Chapter 1 – Alexa

 

I watched Ki and Prescot cuddle on the couch while I sat in my new rocking chair. Ki secretly hated the chair, even though the cushion was brand new on the inside. It was only the outside that was a tad ugly, but I knew it was growing on her. I saw her sit in it earlier today when she thought I wasn’t looking, and she looked damn comfortable.

Ki told me this morning about her and Prescot exchanging ‘I love yous’ last night and it was cute to watch but so over rated. I just hoped neither of them fucked it up. Especially Prescot. If he does anything stupid like he did when he banned her from the hospital, or worse, I’d be paying him a visit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for my best friend; she deserved it and it was about time it happened for her. I caught her eye and smiled at her. It’s about time she got over the Brayden thing. I knew as soon as she took him off that pedestal of hers that she would realize that it wasn’t the real thing.

I turned the chair toward the TV and started the movie. It was a movie from the seventies; people were shooting and killing each other and at one point, I picked up the remote to change it but Ki said it was okay. Ki and Prescot were shot during a shootout involving Ki’s biological father and they were both recuperating, which meant they spent a lot of time at home. Our home. Prescot basically lived with us. I didn’t mind though. He was clean and very respectful of our space. And he kept Ki in check; he made sure she took her medication, and he went with her to physical therapy. Ki had surgery, Prescot didn’t, but before that gunshot wound, he’d been in a car accident so he still needed to heal from that as well. His legs were still weak, so the use of a cane was needed. He hated it, it was easy to see but Ki insisted, and the man of few words never argued with her.

We went our separate ways after the movie, which wasn’t as good as the horror one we watched the other day. I did my normal routine of shaving my legs, brushing my teeth, and then combed my hair for ten minutes. I’m not conceited, but my looks are all I’ve got. It’s the only thing I had growing up. Me. Myself. And I. I took care of myself. Every time I stole something to eat, I also took a piece of makeup or hair product. It was needed just as much as food. I had to take care of myself in all matters, and my looks meant something to me. It’s all I had.

Yes, I went to college, and I have a degree, but people don’t take me seriously. That was where I envied Ki. She always complained that she blended in, that she swore she was forgettable but what she failed to realize is that she’s her own kind of beautiful. People listened when she talked. She just didn’t see her worth. I know where I stand. People only see me as a pretty face. I have naturally blond hair, just like my mother, and if she wouldn’t have abused her body all those years, we’d pass as twins. Her sunken cheeks and dry, brittle hair reminded me that looks fade. I’m using them the best I could until they started to fade. I have the best job I could ever dream of, so all the beauty regimens and treatments were also a tax write off. Plus, I liked feeling good about myself, and what better way to do that than to get dressed up every day. I was happy with my life. I loved it. I got to flirt and spend most of my time with my best friend Ki. The business was doing good and we were profiting, which was a bonus living in New York City.

After my nightly routine, I slipped on my silk pajamas and crawled into bed.

I had a text from my mom letting me know she wasn’t going to make our lunch date tomorrow, which instantly had my mind going crazy. This was the first time she’s canceled on me.

Immediately I think she’s using again.

Before the memories can break through my walls, I push them down. I honestly didn’t know if I was strong enough to go through this with her again. I just didn’t know if I would be able to walk away from her for good if she was.

My father passed away when I was younger and she did good for the first year. I was ready to be strong for her, ready to get through the grief together. The day after his funeral, she was up early, making me pancakes and talked about having a girls’ day. I thought she was being strong for me, and I went along with it. I thought we would be okay. I blame myself for not seeing the signs sooner. It was like she was in denial because on the one-year anniversary of my father’s death, she lost it. If I ever had any good memories of them, they were gone. I only remember the bad things. All the nights I cooked myself dinner, all the nights I fell asleep alone because she was gone or too high to realize I was even in the room. After all the shit she’s put me through, after all the times I’ve cried wishing for a new mother, she was finally trying. She was putting in the effort and time in her recovery and I had my mother back, kind of. She was a different person now. A recovery addict and someone I had to get to know all over again. The past several weeks had been a great beginning to our new relationship.

I scrolled through my pictures and found the one I took of Tapper and me, the last time I was with him. We had just woken up, and our hair was a mess but we were smiling. We looked like a happy couple that was in love. Shortly after that picture, I left and never went back. He wanted more. I couldn’t give him more. It’s my biggest flaw, and I know it. The minute things get real, I bail. I’ve seen what happens to a heart once it breaks. I can’t let myself turn into my mother. I haven’t spoken to him since that morning until I saw him in the elevator at the hospital. He was in a wheelchair. His face was scarred. He didn’t look like the carefree MMA fighter that I had once known. Since then, I’ve tried to talk to him and he kept telling me he didn’t remember me; that I was just some random fuck. I knew he was lying and he was such a jerk about it. He wasn’t the same man. Not even close. He refused to let me apologize. He refused to look me in the eye. It pissed me off and as much as I said I’m done, I’m not. I’ll apologize again and this time he’ll accept my apology.

 

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I pulled my phone up, looked at the man’s picture on his Facebook page, and compared it to the one who was sitting at the bar with two other guys. I watched him for a few minutes, flirting with any woman that came near him, taking shots. He wasn’t bad looking but I wouldn’t fuck him. They were talking and high-fiving each other as a woman walked by.

Lame.

Totally lame.

Glancing down at my chest, I had just enough cleavage to get the job done. I put my phone in my back pocket and made sure the envelope was tucked nicely in the waist of my jeans.

This was the fun part.

I walked confidently through the bar, and over to the barstool, and slid right between him and his friend. Sure, I could say his name and hand the envelope over, but this was so much fun. I loved this part of my job.

The bartender came, I placed an order and not two seconds later, he was talking.

“Nice . . . top,” he said, though his eyes were focused solely on my chest.

I kept my eyes on the bartender who was making my drink. “Thanks.”

“The next drink is on me.”

Too easy.

I looked at him, smiled as I looked up and down. “You look familiar.”

He ran his free hand through his brown hair. “Really? I’m sure I’d remember you.”

I winked at him. “I’m sure you would also.”

My drink came, I enjoyed a few sips, then leaned into him and whispered in his ear, “I have something for you.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, his hand slowly sliding from my thigh to my waist.

“Go higher.”

He grunted, his hand moved, inching its way past my shirt hem, and he felt the envelope. He slowly pulled it out. “Does it have your room key in it?”

“Something like that.” I pulled my phone out and asked for a selfie. He was confused but went for it and I made sure the envelope was in the picture.

“Mr. Talace, you’ve been served.”

He ran his nose down the side of my neck and murmured, “I sure have, baby.”

I put my phone back in my jeans and pushed him away. “Seriously, you’ve been served.”

He looked at the envelope.

I leaned in once again, and whispered, “Open it.” Then, I grabbed my glass and walked to the other side of the bar to enjoy it. I texted the picture to Josh and watched him look for me, but made sure I was out of the way. After a few loud curses and less than desirable name calling at my expense, he and his friends left.

I always wondered what was in the envelopes. I mean, I know they’re being served, some have to testify, some have depositions, and some are just flat out being sued for something, but why? What did they do or not do to get served; to be in the position they’re in. I always wanted to look in the envelope but it was against the rules. Ki was a stickler for the rules, so I obeyed. And I wouldn’t want to be responsible for us losing our jobs.

I enjoyed my drink while relaxing in the corner booth of the bar. People came and went, and I just sat there, thinking. Thinking about my mother. Thinking about Tapper. Thinking about the detective who lied to me. I realized we weren’t in a relationship, and it was just a friend with benefits thing, like all my guys are but still, he was married. He cheated on his wife with me.

A wife who didn’t know her husband was a cheater.

I haven’t told her yet.

I wanted to stay out of it but at the same time, she had a right to know. Cheating husbands and boyfriends were fifty percent of our income. This is what we were good at, and it bugged me that I helped him. I wondered if I wasn’t the only person he was sleeping with. But it didn’t matter, we weren’t anything but friends.

Just like Tapper.

Friends with benefits.

I looked at the picture of Tapper and I one more time and headed home.