Page 73 of The Bridges I've Burned

Or is it just harmless flirting?

Not knowing annoyed me more than I could stand.

“So, how did you and Elena meet, Marin?” Hendrix asked.

I instantly went on alert, my breath sucking in through my teeth. I probably should have told him about the whole Marin being a widow thing.

But Marin didn’t seem fazed. It probably wasn’t the first time she’d been presented with this kind of question, and she took it in stride. “Elena moved to Richmond during our senior year of high school, and we became instant friends, even through college, when I started dating her brother.”

“You dated her brother?”

She nodded, a hint of sadness in her smile. “Married him, too.”

The conversation suddenly halted, and before Hendrix could put his foot in his mouth, I leaned over and quietly said, “Marin’s a widow.”

“Oh. Oh shit,” he said under his breath before quickly recovering. “So, you were okay with your best friend marrying your brother?” He directed the question to Elena, keeping the topic light while still acknowledging her loss. “’Cause I gotta say, if Z and one of my sisters hooked up, I’d need to go to therapy. Or jail.”

Everyone laughed. Including me.

“There were some uncomfortable moments when we shared an apartment, which I will not elaborate on for the sake of Macon’s mental health?—”

“Thanks for that.” He saluted her with his Coke Zero.

“Oh, fuck off,” Marin cut in, laughing under her breath. “I have my own uncomfortable moments from that time, too, you know. You love to tell everyone how traumatizing it was to live with your brother and his fiancée. But I had to live with my best friend and two hundred thirty-two hookups.”

I tried to school my features and not react.

Hendrix did not, and he immediately asked, “Hold up, is that a real number? Also, can you repeat it?”

“She is exaggerating. Obviously.” She looked offended, but, like, not that offended. She waved off Marin’s accusation with her hand. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“But how much is she exaggerating?” Hendrix teased her, his body angled toward hers in his chair. “Give me a ballpark number.”

“Why?” she fired back, arching a brow. “Wanna compare?”

“A gentleman never tells.”

“I don’t think there is anything gentlemanly about you.”

His voice dropped an octave. “Oh, baby, you have no idea.”

I didn’t even remember standing up, but suddenly, my beer bottle was wedged into the sand, and my ass was off the chair. “I’m gonna go swim for a while,” I announced, and then I took off without another word.

Fucking Hendrix.

I knew what he was doing.

He’d never make a move on Elena, not when he thought that there was even the slightest chance I had an interest in her.

Which I didn’t. Obviously.

She was hot. Ridiculously hot. But I couldn’t go there.

Want. To. Lick. That. Tattoo.

Fucking hell.

It wasn’t because of some bro code or family loyalty that kept Hendrix in check.

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