“I would never disparage you. I treasure you.” He doesn’t break his gaze as if driving home the point with those steely beams. “Remember that night at the Witch’s Cauldron?”
“The hot spring I scalded myself in? How can I forget? It melted the fingerprints right off my hands.”
He flexes a dry smile before the moment grows tense once again.
“Yes, I remember that night at the Witch’s Cauldron. It was the beginning of the end. It started off with me on top of the world and ended with the world sitting on my chest cutting off my air supply.” I burst past him with a violent thump to his shoulder as if we were two dumb jocks ready to come to blows. And I was dumb way back when for ever falling for anything he had to say.
“Lexy”—he spins me back gently by the elbow—“not that part.”
There’s grief in his eyes that I was hoping would never leave him, and now that I’m witness to that tender ache myself, I’m practically walking on air. As a general rule of thumb, it’s every ex-girlfriend’s dream to see your ex still pining for you, embroiled in so much misery and pain they can hardly catch their breath. And right now, Axel Collins is a giant ball of heartache, and that alone fuels an unnatural level of glee in me.
“The other part.” He winces. “You and me, the moonlight. It started off as the best night of our lives.” He’s pleading, those eyes are downcast, and a sudden urge to bubble with laughter overcomes me, but I won’t give it in the event he mistakes it for a fond rehashing of that all-night make-out fest, which led to a proposal, which immediately thereafter led to an epic breakup. But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and I’ve long since taken off my rose-colored lust-tinted glasses. We were destined to crash and burn all along.
I flick a finger in the air. “You, me, and moonlight? I don’t think I remember those details in particular. I’ve revisited the Witch’s Cauldron many times since and with an entire assortment of suitors. It’s all blending together.” I take a step in and latch onto those shining pale eyes. “You’re just another face in the crowd when I think of that place—so interchangeable. In fact, when I think of all the men who have graced my bed, I have a hard time remembering anything about you.” I tap my finger to my cheek as if struggling to summon a memory. “Oh, that’s right. Finished quick and then rolled over and played dead. On second thought, I do remember you.” The muscles in his jaw bounce as he grinds his teeth. You can practically see his blood pressure hit the ceiling, as his rage demands he speak out in self-defense, and yet I’ve rendered him speechless. What a crying shame. A wicked smile clips my lips as I stride right on by, and this time he doesn’t stop me.
I flatten my hands over my skirt, girding myself for the task at hand. An entire army of bodies just walked through the doors, and I do what I signed up for—I serve the masses. Hours zip by as if The Sloppy Pelican were caught in some space-time continuum that worked in my high-heeled favor. For the love of all things holy, each time I looked to the clock the hands were spinning. My feet feel as though they’ve both been flatten by a steamroller, my back feels as if the bartender took a baseball bat to it, and my head is pulsating with a heartbeat of its own, ready to explode all over this miner catastrophe of a restaurant.
If I never look at another Mason jar again, it’ll be too soon. Try carrying a tray full of them brimming with water, iced tea, and don’t forget the fourteen kinds of lemonade Low made sure to instate. Sure, infusing the menu with sophisticated offerings was a great idea, but if I have one more person ask me what part of the cow is the Wagyu from, I’ll be roping humans in this establishment until they haul me off to a nice warm jail cell with a glorified ironing board for a cot. Solitary confinement for one, please. The muscles in my legs ache, my vagina aches, and both she and I know that was a load of testosterone-riddled bull I was feeding Axel earlier. Axel was the last man I slept with. That’s right. It’s been a long hard nuclear winter in my nether region. But it’s a secret I’ll drag to my grave right along with my unused pink parts.
I stagger over to the bar as the patrons flood the exit. The last of my customers just took off. There’s just a drunk mumbling into his beer and a couple dry humping—oh heck, they could outright be doing the nasty. I think everyone in here is too tired to care. Mojo, the bartender, nods me over—yes, he assured me that was his formal moniker, and considering the fact he’s ratted and tatted head to toe, including his shiny bald head with a snake that dips into his forehead, I didn’t dare question him on it.
“You look like someone just wiped the floor with you.” He grunts out a laugh that sounds more like a threat, and instantly I like him.
“That’s because I listened to someone who told me these heels would pay for themselves by the end of my shift if I knew how to move in them. They’re Louboutins for the record, which means my tips better amount to a cool grand or I’m quitting.”
“Was she right?” He nods to the bulge in my apron where I’ve been stuffing all the cash that was flung my way.
“I don’t know. I’m too tired to care at this point. What good is money when all I really want is a bed or the back seat of my car, whichever I hit first.”
He barks out a laugh. “Words I hear the ladies say often.” He flops a towel down onto the counter. “You mind manning the fort a moment? I gotta hit the head.” He nods to the restrooms.
“Hit as many heads as you like.” I snap the towel up as if that made me look official. Axel disappeared in the back about fifteen minutes ago—probably banging his own head against the wall for ever letting his so-called friends talk him into ponying up the funds for this place. Only two other waitresses are left on the floor with me, and they’ve started flipping chairs up on tables in an effort to start closing the place. If anyone thinks I’m going to start picking up seventy-pound wooden chairs and hoisting them through the air, they’re delusional. A bodybuilder I am not. And my heels are designed for a lot of things, but juggling furniture is not one of them. Although, I can’t help but admire the way the other girls are able to flip seats with the best of them and all the while carry on a conversation that contains the words BJ and diapers. I’m guessing one led to the other.
Drunk Frat Boy edges toward me, leering at me with a demented grin as he holds out his empty oversized mug. “More,” he grunts as he lunges forward, and his six-foot frame aptly topples over mine.
“Whoa, cowboy. This isn’t a rodeo, and I’m not a horse.” I do my best to push him off, but his hands gravitate toward my hindquarters and do their best impression of a starfish as he clamps onto my flesh.
“Get the heck off, you living, breathing idiot!” I howl in his ear, struggling to get his sweaty body off mine, but his grip on me increases with superhuman strength that only beer can provide as his lips latch onto mine. “I’m going to kill you!” I thunder so loud it sends Axel running from the back with a fire in his eyes like he might beat me to the punch. But before Axel ever clears the counter, my knee gives a violent jolt into Frat Boy’s baby maker and he lets out a lung expiring oof.
Axel plucks him from me and lands a few solid punches to his face, but he’s too wasted to properly defend himself and the entire scene looks sort of sad.
Mojo bolts over and drags the drunk carcass to the door before the idiot comes to.
“I’m calling the cops!” Mojo shouts as he plucks the keys from the moaning puddle of beer.
“You okay? That was some knee action.” Axel takes a moment to rub my arms warm with his hands, and I try to push him away reflexively.
“I just turned that man into a woman, and if you’re not careful I’ll do the same to you.”
His eyes close briefly. “I’m already half the man I was without you in my life.”
“Oh, cry me a river!” I scream as I pound my fist over his chest as if trying to stomp his heart out like a flame. “You were quite the man on campus at NYU, weren’t you?” His arms float to my hips, and I take a full step back out of his reach for good.
Axel pants, unable to
catch his breath, looking at me with an apology written all over his face, but I won’t take it. Instead, I stride forward and do what I wish I did that night. In a move that I have rehearsed for the last six years, I offer an open palmed slap that burns my flesh as much as it does his. The stubble on his cheek singes my palm as I disconnect, but our eyes remain locked as a moment of terrible truth fills the void between us.
Axel and Lex are over, now and forevermore. We were over long before we ever began all those years ago.
I hit the exit and fly past the drunk frat boy who’s currently vomiting on his shoes, straight into a starry Hollow Brook night that suspiciously reminds me of that horror back at the Witch’s Cauldron.
Axel was right. It started off with a hint of promise.
But my story never ends there. I wish I understood that principle then. It would have saved me a hell of a lot of heartache.
Days drift by and somewhere in that muscle aching, dizzying haze of strutting around the bar while sloshing beer to patrons and threatening the balls of any degenerate that has the nerve to think that my bottom doubles as a stress-relieving device, I’ve let Raven talk me into hosting an impromptu bridal shower at my home in Low’s honor.
Raven has been hanging around The Sloppy Pelican—a lot. She’s giddy, and bubbly, and always has a smile plastered to her face, but those aren’t the only reasons she grates on me. It’s the fact she has mistaken me for a long-lost bosom buddy. Just a few short weeks ago she was busy traipsing around Milan, Paris, the South Pacific, and who knows what other exotic locale, and suddenly she’s planted herself to a seat at The Pelican with her laptop in tow staring at YouTube videos of kittens while nursing an overgrown Cobb salad. It’s annoying. She’s annoying. But she’s far less of a nuisance than Axel who’s traded his business attire for a lumberjack uniform. Okay, I’ll admit he looks decent in a T-shirt and flannel—and he looks even better from behind where I don’t have to see him stealing glances my way every chance he gets—plus, he has a hot ass. Fine, I’ve said it.
Nevertheless, Raven showed up at my place an hour ago and decorated the living room with streamers and balloons in the shape of male genitalia. And if that X-rated cake in the kitchen is any indication of where this night is headed, then I already want to run screaming. Only I can’t, on account there are actual protesters marching just outside of my driveway. It appears that Stumpy across the street has nothing better to do with her time than orchestrate public demonstrations—a position she’s currently been drafted into, her words, not mine. And she’s chosen to cut her teeth by setting up a demonstration in my honor. Hostility toward the disabled is a form of discrimination, one sign reads and sadly that seems to be the only sign that makes any sort of sense. I peer out the window as evening falls over Hollow Brook washing the street and the protesters with their ridiculous signs a deep shade of blue-violet. Down with this! Dogs hate this house! Build a prison here! Irritated and outraged! It’s only YOUR opinion!
“My God, these imbeciles don’t even make any sense. Do they realize they’re as dumb as those sticks they’re holding?” I scoff as I spot their ringleader. “And there she is, the Chihuahua Queen parading them around like show ponies.”
Raven comes in and sticks her face through the crack in the curtain. “Is that Stumpy? Wow, she’s just as mean as you are!” She all but smashes her nose to the glass. I’ve apprised Raven of the beast at the heart of this debacle, and it wasn’t that hairy sheep dog that’s been shitting on my lawn for the past few months. How I hate that I’ve been reduced to curse words even in my own stream of consciousness. One day soon, when I smother the life out of Stumpy in the doggie brownies that the hairy scary sheep dog still makes it his business to leave behind, I’ll curse up an entire expletive-riddled tirade as I chase her soul off the planet for good.
“No one’s as mean as I am.” A self-satisfied smile comes to my lips. Mean is a title I’ve earned, and like all things one must work hard for, I cherish it with a passion.
“You got me there. Hey, do you think you and Axel will ever get back together?”
“Not on your life or his.” A meager smile bleeds through my lips. “Never to be exact.”
“Never say never. If the universe loves anything, it loves a happy ending.”
“Well, it’s not getting one from me. And if the universe ever even whispers the words happy ending to me, I won’t hesitate in telling it to shut up.”
Her body goes rigid as she lets out a sudden gasp. “She’s here! Run and hide!” She swats me away from the curtains and sends Strudel into a barking tirade. In her decorating spree, she even managed to tie a little pink penis balloon around his collar.
“Why would I hide? I live here and she’s coming to see me.” I sneak a quick glance out the window and note an entire row of familiar faces pouring out of the orifice of at least three different vehicles. I suck in a quick breath. “Oh shit—ake mushrooms, what have you done?” I growl at Raven, and she’s quick to utilize Strudel as a doggie shield. “Coward.”
“I had to invite them. Parties are more fun with actual people in attendance.” She ducks back behind Strudel once again just as the door magically opens and in strides Low, Levi, Brody, Levi’s doppelganger of a brother, that witch he’s currently separated from—and last, but not least, tall, dark, and handsome as all hell is about to break loose Axel Collins. That pink handprint I gifted him a few days ago is still marginally visible to the trained eye, although the stubble he’s allowing to proliferate over his cheeks is masking the effect a bit. That handprint is the only thing I’ll smile at while looking at him.
The rest of the party begins on an instant chatter, with both Mer and Low cooing over Strudel. Raven starts the music pumping through that portable speaker she’s hauled over. It’s no bigger than my cell phone, but it packs a powerful backbeat that nicely drowns out the noise of the protesters. I slam the door shut behind Axel and silence the menacing masses.
Axel steps in with his lips curved in a dangerous smile as he whips out a single red rose. “Surprise.” He holds it up between us like an offering, and my mouth falls open. Just as I’m about to throttle it, he snatches it back, those dark brows of his jumping with pleasure as he denies me its beauty. He knows roses are my favorite. Any flower that has razor-sharp claws reigns supreme in my book. “Ah-ah!” he teases. “It’s for the bride-to-be.”
A deep rumbling growl strums from me, and I can’t seem to stop it, not sure why I would either. Both Levi and Brody turn to look over while Axel makes his special delivery. We watch as Low places it between her teeth and blows her betrothed a kiss.
Love. Yuck. The bride-to-be’s marriage certificate should come with a warning, an entire pamphlet with a skull and crossbones on the cover. Suddenly, I’m feeling very much a friend of Harlow Hartley’s, and once this sham of a shindig is over, I’ll pull her to the side and tell her how it really is. Sure, she’ll cry for a bit, maybe vomit on the Moroccan rug, Nanette, that I worked an entire month to own, but it’ll be good for her to hear the worst of it now before this entire wedding, her entire marriage blows up in her face like a beer can someone shook too hard at a sorority mixer. Speaking of which, that’s exactly what this night looks like—a sorority mixer I never wanted to attend.
Raven bounces her hands in the air to the music and lets out a few wild whoops. “All right, everybody! Low and Levi aren’t hitched yet, and if my estimations are correct, every person in this room is free of a legal union or currently sep-ar-ated.” She gives her brother Chip a hard wink. So weird. Raven is weird. Raven is a weird walking time bomb. How could Low ever want to be friends with her? She’s decorated this room in plastic penises for Pete’s sake. She’s terrible at throwing parties. Once I convince Low to dump Levi, I’ll throw Raven under the bus as a bonus. Low will be both single and deficient one psychotic best friend. But she’ll have me. Until I tire of her and kick her to the curb, that is.
My phone bleats over the sofa table, and I scoop it
up to find a text from Serena.
Hey sis! Miss you! How about I bring a pizza over and we watch a movie?
“Gah!” I lunge into full assault mode and let her know that under no circumstances is she to venture out this way tonight. What with all the protesters and penis pumps lying around. But that’s not what I say, of course. Bad cold! Contagious! Very, very infected. Stay away!
A warm body creeps up behind me as Axel’s scruffy face pops up on my shoulder.
“Serena. Tell her I said hi. She always liked me.”
“Yes, well, she’s older and wiser, and she fully loathes you properly now as she should.” I hit Send.
He steps directly in front of me, and the sheer girth of his chest in that T-shirt mesmerizes me for a moment. It’s been so long since I’ve been this close to a man—Drunk Frat Boy notwithstanding.
“Lexy,” he whispers while pulling that sad puppy dog eye routine, and I instinctually snarl at him. “Serena shouldn’t waste her energy on loathing anybody on this planet.” He hitches a loose hair behind my ear, and my eyes widen while my mind reels with all the possible ways to chop his hand off at the wrist. “Neither should you. I’m not worth the energy.”
For a moment, I consider this. If Axel wasn’t worthy of my love—was he worthy of my hate? “You’re worth it,” I’m quick to assure him. “You’ll always be the one I loathe the most.” A self-satisfied smile comes to my lips. “I must say it sends a ripple of joy through me at the thought of detesting you so openly. Love is timid and weak, but hate gives me something meaty to sink my knife-sharp fangs into.”
He takes a quick breath as his face fills with surprise, something just this side of a laugh dying in his chest. As it should. “I’m still up for you sinking your fangs into any part of me you like.”
Summer Breeze Kisses Page 85
