face with the tattoo on his back. “Call me Caldwell,” runs through my head as I watch his head bop slightly to whatever music he has playing in his ear buds. He is grabbing peanut butter out of his cupboard, clearly enjoying his moment. Truth be told, I am enjoying the view.

I have never loved tattoos, but dear God, his are beautiful.

He pushes the bread down in his toaster, and then his fingers strum on the counter to the beat playing in his ears. I take a step closer, trying to figure out what song it is, but then the dog barks, causing him to turn quickly.

His phone crashes to the ground, pulling his ear buds free, which allows the song to blast through the apartment.

“Sorry to interrupt.”
I am being strong here, because
I am running this mother
, I remind myself before continuing, “I would like to discuss a few things with you; however, I am late for work.”

He crosses his arms, his biceps flexing and distracting me a bit. I watch as his eyes look me up and down.

“Mr. Caldwell, I—”

“Hendrix,” he corrects me, his voice steady.

“In order to keep this professional..,” I continue, reaching behind me to give my behind a rub. He looks at me like he is trying to figure me out as I remember I have no inspiration at the moment, but the Queen B has given me permission to
run this mother,
so I am quickly back and focused. “I may be in jeopardy of losing my job at the hospital, so I ask that you please not hold it against me that I let myself act outlandishly by allowing you to make love to me in a closet.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks confused.

My face immediately burns, and Queen B, well, she runs away to hide. I clear my throat, trying to continue leading this conversation in the direction I need it to go—panty-less and alone.

“It was—”

“Look, Livi, we fucked in a closet. We’re two adults.” I can tell he is fighting not to smirk. “Consent was fucking given and received with a standing ovation, a couple, if memory serves me right.”

“No need to be crude,” I say, maintaining eye contact.

“Nothing crude about fucking, and I can assure you that’s what it was. There was no love making going on in that closet.”

“I’d like to move past it.”

He studies me for a moment. “I’m not sure—”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” When I see my keys on the counter, Queen B inside me lines up directly to them. Drive, focus, resolve. I have to get finished with him and get out of here. “I have to get to work, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“Your girl called. She covered for you and got you the day off, so why don’t you slow down and chill? Eat some breakfast, and we can discuss—”

“When I have paid you back for fixing the car, I will be done at the bar.”

His eyes narrow a bit. “Eat, talk, and listen, but don’t make demands. I don’t like that shit.”