Under my breath I tell Sam, “Wish we could say the same about…”
“Shh!!” she grins.
I reach over, touch the coffee table, bend toward my sister. “I know you’re bummed Logan is in Germany. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be impatient. But this is big for me!”
Grateful I acknowledged what she’s going through — losing her dance partner and the best guy friend she’s had ever since we were kids — Sammy tilts her head, “It’s huge, Lexi, really,” and points to her workout clothes. “I’m holding off showering to hear every detail.”
“Thank you!”
Zoe comes running in.
With a chilled bottle of Rosé.
No cat.
And one glass.
Sam and I stare at her.
Zoe explains, “You need this whole bottle if you really broke up with Brad. It’s a screw-cap. You wanna?”
I laugh, reach for the bottle and open it, holding the celebration high like it’s the best champagne France has to offer.
Sally Ashes, our other kitty, slinks into the living room, dark-grey fur beautiful as always and a perfect compliment to pale green eyes. Between her, Ralphie, Zoe and me, there are a lot of green-eyed creatures living at House Three.
Sam’s the only one with brown eyes, but since she’s a natural blonde, it’s way more beautiful and unique than she ever takes credit for, humble human that she is.
Me however, I’m not so humble. Like our brothers I’ve been called cocky more than once — a nickname our family has been saddled with since day one due to our Cocker surname.
I’m living up to it as I say, “I can do way better than Brad! He was lucky to be with me! There were tons of college girls who wanted to be with the hot professor, and he came after me. I wasn’t interested, but I caved, threw him a bone, and—”
Samantha smirks, “—Got hooked on his.”
“Sammy!” Zoe cries out, and heads to the kitchen. “I’ll get more glasses, I was just kidding.”
“Thank you!” Sam calls to her.
I whisper, “The thought of sex made her need a drink.”
“She will one day.”
I shout, “Zoe, have you ever…”
“Shh!!!” Sam waves, “Don’t! You know she hasn’t.”
I chew on my lip and we both watch the one wall until Zoe rounds it, blinking at us because we’re staring right at her. “Have I ever…what?”
“Nothing.”
She pours the chilled wine for herself and my sister, “To leaving the wrong guy behind!”
We lift our glasses right as Sally Ashes gracefully leaps up, expertly maneuvering the obstacle course called our coffee table.
Drinking to leaving behind wrong dudes, there’s a smile in our eyes, and one in my heart. I lick my lips, “So this is what happened,” and launch into the story of my wild night.
When they hear about the telltale hair-tie, they gasp. But it’s the jump into the bushes all the way to his stuntman-roll over my Subaru’s hood that really gets them oohing and aahhing! Complete that with my smooth exit line and skidding tires and they’re both enraptured with the stories perfection.
We hold our glass up high, clink them, and take another sip.
“Amazing!” Zoe grins.
“So happy for you, Lex,” smiles Sam.
“Thank you guys. I am over him. I can’t believe it took me this long but it feels so great! I don’t know what I ever saw in Brad. He’s seventeen years older than I am, totally afraid of commitment, doesn’t want kids. So what if his mop is adorable and he really knows how to keep me on my toes? So what?!”
“You can do so much better, Lexi,” Zoe smiles.
Sam agrees, “Of course you can. You’re amazing. And I am behind you whatever you decide.”
“Thank you, guys.” We hold up our glasses. “To never seeing Brad again!”
“Lexi!” comes a shout through the front door, followed by a frantic knock. “Lexi!”
“Brad?!”
“Lexi!!!”
I jump up, dash-limp over as fast as I can, fingers fumbling to unlock it, “Brad!?”
“Lexi!!”
“Brad!!”
“The deadbolt,” Samantha says, “You locked the deadbolt.”
Twisting my whole body with it, I swing open the door. “You drove all the way over?”
He pulls me into his arms. “I’m so sorry!”
I melt, “I’m sorry, too!”
“I should never have called you Alexis!”
“It’s okay, I forgive you!”
My sister mutters, “Zoe, hand me that bottle,” but I don’t even hear her as I’m showered with kisses and dragged back into the wicked dance.
Willingly.
Chapter Three
LEXI
T hree Months Later.
O n a deliciously loud Saturday night at The Local on Ponce, we’re splitting a pitcher of craft-brewed Orpheus IPA, awesomely titled “Transmigration of Souls.”
Zoe, Sam, and I, are wearing ultra-tight jeans, super stylish boots, and blouses that match our varying personalities.
Hair styled like we mean it.
The Local has a large projection screen for movie nights just inside the door, which music videos are playing on silent tonight.
The old wooden bar carved into and stained by decades of well-spent time spans half of the building’s west wall, bathrooms beside it two unisex doors, then a back exit with loads of uneven parking.
Every table is occupied tonight from the wooden booths to the two, four, six, and eight-tops.
Out front, the patio is ridiculously crowded, however the conversations are less loud so noise complaints don’t come in. There are houses behind this old haunt.
We Atlantan’s may be rowdy, but we’re respectful.
We’re from The South where manners are a must, if your momma and daddy ‘taught you right.’
Unless you’re drunk.
Then…well…
You might get on the wrong side of a fist.
On the east wall I am crushing this game of darts, and my second bullseye inspires Samantha to throw her toned dancer-arms high in presumed defeat. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
My ass sways as
