The Diary of Lexi Ashford (Lexi Ashford: Part One) (2 page)

“Pretty cool, right?” he asks when he notices me staring at the photo of him.

“Um … Yeah … Sure …” My palms start to sweat as a beat of silence goes by. I feel this awkward need to break it, a lifelong personality trait of mine that can make my life a living hell sometimes and puts me in a ton of very uncomfortable, strange situations. “Who knew peanut butter would slide off skin like that? It’s so thick I thought it’d clump more.”
Oh. My. God. Lexi. Just stop talking. Right now.
“Was it the chunky or crunchy kind?”
Face palm.

“I think chunky.” He stares at me like
I’m
the crazy person.

“Oh … That makes sense.”
No. None of this makes sense. Like, why you’re still talking!
“Do you do it a lot?”

“Every Friday night at Danny’s Bar.” A grin spreads across his face. “You know, if you’re interested, there’s a partners’ night on Saturdays.”

“Ummm …”
Just tell him no.
“Sure …”

He asks me for my number, but thankfully, I manage to get my head out of my ass and rattle off a fake number, which ends up being the best thing that happens to me for the rest of the day.

Chapter 2

The second I make it to work, my boss calls me into her office, and things go from bad to waking-up-in-a-ditch-naked-with-no-idea-what-happened worse.

“I just don’t think this is working, Lexi,” my boss says to me from across her desk. “You’ve been late so many times I’ve lost count.”

“I can do better.” I’m trying not to cry, but my eyes start to burn. “I just had one of those crazy mornings where everything that could go wrong did.”

“There’s only so many times that excuse can work,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I have to let you go.”

Do not cry and make this more awkward.

I’m terrified by the thought of searching for a job again. After graduating three years ago with a bachelor’s degree in General Studies and having no clue what I wanted to do with it, I floated through random jobs; waitressing, a secretary for a law firm, and my least favorite, selling clown supplies (who knew people that made a job out of being funny could be so intense about what kind of material fake noses are made of).

While I never planned to be a party planner’s assistant forever, I enjoyed what I did, the hours were flexible, and the pay was decent for what I’m used to.

“Thanks for the opportunity,” I squeak as I push up from the chair, cursing myself for messing up and losing yet another job.

She offers me a pity smile. “I wish this would’ve worked out. You’re great at your job and have such amazing, creative ideas, but you’re just too unreliable.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I hurry out of her office before I start bawling. I say a quick good-bye to the few people in the office I’m kind of close with then head to my desk to pack up my stuff, saving my good-bye to Max for last.

But, as I’m piling my framed photos and coffee mug into a box, he approaches my desk with a cautious look on his face.

“I just heard the news. I’m so sorry, Lexi.” He offers me a sympathetic smile. “It’s not going to be the same around here without you.”

“Yeah, I’m going to miss working with everyone.”
Especially you, you ridiculously delicious piece of man candy
. “Maybe we could still grab a bite to eat this weekend and hang out.” I smile at him, hoping he’ll get that by “grab a bite to eat and hang out,” I mean go out on a date and make-out at my apartment.

His dimpled, panty-dropping grin falters as he scratches the back of his neck. “I already made plans with Julia. She’s Dana’s new assistant, and I need to get her caught up on next week’s wedding.”

“Oh.” I press my lips together. “Maybe another time?”

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Look, Lexi, I think you’re cool and everything, but when I asked you out, I wasn’t really asking you out. I just wanted some ideas for the wedding. You’re creative, and I thought maybe, if I had your help, I could impress Dana enough to get a promotion.”

Oh. My. Hell.

“You think I’m
cool
? Seriously? That’s all you have to say?” If I had a penny for every time I’ve been told that, my jobless problem wouldn’t be a problem. “After making out with me in the garage for two straight weeks?”

“I thought we were having fun. I thought you understood that.” He pats my arm. “Look, I have some errands to run. Take care, okay?” With that, he turns on his heels and rushes away like I’m a rabid dog about to bite him. I kind of wish I was so I could have a legitimate excuse to run up and rip him apart.

Instead, I watch him walk away until he stops by Julia’s desk and starts flirting with her.

I look away, vowing to myself no more hooking up with superficial hot guys. From now on, I’m only going to date average looking weirdoes.

Since I don’t have any more change to pay bus fare, I have to walk the twenty-something blocks back to my apartment. Fortunately, it’s stopped raining, but the puddles covering the ground splash up and soak my tights every time I take a step.

I’m bouncing up and down on my toes, trying to warm up as I wait for a streetlight to change, when a boy around eight years old suddenly runs up to me with a sparkling neon pink marker in his hand and starts scribbling on my tights.

“Hey, back off, little dude,” I warn as I step back out of his reach.

“No way. I can’t. I’m a street artist, and you’re my muse.” He laughs wickedly and rushes at me again, waving the marker tauntingly.

I whirl around, hugging my box as I skitter out of the way, but I roll my ankle and fall down. I drop the box to brace the fall with my hands. The concrete scrapes my palms and rips the knees of my tights.

I glare at the boy. “You evil little troll.”

He points the marker at me. “I can make you look like an evil little troll if you want me to.”

I narrow my eyes at him as I stumble to my feet. Before I can stand up all the way, though, a set of fingers wrap around my upper arm, and I’m lifted to my feet as if I weigh nothing.

“Sorry about that,” a deep, male voice says. “Are you okay?”

I brush dirt and mud off my tights, skirt, and hands, but I only seem to make more of a mess. “Yep, just peachy.” Sarcasm drips from my voice as I elevate my gaze to him. “He’s kind of a …” I trail off.

The guy standing in front of me is younger than I expected—around my age—with green eyes, messy, brown hair, and a scruffy jawline. He’s definitely good-looking, but what’s really throwing me off is the strangest sensation that I know him. And the stunned look on his face makes me wonder if I do.

“Do I know you?” I ask, bending over to grab my box from the ground.

Right at that moment, the wind kicks up and blows up my skirt. I hurriedly tug it down, but I’m sure a few people passing by probably got a glimpse of the granny panties I’m rocking because I haven’t done laundry in, like, a month.

The guy scoops up my box, but instead of handing it to me, he keeps ahold of it. “No … I don’t think so.” He looks away from me as he says it.

He’s lying. I can tell. But why?

“What’s your name, then?” I ask.

His lips quirk. “You really expect me to give my name to some random woman on the street? A woman, I might add, who just flashed half the people walking by?”

I grip the bottom of my skirt, securing it down. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It was the wind.”
And fate.

“How do I know that for sure?” he asks. “Maybe it’s your thing.”

“You think my thing is flashing people on the street? Really? Do I look that crazy?”

He eyes over my torn tights covered in marker and my muddy skirt and shirt, and his brow arches in insinuation.

“I don’t always look like this,” I say indignantly. “I’ve just had a shitty day, and he”—I wave my hand at the kid who is now scribbling on the side of a parked car—“made it ten times worse.”

“Yeah, sorry about Trevor. He’s going through a … phase.” He glances down at the little boy and frowns.

“You know that marker is permanent, right?” I say to the sexy stranger.

His eyes widen then he hastily hands me my box and gently pulls the boy to his feet. “All right, little man, hand over the marker,” Sexy Stranger says to the boy.

The devil child shakes his head. “You can’t take an artist’s tool away from him!”

“Trevor,” Sexy Stranger warns, trying to remain calm. “Give me the marker. Public artists don’t go around coloring on cars.”

The boy tucks the marker behind his back. “Some do. I’ve seen it on the internet.”

“Okay …” Sexy Stranger struggles for words. “Well, they don’t color on people’s clothes.”

“I don’t think you understand public art,” the boy says, backing away from him. “I have to color whenever the urge strikes me. That’s how it works.”

What a crazy—albeit smart—little weirdo.

“Need any help?” I offer, even though it’s the last thing I want to do right now.

“No, it’s okay,” Sexy Stranger waves off my help then warns the boy, “Don’t run away again. Your mom’s already going to be pissed off at me for that stunt you pulled at the toy store.”

“Art is art! And that display looked much better with my art on it!” the boy shouts then spins around and takes off running.

“Shit,” Sexy Stranger curses then runs after him, calling out to me, “Sorry about everything! I really am!”

I watch him run away, wishing I’d at least gotten his name. Then again, he’s probably married, so what does it really matter?

Sighing, I head back down the crowded sidewalk toward my apartment. I must really look like a crazy mess now because, while I’m waiting to cross the street, some old dude gives me five dollars and promises me that God loves all his children, even the hookers and sinners.

By the time I trudge into my apartment, I’m cold, wet, tired, and my eyes are nearly swollen shut from sobbing. I flop down on my bed, ready for the day to be over, like somehow overnight, my life will restart, and everything will be okay again. I know that’s not the case. I’ve been fired enough times to know I’m going to spend a couple of weeks applying to jobs and being called in for interviews, all while worrying if I’m going to make next month’s rent.

Grimacing, I kick off my shoes and drag my butt out of bed to grab my ancient laptop off my desk. While it’s booting up, I slip on a pair of boots and jog across the street to order a sinfully delicious slice of pizza with the five bucks the guy gave me. On the way back inside, while I’m stuffing my face with greasy goodness, I pick up my mail.

I haven’t gotten it in a few days because I lost the key and just found it last night. The box is filled with a ton of magazines and junk mail. The only thing of importance is a letter from my landlord.

I tear it open and my heart nearly stops. “An eviction notice? What the hell?”

I’m never late on my rent. I feel like banging my head on the wall. Could this day get any worse?

Chapter 3

After making a call to the landlord, I find out the bank returned my last month’s check because of insufficient funds. When I check my bank account, I discover a long list of charges not made by me.

“I can promise you,” I tell the very snide operator on the phone. “I didn’t spend two hundred and seven bucks at Gary’s Extravagant and Extraordinary Sex Toy Adult Shop.”

“I understand your frustration ma’am,” she replies in a dry tone. “And, like I said earlier, we’re looking into it, but it might take seven to ten days to process a refund.”

“I don’t have seven to ten days,” I huff out in frustration, tossing the statement onto the table. “This is such bullshit. I mean, what does extravagant and extraordinary even mean? Does it sell extra long vibrators with fur on them or something? Because that’s just creepy and very unpractical.”

The line grows awkwardly quiet.

Okay, okay. I might have gone a little too far with the whole furry, extra-long vibrator remark, but when I get too frazzled, I sometimes speak without thinking first. My mom calls it the curse of being an Ashford woman.

“Your dad’s mom once told me about her sex life and all the positions your grandpa and her used to do,” she said to me during a very uncomfortable conversation when I was thirteen. “She only did it because she was stressed out at work and was pissed off at your grandpa for breaking the bed frame. Anyway, she later apologized and explained that every Ashford woman has a habit of saying whatever pops into their head, especially when they’re stressed out.”

I didn’t believe in her curse theory at the time, but now I’m totally on board with it.

“That’s why we offer our multiple security programs,” the operator finally breaks the silence. “Perhaps you’ll want to consider signing up for one of them.”

“Why? So you can protect the negative three hundred and twenty-one dollars I have in my account right now?” I press my fingers to the brim of my nose. “Look, is there any way we can speed up the dispute process?”

She answers with a big, fat no, only using words that make it sound as if she’s giving me a sweet deal on something. By the time I hang up, I have no idea what to do next. Even if I get my money back and catch up on rent, I haven’t been called in for any interviews yet, and I’ve applied for almost every job within my salary range. I’m broke. Jobless. My car’s broken, and after talking to a mechanic, I found out it’s probably going to cost almost five hundred dollars to fix it.

I could always downgrade to a lower costing apartment, but let’s face it, I already live in a shithole—there’s not much farther down I can go.

Even though I hate being a charity case, I decide to call up my dad and ask him for help. He tells me he can probably scrounge up enough to fix my car, but they’re in the process of remodeling their bookstore right now and don’t have a lot of extra cash lying around.

“You could always come home for a little bit,” he suggests with a hint of hope in his tone.

My parents never were fans of my choice to leave Fairville and move to Denver. Me, I couldn’t wait to get out of the small town I grew up in. I dreamed about it from the time I was twelve and my dad took me on a trip with him to the city. Everything was so big and seemed to be constantly changing. It was a breath of fresh air compared to Fairville, which always seemed to remain stuck in the same place.