Seven Years

The grass met with my back and I gazed up at an infinite blanket of stars. Smog dimmed their usual brightness because I wasn’t far enough out of the city. Plus, I was three sheets to the wind.

“Guess who I saw today, Wes? Your best friend.”

I quietly lay there, thinking about how it made me feel.

“And?” a voice asked.

“And what? He pussied out and drove off in his tough-guy car.” My fingers yanked on the grass angrily and then it dawned on me—the voice I’d just heard wasn’t my imagination.

I rolled over and saw Austin leaning on his left shoulder against an aging tree. Austin always liked to do an ankle-cross while scoping out his surroundings. I used to think it was sexy as hell when he wore his leather jacket and fingerless gloves.

It took years before I realized that most girls probably had a crush on their brother’s best friend at some point in time. No big deal—just a childhood thing.

But damn, that lean was hot.

My eyes blinked a few times, as if I could make him disappear.

“Only time I ever saw you drunk, Lexi Knight, was the time we drove to San Antonio to a concert. Not even old enough to order a drink. Do you remember?” Austin pushed off the tree and stepped forward a few paces, arms crossed. “Wes was pissed when he found out those guys were buying you beers and he pulled you out of their truck before they decided to take the party to a new location. Good thing we found you when we did.”

“Oh? And where were you? I don’t even remember you being there.”

I emphasized the last bit and by the look on his face, he got my meaning.

“Kicking the shit out of every last man in that truck, that’s where I was. Got my nose broke in the process.”

The air stilled.

The only thing about that night I remembered was going to the concert, some guys giving me drinks from their cooler, and then hanging out in the parking lot cracking jokes. The next day, I woke up sick as a dog and Austin hadn’t returned to the hotel room. Wes drove my hung-over ass home and told our parents I had caught the flu. Since Austin had taken a separate car, I just assumed he left without us or was banging some girl all night.

“That’s right,” he said, carefully watching my stunned expression with shadowy eyes I couldn’t see in the darkness. “Bruised my knuckles knocking out the third guy, but he deserved it.”

“Why?”

“Because it was his lap you were sitting on,” he said in a low and dangerous voice.

A muscle flexed in his jaw and he lifted the bottle of whiskey, taking a slow swallow as a lightning bug flashed beside his shoulder. Austin screwed the cap on and I closed my eyes. I could have slept right there, sitting up in a graveyard with a ghost of my past in front of me.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No.”

“I’m not letting you drive in this condition.”

“What are you even doing here?” I finally snapped my eyes open. “Seven years, not a word, and you just show up and think everything is okay? Get away from me, and get off Wes’s grave.”

He flicked his eyes down and stepped to the side, shoving his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

I fell back and curled to my side, mumbling myself to sleep. “I don’t care what you think anymore. Leave me and Wes alone.”

* * *

When I opened my eyes, it was morning. I was asleep in the back seat of my Toyota with one leg stretched between the front seats and the other pressed against the glass.

“Shit,” I murmured, rubbing the crud from my eyes. My long hair was all over the place. Thank God I was still at the cemetery because I was wearing a dress and lying in a position a gynecologist would endorse.

Then I sat up and found myself staring at a neighborhood, or more accurately, my mom’s front yard. Nope, I wasn’t at the cemetery.

A curse flew past my lips and I quickly glanced around and made sure the neighbors weren’t out mowing their lawns or calling the police. The last thing I needed was my mom waking up and wondering why the hell I was giving the neighborhood a peep show in the back of my Toyota.

I leapt into the front seat and headed home.

During the drive, I gave myself a lecture, mostly going over the stupidity of driving drunk, even though I couldn’t remember a thing. What was I thinking? Even worse, my stomach was churning like one of those hand- cranked ice cream mixers and if I didn’t get to a bathroom soon, I was going to be sick in my car.

After arriving at my apartment, I dragged my feet up the second flight of stairs, stumbling twice.

“That good, was it?”

I glanced at my neighbor, Naya, and she caught the irritated look in my eyes. Naya threw world-famous parties in her apartment and invited everyone in the complex. She did it to give them fair warning there would be loud music, probably a few broken bottles, maybe a fight, and a drunk playing Urinator in the pool. Naya worked as a stripper and once came into the candy shop looking for an oversized pinwheel lollipop. She invited me to a party and that’s when I found out what she did for a living. But off the clock she dressed like everyone else, and we hit it off as friends even though we had little in common.

We recently ended up living next door to each other when I needed a place to live after my breakup with Beckett. I wondered if she’d paid off her neighbor to break his lease, because the timing was impeccable.

Naya didn’t have a man, at least not a permanent one. She was a huntress and hung out with some wealthy and dangerous men she’d met at work. Trouble usually came with money, but Naya said she’d paid her dues and wanted a better life.

My dues were about to wind up all over the landing if I didn’t get my ass inside.

“Later, Naya.”

I slammed the door and made a World Series slide to home plate in the bathroom, regretting every second of the previous night as I retched. After my humiliating porcelain moment of the day, I stripped out of my dress and debated whether or not I wanted to take an unsavory nap on the bathroom floor. Instead, I hopped in the shower and washed pieces of grass out of my hair. It felt delicious to stand beneath the spray of hot water, and after towel drying my hair, I snuggled up in my favorite pink robe.

I hadn’t been that drunk in a long time and wondered why I never learned my lesson. The only thing on my mind after that was coffee, so I headed into the kitchen to brew a pot of Italian roast. That’s when I saw Naya sitting at my bar playing solitaire. My wet hair squeaked when I pulled it around my shoulder and ran my hand down the long length of it.

“Don’t you knock?” I said grumpily, staring at a pot of already-brewed coffee.

“Don’t you lock?” she countered. “We don’t live in Bel Air, missy. You don’t think there are a few thugs in this complex that wouldn’t love to find an unlocked door and rob you blind?”

“Oh God, you’re right,” I muttered, sliding my feet across the cold tile. “I don’t think I could live without my nineteen-inch television or the transistor radio I bought at a garage sale.”

I poured a steaming cup and sat on the wood cabinet inside the kitchen, facing Naya who was on the other side of the sink. I was being facetious because I did own a laptop and some small electronic toys, but I wasn’t exactly living large and a thief wouldn’t make off with much.

Her broad mouth twisted as she placed a card on the bar. “Someone’s in a funk.”

Naya had a curvy figure like a young Salma Hayek in one of those old movies where she’s dancing seductively on tables. She had glossy black hair in beautiful curls and exotic eyes. Naya once tried to teach me how to dance at one of her parties. It got out of control when two idiots thought they were getting a free show with a personal lap dance to follow.

I went home five minutes later.