Hendrix: Caldwell Brothers (The Caldwell Brothers Book 1)

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.