She just shrugs. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"I don't know. You're not that great at answering questions."
"It's not related," she says. "I need a favor, since I'm helping you."
I cock my head to the side. "You're helping me?"
"I'm teaching you to swim, jerk-face."
"Jerk-face?" I ask. "How old are you, twelve? Go on, I want to hear what kind of favor Addison Stone needs from me."
"I need you to teach me how to drive."
"You don't know how to drive yet?" I ask. "You're sixteen in...how long?"
"Four months," she says. "I was on tour, and my mom has been..." Her voice trails off.
"Preoccupied with my dad," I say, sighing.
"You don't have to," she says, obviously misinterpreting my sigh as reluctance. I guess it wouldn't really be a misinterpretation. I don't want to spend any more time alone with Addison than I have to. I keep coming down to the pool at night, even though I know it's playing with fire. Addison is getting under my skin. It's Addison I talk to about things, down here at the pool. It's Addison I look forward to seeing every night like clockwork, and Addison I'm ditching dates for, just so I can continue our swim lessons. Addison is the one I've talked to about my mom's death, about what a douchebag my father is. It's Addison I want to talk to all the time.
And that's a fucking problem.
I need to get her out of my head. There are a hundred different girls I can go screw, girls that don't live in the same house with me. Girls who aren't my stepsister. And I've been fucking them. It's just that it's Addison's face I see when I'm in their beds. And it's Addison's name that's on my lips.
"It's fine," I lie. I should tell her no.
"Don't do it if you don't want to."
"I said it's fine. We'll start this weekend. But if you fuck up my car, driving it like shit, you're going to buy me a new one."
A grin spreads across Addison's face and she holds out her hand for me to shake. "Okay. Deal."
PRESENT DAY
I strip off my shirt as I come in the apartment, careful to close the door quietly behind me. It's five in the morning, and I'm feeling energetic, despite my best efforts to wear the hell out of myself. Too damn energetic. I'm edgy and irritable as a result of being in close quarters with Addison. Last night, hanging out with her in the pool sent memories of all the nights we spent together flooding right back – all of those nights I spent fighting my attraction for her.
I remind myself that I should be behaving more like a bodyguard, even if this isn't some routine security gig. The Colonel's expressed words were "no actual security threat." I'm a glorified babysitter and that's it. It's also not a regular situation because it's Addison.
Pouring a cup of coffee, I take it back to the room I appropriated a few days ago when Addison was being a less-than-gracious host. Most people like her who are big stars now would hire a designer for decorating, but I know just by looking at it that this guest room, like everything in her place, is her own design. This apartment is her private space. Everything in here has been carefully selected, from the carved teak bed to the deep wine-colored curtains to the paintings on the wall, modern art with bright sunset oranges and Caribbean blues. It's more bohemian than country and it reflects Addy's personality.
And that's one of the things making me lose my mind here. Not only am I surrounded by Addy during the day, I'm surrounded by her at night, too. Even here in this room I can't get away from her. I swear, the damn sheets on the bed smell like her perfume.
It's making me edgy and irritable and...fucking hard as hell.
I strip down to my boxers and drop my sweaty clothes into the hamper, gulping down more coffee and grimacing as the hot liquid hits the back my throat. I need a shower after another eight-miler.
What I really need is to get laid.
What I really, really need is someone to get my mind off my stepsister.
When I open the door, she's coming down the hallway from her room, dressed in a t-shirt.
And nothing else. Addison is wearing a grey t-shirt that barely comes down over her hips and makes me wonder if she has on panties at all. She stops short, a foot away from me, and her face turns practically scarlet. When she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, the t-shirt fabric gets pulled higher, until I can see the edge of her panties between her legs. Pink. She's wearing pink fucking panties and a t-shirt.
If I thought my cock was going to explode before...
I swear to God all the blood drains from my head and I just stand there, staring at her with my mouth hanging open like an idiot.
"Oh," she says. Her gaze travels down the length of my body, and I am suddenly really fucking aware of the fact that I'm standing here in boxer briefs and nothing else. With a raging hard-on. I'm face to face with the girl I've just sworn I needed to get out of my head, and my boner is broadcasting loud and clear just how absolutely not out of my head this girl is. "I heard the door close and I thought you were out running."