Page 66 of The Bridges I've Burned

“I—”

Oh my God, please tell me I didn’t

No, I definitely didn’t.

Pretty sure.

Mostly sure.

Fuck.

His grin widened. “I’m just fucking with you, but good to know where your mind was.”

“Oh my God.” I covered my face with the palm of my hand. “You’re impossible. Can we please just forget about this?”

He shook his head, pinning me with those green eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Those sounds are permanently etched into my brain now. Never gonna forget anything about that…”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already gone, walking down the hallway with a definite pep in his step.

And all I could do was watch him.

God, I was so fucking screwed.

CHAPTER TEN

“You seem to be latching on to the rock-star lifestyle pretty quickly,” Hendrix teased as we stood in front of baggage claim.

He’d met me here just moments earlier with a big smile on his face, not a trace of fatigue. My Strat was strapped securely around his chest, all snug and safe in her hard case along with his base.

“Having someone hand-deliver clothes to you? That’s pretty damn bougie.”

A young woman standing next to us did a double take, eyeing me up and down.

“It was your idea, fuckface, and will you shut the hell up with that shit?” I said under my breath, giving him a hard stare.

He laughed, clearly unfazed and very much amused.

If there was anyone who could adjust well to the rock-star life, it would be Hendrix. It wasn’t that he was a fame seeker per se; it was more his ability to adapt and the unfathomable charm he possessed. Hendrix was just a likable guy. You couldn’t be around him without being drawn to his infectious personality.

Of the two of us, I’d always thought it would be him who would break out and make it big.

He’d been trained for it after all.

Music was a way of life in the Creed family. Hell, they’d all been named after musical legends. But no one had really taken to it more than Hendrix.

Like me, he could play a myriad of instruments, but his calling was the bass.

He’d been in a band since college. They slowly made a name for themselves and even got a record deal. But not all of them were willing to put in the work, and they had fallen apart before they could even release their first single. Hendrix had been sort of drifting ever since. He’d done a little session work, but Lance and I both agreed he had far too much talent to be doing grunt work for his father.

“Afraid you’ll be recognized?” He playfully smacked the back of my head. “It’s not like your Beyoncé.”

“I already was,” I told him as he bent forward and hauled a huge suitcase from the conveyor belt.

My eyes widened. How much shit had he packed me?

“Seriously?” His excitement was palpable. This was why our roles should have been reversed. He would love this. The attention. The fans. He’d take it all in stride. “In Ocracoke, really?”

I nodded. “Nearly gave a teenage girl a heart attack,” I said quietly as he grabbed another bag. “Jesus, is that all?” I asked, mortified by how much stuff we’d accumulated. “You know I’m only gonna be here for a few weeks, not a few months, right?”

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