The Diary of Lexi Ashford (Lexi Ashford: Part One) (3 page)

I used to call it Hellville because, growing up where everyone knew everyone, that’s what it felt like sometimes. Everyone knew everything about me. They witnessed every awkward phase I went through, knew all the nicknames that made me cringe, like Lexi t-rexi, a name given to me in sixth grade when my body grew faster than my arms. Eventually, my arms grew in proportion to my body, but by then, a new nickname had caught on. They were never cool names, either—like Lexi Sexy—and no matter what I did, I could never escape the teasing … until I moved to Denver.

Denver was my restart, my be-anything-you-want-to-be. I just wish that, after eight years of trying, I knew what I wanted to be.

I sink down into the sofa and rest my head back, staring up at the water stain on the ceiling. “Thanks for the offer, Dad, but I still have some jobs I can apply for.”

“Oh, okay.” The disappointment in his tone makes me feel guilty for not visiting more. “You’re still coming out for Christmas, though, right? You haven’t visited in over five years. And as much as your mom and I love coming out there, we’d like you to come home once in a while.”

I massage my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “As long as my car’s fixed, I’ll come out. I promise.”

“Your car will be fixed. In fact, I’ll wire you the money tomorrow. I hate the idea of you having to walk everywhere.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I start to choke up. “It means a lot to me.”

“Don’t cry, Lex. Everything’ll be okay,” he tries to assure me. “It’ll all work out in the end.”

He spends the next five minutes giving me one of his famous pep talks about keeping my chin up and being a go-getter. By the time I get off the phone, I’m a bundle of emotions. I miss my parents, even if they are a little insane sometimes and have absolutely no filter. I miss my job, too—I miss putting a party together and watching everyone enjoy it. I’m terrified I’ll never get another job, that I’ll get kicked out of my place and have to return to Fairville.

Deciding I need to start coming up with some alternative plans, I call my friend Sophie to see if she wants to hang out and watch a movie, subtly hinting we should do it at her place because it’s way nicer than hanging out in my living room/kitchen/bedroom.

When I get there, I fully plan to ask her if I can take her up on the offer she made a few months ago to move into her spare bedroom because she needs the extra cash. I turned her down at the time because it was too far away from work, but now that’s not a problem.

Look, a silver lining. Score!

“Sure,” Sophie replies after I call her and ask if she wants to get a pizza and maybe watch
Bad Teacher
. “I just can’t stay up too late. I have a meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Who has meetings on a Sunday?” I slip on my jacket, grab my keys, and head for the door.

“People who want to move up the ladder instead of down,” she says condescendingly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I need to get my shit together.” I don’t take her tone personally. “I’m headed over now. See you in, like, thirty.”

I’ve known Sophie for almost three years. We met in a bar after both of the people we came with had ditched us for guys. I’ll admit I was a little bit tipsy, which meant I came off more outgoing than I am.

“Seriously, haven’t they heard of chicks over dicks?” she asked me as we bounced around on the dance floor to the music.

Both of us sucked at dancing and probably looked like a couple of whacked out bobbleheads, but I was too drunk to care.

I nodded and then made a toast. “To hell with them. From now on, you and I’ll be besties, and they can go have their hot, sweaty sex.” I made a face as if I detested hot, sweaty sex.

She moved to clink her glass with mine, but then paused. “Well, I kind of want to have hot, sweaty sex, too, sometimes.”

“Yeah, me, too.” I paused, lifting my glass again. “To hot, sweaty sex.”

“Hell, yeah!” some guy beside me said, fist pumping the air.

I knocked back my drink and glanced around the bar. When I spotted a very in shape guy with gorgeous blue eyes chilling at the bar with his a-little-on-the-gangly-side friend, an idea struck me.

“I have an idea,” I said to Sophia. “We could be each other’s wingman.”

When confusion masked her bleary eyes, I explained how I wanted her to be my wingman so I could go hit on Pretty Blue Eyes at the bar. She could talk to his friend, and in exchange, next weekend, I would do the same for her.

“Fine, but you owe me.” She tripped in her heels as she spun around and marched for the bar.

By the time we made it to Pretty Blue Eyes, though, he had a curvy blonde in his lap. Sophie, who had just downed her six shot, took it offensively, like he had somehow been cheating on me, and threw her drink in his face. He jumped to his feet, nearly dumping the blonde on the floor.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, his jaw nearly hanging to the floor.

“What’s wrong with me is guys like you always hitting on cliché women. When you want a real woman, call me.” Then she smacked his ass, linked arms with me, and hauled me out of the bar.

“Holy crap, I can’t believe you just did that,” I muttered as we reached the corner of the street.

“Yeah, me, either,” she replied, pressing her hand to her forehead. “That was so unlike me. I’m blaming it on the alcohol and my ex, the bastard. He’s got my head all messed up.”

“It was kind of funny.” I grinned as I replayed the look on his face when she slapped his ass.

She lowered her hand from her face. “The look on his face was priceless.”

“And at least you made an impression. He probably gets hit on all the time, but he’ll never forget the crazy girl who threw her drink on him and slapped his ass really, really hard.”

“Was it that hard?”

“I think the whole bar heard it.”

She shrugged. “I think he clenched, though, so maybe that softened the blow.”

We traded a look and then busted up laughing so hard I peed my pants a little bit.

After that, we became best friends. And, oddly enough, Sophie ran into Pretty Blue Eyes, whose real name is Flynn, a few months later, and the two have been dating ever since.

When I step outside and see that it’s raining again, I backtrack to Miss Finikey’s apartment to beg her to let me borrow her car.

I knock three or four times before the door swings open.

Miss Finikey leans against the doorjamb with her arms crossed. “What do you want?” she asks me, tying up her silk robe.

My eyes start to water from the smoke in the air and the strobe light flashing inside her living room. “I, um …” I trail off at the sight of Mr. Welford standing naked in the living room, holding a pillow over his man parts. On the television, a woman wearing a leotard and leg warmers is doing squats and counting backwards from ten.

“Hey, Lexi.” Mr. Welford waves to me. “We were just, um … exercising.” He gestures at the television as if that explains everything.

“Oh, sounds … fun.” I tear my attention away from the scene and focus on Miss Finikey and nothing else. Nothing else at all. “Can I borrow your car?”

“Did that piece of shit of yours finally break down?” she asks with a snarky grin on her face.

Sighing, I nod. “And it’s raining, so I’d really appreciate the favor.”

I expect more of an argument from her, but she must be eager to get back to “exercising” because she grabs the keys from the table and tosses them to me.

“I’ll probably be busy when you get back, so leave the keys under the mat,” she says before slamming the door in my face.

Shoving what I just saw way, way into the back of my mind where I can never replay it again, I hurry out to her car. Surprisingly, I don’t run into any problems during the drive to Sophie’s, and the radio even plays my jam.

By the time I’m knocking on her door, I think maybe my luck has changed.

When Sophie throws the door open, she lets out an ear-splitting squeal. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She claps her hands together and jumps up and down.

I jump up and down with her. “Me, too!”

We jump up and down, holding hands and celebrating that I’m here.

“Wait? Why are you so excited?” She stops jumping and her brows knit.

I shrug. “That I’m here?”

She motions for me to get inside then shuts the door. “I have exciting news.” Her voice gets all I-just-sucked-helium-from-a-balloon kind of high.

I clap my hands together, so excited for her even if I have no clue why. “What is it? Did you get another promotion? Or that new bedroom set you’ve been wanting for forever? Oh, wait, did you finally try a blueberry muffin from Tamy’s Fantastic Bakery?” The last one’s a joke, but the blueberry muffins there are
amazing
.

“A blueberry muffin? Really, Lexi?” She shakes her head and makes that disappointed face she always does whenever I’ve said something she thinks is ridiculous. “Like I would be this excited over a muffin.”

I put my hands on my hips and give her a teasingly stern look. “Clearly, you haven’t tasted her muffins.”

“Who’s tasting whose muffin?” Flynn strolls out of the bathroom, grinning and dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his waist.

This is the second time I’ve seen a nearly naked man tonight, but this time, it doesn’t make me want to jab my eyeballs out with my fingers.

I take a moment to discreetly check him out. Yeah, I know he’s my best friend’s boyfriend, but this is the closest I’ve gotten to a shirtless man in a year unless you want to count the cutey with all the tattoos in the gym that I gawk at every day on my way to work. I actually put a stop to walking by that place a couple of months ago after an embarrassing window-licking incident.

“No one’s eating anyone’s muffins,” Sophie dismisses him. “Lexi just thinks she’s funny.”

“Lexi is funny”—he winks at her—“especially when she’s trying to talk you into eating muffins.”

Sophie rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch into a smile. “Anyway, I was just about to tell Lexi the good news.”

“Yes, you were.” I motion for her to get a move on. “So hurry up already and tell me before I decide to go get some excitement from a muffin.”

Shaking his head, Flynn chuckles as he walks into the bedroom.

I grin at a frowning Sophie. “Well, at least he thinks I’m funny.”

She sighs, but then a smile lights up her face as she sticks out her hand. “Flynn just proposed, and I said yes!” She waggles her fingers, causing the huge-ass diamond to shimmer. “We’re engaged!”

“Holy shit!” I throw my arms around her and hug her tightly. “I’m so happy for you!”

I tell myself not to cry, but tears start to stream down my face. Sophie, who’s not a crier at all, calls me a baby, but then she ends up crying, too. She laughs through her tears, completely happy as she babbles on about their wedding plans, how they’re getting a bigger place just outside of the city, and how she wants me to be her Maid of Honor.

I’m so happy for her. I really am. But deep down, some of my tears are coming from the fact that reality is crashing down on me. I’m so screwed. I know I am.

Not only does it feel like I’m losing my best friend, but if I don’t get a job that will pay the bills soon, I’m going to have to return to the place I ran away from almost eight years ago, even though I swore I’d never go back.

Chapter 4

Two weeks later, the inevitable happens. After getting a job at a fast food place, along with a second job at a grocery store, I still can’t make rent, and my bank account is still being looked into. I have no choice but to call my parents and tell them I’m coming home for a bit. Then, with a heavy heart, I pack up my stuff.

“Good-bye, sink. Good-bye, floor. Good-bye, couch. You were an ugly, little bastard, but I’ll miss all the drunken talks we had. You were such a great listener.” I pat the couch and step back to give a pageant wave to my apartment, opting to keep the humor going; otherwise, I’m going to lose my shit. “Good-bye, all.”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Sophie says as she checks around for any remaining boxes.

Since most of the furniture came with the place, there isn’t a whole lot, just enough boxes and bags to fill up the trunk, the backseat, and the passenger side of my car. It makes me sad that I don’t own much of anything.

Mental note to self: When I get my life back on track, start buying my own furniture.

“You know me.” I let my hand fall to my side. “I’d rather laugh until my problems become so much I have a meltdown. Remember the summer of 2014?”

She shudders as she moves up beside me. “How could I forget?”

How could anyone forget the summer of 2014? I had found out my then boyfriend, whom I thought I was in love with, was cheating on me. I pretended not to care for almost two months straight, but then, around July, all shit hit the roof after I spotted him one day in a café drinking coffee with the woman he cheated on me with. She was pretty, too: tall, curvy, with perfect hair and flawless skin.

I ran in and sobbed that I missed him and that I still loved him. Then I pathetically added, “You can’t say that you still don’t love me. I know you do.”

He looked around at the people gawking at us and his cheeks reddened. “Lexi, we had fun and everything, but that was it. You’re cool and all, but you’re kind of a walking disaster.”

Okay, I was kind of a disaster—still am—but
cool
? That word is the bane of my existence and something snapped inside me.

I threw his coffee in his face then ran back to my place, locked myself in the bathroom with a bottle of vodka, blaring, “I’m Not Okay” by My Chemical Romance over and over again. I stayed that way for two whole days, which wouldn’t have been that bad except I had roommates. Finally, Sophie had Flynn pick the lock so she could get inside and drag me out of my funk.

“But I’m not okay,” I drunkenly whined as she dragged me to my feet. “Listen to the song. It knows what I’m talking about.”

“I know you’re not okay,” she said. “You’ve been lying on a bathroom floor that I’m pretty sure no one has ever cleaned, you smell like vomit, and you look like shit.”