Hendrix (Caldwell Brothers #1) (8 page)

“Well, there was a time I would have probably had a tattoo of Tinkerbelle put on me. Then the Hello Kitty phase. If I were brave enough, I may have had her put on as well.” She looks over at me and smiles big again. I fucking love that smile. “I would have been a walking cartoon character.”

I laugh with her. “I assume that’s why the law is eighteen years old to get inked.”

“What was your first time like?”

I take in a deep breath and sit down on the stool as I throw the clean bar rag at her so she can dry her hands. “Awkward. You know, pretty normal. I was glad she had experience. She took charge of my gear, made it easier on me. You wonder what it’s gonna be like, and once you start, you realize you could never have even dreamed of how good it actually felt. You close your eyes and try to be the man, but when it starts, you lose control.” I look at her, seeing she looks confused. I laugh. “What was your first time like?”

The look on her face is fucking priceless. Her jaw drops when she realizes I’m not talking about getting inked. She stammers as her face turns red, and I am loving it, but I let her off the hook with an easy laugh.

“You don’t have to answer. But, you did ask.” I stand up and grab the cash drawer out of the register.

“I meant the first time you got a tattoo,” her voice squeaks.

“Oh, shit, my bad, Olivia.” I turn around and wink at her. “I’m gonna go lock this up. You wanna drain the sinks?”

She is quiet on the way to her place. Not one word is said. The few times I allow myself to look over, she is yawning. When I pull up front and throw it in park, I glance over to see she is sound asleep

Shit.

“Olivia?” She doesn’t budge, so I repeat myself. “Olivia.”

She doesn’t even stir.

I sit back in the seat and decide to give her a few minutes. Power naps are beautiful things.

With nothing else to do, I look across the street and see a pile of snow on a car. It obviously hasn’t been cleaned off in a while. People don’t do that shit around here. They don’t let snow pile up on their cars unless they aren’t running. Livi’s car isn’t running.

I begin to piece it together in my mind. I rub my eyes and look closer. It’s a Chevy Camaro Iroc Z, I would dare guess. It’s a 1982, beautiful fucking car. I nearly get as hard looking at it as I do when I think about Olivia.

I sit back and watch the snow begin to fall harder, covering up even more of that beautiful car. Sometime later, I wake up to her poking me.

I slowly open one eye at a time then look at my watch. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You fell asleep. Then apparently I did, too.” I sit forward and rub my hands through my hair a few times. “If I knew what number you were, I would have carried your ass in.”

“You would have?” Her voice is a whisper, making me immediately regret saying it.

“Hell yes, this car isn’t all that comfortable.” I look out the window at that beautiful car. “That yours?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Sweet fucking ride.”

“Well, it was in its day, I’m sure,” she says with a laugh as she opens the door. “Sorry I kept you from your girlfriend…”

I shake my head, and she smiles. Looking down as her smile grows, her hair falls over her face to hide it.

“I’ll see you later tonight, then?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

I drive home quickly. That wasn’t fucking cool at all. I should have woken her up. I should definitely not have told her I had considered carrying her inside. She is like fucking beer goggles clouding my mind when I am sober. There is just something about her. I can’t fucking shake it, but I have to.

*.*.*.*

Saturday night, I have Jagger fill in for me. I couldn’t spend three nights back to back around the college girl who is now in my head all the damn time.

I decide I should take a look at her car, you know, so I don’t have to take her home again. I am a strong man, but not fucking invincible. To make matters worse, she is constantly checking me out. I could fuck her just as easily as I did that chick at the fundraiser, but she seems so innocent, too damn innocent for the likes of me.

I push the snow off the car, and I shit you not, she is beautiful.

Hoping I’m not gonna have to use the slim Jim to break in the car and hot wire it, I feel along the underside of the fender and laugh. She has a hide-a-key. Of course she does, she’s a chick. She needs one. She’s lost her keys and spent more than twenty minutes looking for them more than once at the bar and they were in her jacket pocket the whole damn time.

Fuck.

I pop the hood and grab my portable jump box, hooking it up. When it has been long enough to give the battery a charge, I sit in the seat then turn the key and nothing, not one noise. No attempt at a turn over, no clicks for the starter to show it is catching. Nope, she is dead, and the cause is most likely the alternator.

I run down to the parts place where, thankfully, Roy, the owner, finds the right one. He has to blow three inches of dust off it and doesn’t promise it will work, but I take it anyway. After freezing my balls off while changing it in the dark, I get in again and turn the key.

Click, click, click, and catch
.

She comes to life, sputtering a few times at the same time as the belts start squealing in the cold, letting me know there is a lot more this beauty needs. I sit back and rev the engine a few more times.

I caress the steering wheel, running my finger around the outer edge of the circle teasing the temptress beneath me. I adjust in the seat, running my hand down the gear shift, stroking up and down to get a feel for the beauty under my hands. Then, I run my flat palm over the passenger seat to feel the texture of the tattered threads before I bring my hand back up to trace the steering wheel once more. When I’ve gotten used to the feel of the car, I grip the gear shift and make sure it’s in first before pulling out.

I feel the car move beneath me as the tires fight to grip the road while the engine pulls to carry the machine, and the car moves in the cold, winter weather. I drive to my house and hit the remote door opener to the garage and pull her in.

Opening the door to the apartment, I call Floyd. “Come on, girl, just a four block run.”

When we get back to Olivia’s parking lot, I open the passenger door to my car, and Floyd starts to jump in.

“You do, and you’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

She stops and I take my coat off to throw it over the seat.

“Get in and keep that ass on the coat, understand?”

Once home, I play around with Olivia’s car, realizing she needs a solid tune up and a couple belts replaced. I am gonna put in a new battery, too.

I clean the inside and hose her down. I could easily get lost in this for hours, and I do. Eventually, I look at my watch, and before I know it, it is two in the morning. Son-of-a-bitch. I’m gonna be late to pick Livi up. I don’t want her walking in the cold. As much as I want to stay away, I can’t. Now, my attempt at avoidance has backfired. I’m anxious to see her again. Plus, I’m excited to tell her about her car.

Chapter Eight

~Olivia~

I shouldn’t trust him. I shouldn’t be so comfortable around him. He’s my boss, for Pete’s sake. There is something familiar about him, though. More than that, there is something mysterious about him. Why is he being so nice to me? He picked me up from work to tell me he has my car and is tuning it up. Why is he fixing it for me? Why do anything for me?

Fairytales are for little girls with dreams. I believed once upon a time. Could my new boss be a knight covered in tattooed armor? I could certainly daydream about it, since he seems to show up everywhere I need him to be. Out of necessity I have always taken care of myself. I have never wanted to ask anything of anyone. Hendrix doesn’t make me ask.

I rub my butt, thinking about my blinged-out panties that say, ‘I’m a survivor,’ on them. My new job has been stressful and challenging, but I am surviving.

I head into the hospital with a little pep in my step. It’s nice to see the good in a world full of bad.

The day quickly goes south when I have to help a family make arrangements to take a loved one off life support. The hard part of my job is helping people face the needs for such forms as a DNR—Do Not Resuscitate—a living will, or a medical POA—Power of Attorney. When it involves a child, it tugs at my heart strings even more.

This family is facing the loss of their nine-year-old daughter. She was in a bicycle accident, hit her head, and she is never going to wake up. Brain function is gone. Decisions have to be made, hard decisions I couldn’t imagine having to make, but it is my job to be a place of support and information.

“I’m sure Broody Boss will be happy to wipe away your tears.” Toni tries to cheer me up after finalizing all the documentation for the family. Apparently, I talk too much about my part-time job at my full-time job for the girls to even know their nicknames, huh?

“Broody Boss isn’t so bad. It’s better than Slick always trying to get in my panties.”

“You ever gonna find out their actual names?” Tabby chimes in.

“I’ve listened to them enough that I think Broody is Hendrix, Slick is Morrison, and Sporty is Jagger.”

“Wait, Hendrix, Morrison, and Jagger? Are you serious right now? I didn’t catch onto that the night we got to watch them shake their ass on the bar.” Toni laughs as she keeps saying their names. “‘Detroit Rock City and their rocking rebel bachelors hosting ladies’ night at Hooligans.’ I can just see the advertising now. This makes for great marketing.”

“Stop it.” I laugh at her.

“Just trying to keep your mind off this job, sweets. And your other job is a great distraction for us all. If only the closet romp guy would come back around, then it would be an even better distraction.”

“Oh, my goodness, I can’t believe you. Let it go. We are not bringing up the closet romp ever again.”
Even if I do revisit it nightly in my dreams
, I add in my mind.

*.*.*.*

On Tuesday night, Morrison is out of town, leaving Jagger and Hendrix with me as I start my shift. It isn’t long before two ladies cozy up to the bar and start flirting with Jagger without hiding that they are more than willing to give in to his every want.

The three of them disappear to a back bathroom for quite a bit. When they come out, I watch as the girls have that clearly satisfied look to them as Jagger smirks over to Hendrix. The girls order one last drink each, while Jagger goes back to work. I hear them muttering about how great he was. Blah, blah, blah.

“Who should we ask for if we come another night, looking for you?” Bimbo One asks Jagger.

I am wiping the bar when I stop dead at his reply.

“Call me Caldwell, baby,” Jagger replies with the same confidence as my man in the mask.

Oh, my goodness, this is not happening. I was drunk, it was dark, and the closet was small, but I think he’s about the right height. No way, I did not sleep with Jagger. Dear God, I think I did. How big was he?

I rush to the bathroom.
Think, Livi, think
. It couldn’t be Jagger, could it? The night is so fuzzy in my mind.

Rolling my shoulders back, I rub my butt, needing my undercover inspiration. ‘Toughen up, buttercup,’ my panties remind me to push through.

Okay, so I may have possibly had sex with my boss, but I need this job too desperately to let one night in a closet mess it up. I will move past my drunken escapade, even if that one night in the closet was the best sexual experience I have ever had. Besides, he clearly doesn’t know it was me, so all is well.

I will go about work, business as usual. Can I get some panties to remind me of that?

*.*.*.*

Thursday night, all three brothers are working. Morrison called me in for tonight, even though I don’t think Hendrix wants me working on ladies’ nights. Toni comes with me in case Hendrix doesn’t really want me there. The house is jam-packed. Morrison notices me first.

“Back that ass up behind the bar, girl. I didn’t call you in here for you just watch me shake mine,” he calls out to me.

I look at Hendrix for his approval. He nods me back. I then look at Toni, who winks at me, and I go.

Throughout the night, I push back every thought of Jagger being my mystery man as soon as it comes forward. If I allow myself to dwell on it, all I do is start thinking about the fact that, if Caldwell is their last name, it could be any one of the brothers. What am I going to do? I honestly don’t know who I slept with that night.

I count the minutes down mentally as the night comes to a close. It has been a long few days and a long week at the hospital, so I’m looking forward to getting home.

We are all cleaning up when Jagger starts lining up shots. He is wired tonight with adrenaline from the success of Thursday’s ladies’ night.

“I can’t drink at work,” I say as I continue cleaning the glasses.

“That’s bullshit. It’s ladies’ night, and you are a lady,” Jagger says as he pours five shots.

“None for me.” Hendrix holds up his hand. “Gotta drive.”

I look up at him. For the first time tonight, he sits down and rolls his neck, relaxing. Then, he clasps his hands behind his neck and closes his eyes.

“Looks like you get two, Livi.” Jagger puts two shots in front of me.

“I really shouldn’t,” I say, glancing at Toni in discomfort.

“One of us should be celebrating. Huge crowd tonight, great money. Your tip jar is overflowing.” Hendrix opens his eyes, his lip curling up a little. “Go ahead, celebrate.”

I can’t help smiling. It was a rough night, but I didn’t screw up nearly as much as I have on the other nights. Maybe I am finally getting the hang of things

“To one week,” Jagger says, holding up his shot.

“To one week,” I say, and the four of us tap glasses.

Hendrix stands up and nods to us. “I’ll deal with the money and grab your first official paycheck while you guys finish up here.”

I watch him as he walks to the door leading up to his office, admiring his backside.

“So”—Jagger hands me my other shot and pours another for Toni—“what are your plans for the rest of the night?”

Toni pulls her phone out and sends a message. The smirk on her face can only mean one thing. “I’m gonna get picked up here in about ten minutes.”

“Booty call, huh?” Jagger holds his fist up, and she taps it with hers. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“I bet there will be a lot of happy men tonight after watching the three of you shake your fine, toned asses up on this bar.”

“Oh, my goodness, Toni,” I gasp and look at Jagger, feeling my face burning up. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. I’m glad to be of service to the men in the area and, of course, the ladies, too.”

“Damn, boy, had I known you were providing services, I would have never sent that message.” Toni tosses back yet another shot he poured.

“Toni”—I cover my face—“we’re ladies.”
And, who knows, I may have already had sex with him
, I think to myself.

“And, as you figured out two weekends ago, a lady needs to own her sexuality,” Toni calls me out.

Oh, my goodness
, I think as I feel my face start to burn.

“Oh, Toni, don’t stop there. Spill it. Tell me all about our little Livi’s—”

“No, Toni, don’t!” I snap, despite not meaning to. If she says one thing to him, and he is the Caldwell in question, I will be devastated. For a man like Jagger, I certainly wouldn’t be the one he would remember, even though I personally can’t stop the memories of that night.

She giggles. “A lady never tells, but Livi here owns her little sex-capades. She’s not—”

“Okay, enough.” I look at her with pleading eyes.

“Fine,” she says on a laugh and holds her hand up as Jagger pushes another shot her way. “One more of those, and I’ll be dragging your fine ass in the nearest,” she pauses, “closet.”

“Closet?” Jagger leans in. “How about right here on the bar?”

“Not on my bar,” Hendrix says with a laugh as he walks out from the back. “We’ve put it through enough tonight.”

Just then, Toni’s phone chimes. “My ride,” she pauses, “is pulling up as we speak.”

“You go get some, you sexy, sexy woman.” Jagger winks. “But, if he falls short”—he reaches down and grabs himself—“you come on back.”

She laughs, and I swear she starts to turn pink, which is very unlike her.

“Goodnight, girl.” She gives me a hug then walks out the door.

“Do you have to hit on every woman who walks in here?” Hendrix shakes his head.

“Oh”—Jagger throws his hands up in mock annoyance—“this coming from the panty burglar.”

“The what?” Hendrix chuckles.

Jagger laughs as he reaches down under the bar and grabs something out of his duffle then flings it on the bar. “Got these from the cleaners where I dropped off the suit.”

Recognition hits me. Instinctively, I immediately reach for them at the same time Hendrix does, knowing exactly what they are. We have a small game of tug of war going on as I want nothing more than to hide my panties and myself for the rest of eternity.

“One of you needs to step away,” Jagger laughs loudly. “Read them sassy little things. ‘
Consent is fucking required
.’”

Mortified, I pull my hand back and look up at Hendrix who appears shocked at my reaction.

I glance back at Jagger and force myself to laugh. “He wins.” I don’t dare look back at Hendrix. I can feel him watching me. “Another shot please.”