Dirty Disaster

by Addison Moore

  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.”

  I suck in a never-ending breath. “The audacity! I don’t know whether to slap you or deck you.”

  Low pops up. “Sounds like things are getting kinky in this corner of the room.” Her brows do that faux waggle I hate so much for many, many reasons, but mostly because it implies that something lascivious is percolating between us. I bear into him with beams of hatred as Raven claps the room to attention.

  “Enough chitchat, y’all!” A country twang expels from her, and my hate filled beams switch directly to her. If I detest anything more than waggle brows, it’s a faux country accent that grows thicker with every shot of tequila, and a bottle of tequila is exactly what Raven is waving around. Great. Hopefully, she’ll black out soon and cast a pall on the party. Which by the way I did not sign off on. I believe this was billed to me as an intimate gathering that consisted of just the three of us. It’s clear that math is not the educational focus over at Whitney Briggs. And judging by the wild whoops that keep escaping Raven’s lips, neither is sobriety.

  Raven has Chip and Levi scoot the coffee table off to the side and instructs us all to sit in a circle on the floor—my teal diamond silk Oriental rug, that is. Poor Nannette did not ask for all this action tonight.

  I sit between Low and Mer the Trollop. I dubbed her that quasi-derogatory moniker officially earlier this summer when Low let me in on the fact Mer cheated on Levi with his twin. With his twin? Really? Those two are practically interchangeable, but Low swears the trollop knew oh so well whose hotdog was plugging her crater.

  Raven clears her throat before taking another swig of tequila from the bottle. “As y’all know, I’ve got way too many big brothers in this room to play any games so I’m the official mod, and if any of you get out of line you’ll have me to deal with. This here is serious.” She gives a wink over to Low as if she’s in on whatever is about to transpire. Raven and Low are a dangerous combination. Trust me, I know this after spending five minutes around the two of them together. They’re both seated at opposite ends of our psychotic sphere, so I’m torn as to who to glower at first. Grown-ups sitting cross-legged on a rug as if this were kindergarten. Ten bucks says someone will start to complain about their creaky joints. Both Nannette and I will laugh.

  Axel grunts as he leans back on his elbows. “This is tough on my knees. Let’s move it along.”

  “Forever complaining.” I sneer. Knew he’d be the first to crack. “It’s nice to know some things never change.” Axel didn’t actually complain that often—but once we were through, it was all that incessant whining—Take me back, Can’t we work things out? Please, Lex, talk to me.

  Our eyes latch for a moment, and my stomach squeezes tight. I remember those long hard days after the breakup. Axel Collins tried to rearrange the planets for me, but I wouldn’t have it.

  “Spin the bottle!” Raven waves that jewel-toned tequila bottle over her head as if reveling in a victory.

  The room fills with groans, mostly from Chip and Mer. I can see how this can get awkward quickly.

  Brody shakes his head at the idea. “I can’t get behind this.”

  “Oh hush, you.” Raven lands the bottle dead center and proceeds to spin it, and we watch mesmerized as it transports us all back to seventh grade. Only in seventh grade, we were savvy enough to understand you needed two circles and two bottles. Come to think of it, this might be more entertaining than previously anticipated. It lands on Brody, and Raven gives it another spin. Round and round it goes until I’m tempted to pick it up and bash Raven over the head for ever coming up with such a stupid idea. The bottle finally slows and lands on her.

  “Well, Tater Tot?” Brody offers an ear-to-ear grin.

  Tater Tot. It’s all I can do not to gag on site. I’m betting that was some adorable nickname she earned once upon a rosy childhood after stuffing her potato hole with the deep-fried tots and barfing them all over his shoes. My version does have a certain flare about it.

  “Not on your life, Animal.”

  Animal? I snarl at her for the lack of imagination. I get it though. Brody Wolf—thus animal.

  She spins the bottle again, and it lands on Chip then Mer. Thank goodness. The last thing I want or need is sibling rivalry rearing its ugly head and wrestling moves on my silk rug. They lean in and do the lip-lock nasty, and I keep an extra eye on Levi through the entire event, but he doesn’t e
ven flinch. So it’s not bad enough they’ve canoodled behind closed doors and procured an heir from their infidelity—they now do it right here in the open, defiling my innocent rug with their lack of social decorum. Idiots.

  The bottle spins and spins and Levi kisses Low. It didn’t quite land on Low, but Raven’s big toe helped a bit. And bare feet on my pretty Nannette? I don’t care how cute your bright pink painted talons look. I don’t want or need your sweat on my pet. Speaking of pets. Strudel has nestled himself under Axel’s knee. I knew I couldn’t trust his alliance.

  Finally, the bottle lands on me. “Action at last.” I cock my head to Axel because I’m secretly hoping it’ll land on Levi. The two of us hit it hot and heavy a few weeks back after I accosted him at the bar. It was all a ruse, of course, as I tried to convince Raven that Levi was my man. And, of course, after that, it was a heavily contested point between Low and me whether or not Levi gifted me some tongue. He didn’t, but I needed to get a rise out of her for putting me in that ridiculous situation to begin with. There’s nothing like driving someone insane over a well-contested fact. I still refer to Levi as The Frencher to this day whenever Low is around.

  The bottle lands on Chip then nods and bobs until barely cresting its way into Collins’ territory. Crap.

  “Ha!” I balk at the idea. “As if that’s about to happen. I wouldn’t even let you kiss my dog.”

  Axel’s lips curl at the tips in that obnoxious way they tend to do when he thinks he has the upper hand. His fingers curl around Strudel’s ear, and my goofy pooch proceeds to lick him over the back of his hand.

  My mouth falls open at the sight. Damn traitor. Twice in one night!

  Raven snaps up the bottle. “All right, girly, let’s have it. The two of you need to pucker up so we can move this show along.”