surprised look on Hendrix’s face melted into annoyance. “Who the fuck just stands in front of a door like that?”
“Who the fuck goes barging into a room so violently?”
“It’s my room.”
“I could’ve been naked.” I crossed my arms, fully aware that it was pushing my tits up—and getting way more satisfaction than I should have when he glanced down at them.
“Were you?” His voice dropped, and he smirked.
I rolled my eyes. Even if I wanted to entertain the idea of hooking up with this infuriating asshole again, I still felt like death warmed up. The shower had helped, but it wasn’t magic.
“Can we get going? I need to be home before anyone realizes I’m not.”
“Do you want to eat something first?”
My stomach roiled at the mere mention of food, and I shook my head, breathing through my nose.
“OK.” He rubbed my back for a moment but didn’t linger. In a few seconds, he’d pulled on some socks and tennis shoes and jammed a baseball cap onto his head. I wished it was that easy for girls to get ready. I wished anything was that easy for me. But perfection took time and effort.
He led me through the silent, empty house and out the front door. I wanted to ask where his parents were, if he had siblings, but I kept my mouth shut. It was a nice place, not as big or ostentatious as mine, but respectable. I supposed it would have to be if they could afford to send him to Fulton Academy.
Once we got on the road, his Tesla gliding smoothly around corners, I realized he lived only a few streets away from me. I ducked lower in the seat and sighed. I’d have to drive forty minutes to get my damn car, only to come back to essentially the same place.
He was silent until we hit the freeway, then he reached over and turned on the stereo. Metallica blasted out of the speakers, and I cried out at the pounding in my head, clapping my hands over my ears. He turned it down. I glared at him and turned it off.
“No music. Just . . . no anything. God, I wish the sun would fuck off.” I covered my eyes with my elbow and groaned. It was a chilly winter day, but the California sun was shining as brightly as ever. Dick.
Hendrix’s cinnamon scent hitting the back of my nose made me crack an eye open. He’d leaned over to open the glove box and was pulling out a pair of Ray-Bans, which he handed to me. They were super dark, and I jammed them over my eyes immediately.
I looked over and studied him from behind the anonymity of the shades. Once again, he’d done something thoughtful without being asked.
Who the fuck are you, Hendrix Hawthorn?
I pushed the thought away as soon as I could. He’d already thrown me off-balance. I needed less Hendrix in my life, not more. What I needed more of was control.
As I studied his profile—the slight kink in his nose, the way his jaw tensed and relaxed as he chewed his gum, the corded muscle in his forearm as he gripped the steering wheel—I realized I still hadn’t thanked him. I may have decided to keep him out of my life and my thoughts, but he had saved me from something I could hardly think about without feeling as if I might vomit.
I may have been a bitch, but I gave credit where it was due.
I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter. “Hendrix?”
He hummed in response, keeping his eyes on the road.
“About last night . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He shifted in his seat, but before he could speak, I rushed on. “I know you don’t like me, and I don’t like you, so what you did for me last night—it means a lot. You could’ve just walked away. I wouldn’t have blamed you. I got myself into that position. But you didn’t. You could’ve been putting yourself in danger by doing that. Anyway, I’m rambling. Point is, I know it was no small thing, you stepping in and stopping them from . . .” I had to swallow and take a breath, but I made myself say it. “. . . from taking me. Maybe raping and killing me. You may very well have saved my life, and I’m grateful.”
He was silent for a bit longer.
“You didn’t,” he finally said, and I frowned in confusion. “What you said about putting