by Aly Martinez
Then her smile would pop into my mind and sling me right back into a panicked state again.
By the time I left, the sun was peeking over the horizon and a slew of what-ifs were running rampant through my mind. None of which were good, and all of which ended with Anne.
I was a disaster.
With exactly zero hours of sleep under my belt, I started the next morning in the shittiest of shit moods.
And that was only the beginning of it.
“What do you want?” I greeted my visitor around a mouth full of apple as I opened my front door.
“Are you avoiding me?” Lexi asked, sliding past me.
“Well, come on in.”
I didn’t linger in the doorway. If Lexi was showing up at my door, she had something to say, and knowing her, she wouldn’t be letting it go until she said it—probably multiple times.
The clip of her heels followed me to the kitchen, where I was cooking my breakfast.
“You know, this really isn’t fair to me,” she said, stopping beside the 1970s barstools I had just finished refurbishing the day before. “Are these new?”
“New? No. New to me? Very. Now, cut the bullshit and tell me what exactly is not fair so we can get this over with. I need to eat and get to work.” I nabbed my spatula and flipped two eggs frying in a pan before setting it back down.
“Becky told me that she saw you at a bar with a woman last week.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head to the side as I propped a hip against the counter. “I’m not sure you can consider a party at Quint’s a bar.” I shrugged nonchalantly.
I knew what was coming.
Three, two, one…
“You’re making me look like an idiot!” she screeched, throwing her hands up in the air.
With her outburst, Sampson came barreling down the stairs only to come to a screeching halt when he caught sight of Lexi. He was a dog, but his disappointment was palpable. I couldn’t help but laugh; I shared those exact feelings.
“Stop laughing!” Lexi snapped.
My already-thin and sleep-deprived patience disappeared. I could’ve pretended that I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with her bullshit, but quite honestly, I just had no desire.
“Get out of my house,” I ordered, going back to cooking my eggs.
“Stop. You need to stop being stubborn and give us another chance. I know you’re pissed. I screwed up, and I’ve apologized at least a dozen times. But, Sam, we can’t just throw away what we had.”
“Excuse me?” I spun to face her, shocked by her nerve.
“You’re making me look like an idiot in front of our friends. When we get back together—”
I abruptly cut her off. “We are never getting back together.”
“Sam, I love—” She took a step toward me, but I pushed a hand out to halt her.
“I’m going to stop you right there. Listen up, because you obviously need to hear this—again.” I quirked an eyebrow. “I do not love you. I have never loved you. I will never love you.”
Her head jerked to the side as if I’d physically slapped her. Sure, it was harsh. But she clearly hadn’t heard me each time I had uttered those words over the last two months. Lexi Prior was a nice enough girl, or at least she had pretended to be for the six months we were dating. She was also gorgeous and used to getting exactly what—or, in this case, who she wanted.
But so was I.
And Lexi was no longer who I wanted in any regard.
“You need to take a step back and let this really sink in, Lex. This crazy-ex-girlfriend bit you have going on is not a good look for you.” Never tearing my eyes off her, I blindly found my coffee on the counter and calmly tipped it to my lips.
Unfortunately, Lexi was also determined. “Don’t act like that. You know you didn’t give us a fair shot. After Anne—”
Like an electrical shock, anger radiated through my body before finally firing from my mouth. “Get out!” I dropped my coffee cup in the sink and stormed to my front door, yanking it open.
“See! This is the problem. You lose your fucking mind at the mere mention of her name.”
“No. I lose my fucking mind when you mention her name. Big difference.” I snapped my fingers then pointed out the door.
Her eyes softened, and a tear escaped from the corner. “I apologized about that.”
My mouth gaped. Apparently, the crazy-ex-girlfriend thing wasn’t an act at all.
“You apologized? Ha!” Closing my eyes, I dug in my pocket for a cigarette. I didn’t usually smoke in my house, but it was either that or allow my head to explode. “You apologized?” I repeated to myself as I lit the end. Inhaling a long drag, I held it as long as possible, but the calming effect I was so desperately seeking never came.
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, reminding myself that she wasn’t even worth my anger. After the shit we’d been through, I should have been awarded a medal for even allowing her in my house at all. Just because I didn’t hold grudges didn’t mean I had to put up with her shit though.
Sucking in a deep breath, I found a very fake version of my inner calm. “Lexi, if I ever see you again, I’m going to do far more than embarrass you in front of our friends. You can spout whatever you want about us falling apart because I withdrew from our relationship. I won’t even bother lying and telling you that it’s not the absolute fucking truth. But I need you to listen closely right now, because I’m not doing this with you again. I’m done here, Lex. And, judging by the fact that you spent the morning before Anne’s funeral with your mouth wrapped around your personal trainer’s cock, you were done even before I was. Now, get the fuck out of my house, lose my number, and forget I exist. Because I sure as fuck have forgotten you.”
My smoke detector chose that moment to start blaring. Whether it was my cigarette or the eggs that had started to burn on the stove, I wasn’t sure. My only focus was on the woman unmoving across the room. She opened her mouth several times, but each time, I shushed her with a pointed glare. Finally, she gave up and stomped out. I was positive she wasn’t giving up though.
Christ!
I pinched the bridge of my nose and stared down at the floor. Sampson came over and nuzzled his thanks for getting rid of her against my leg—or maybe he just wanted his ears scratched. After snubbing my cigarette out on the sole of my boot, I headed to the kitchen to trash my breakfast, cursing Lexi for having trashed my morning.
And I did it worrying about a blond wig and shades that had trashed my night as well.
Two hours later, Henry Alexander’s latest album was blaring from the speakers in my workshop, until the room suddenly fell silent.
“Why do you listen to that shit?” Ryan asked, snatching up my iPod and scrolling through before landing on The Smashing Pumpkins.
After flipping my safety glasses off, I dropped the angle grinder into the claw-foot bathtub I was working on. “I like one song. Fuck off.”
“Bullshit. You love that crap. You’re such a bitch.” He walked toward me, dragging his hand over the smoothed edges of the porcelain.
“Says the man wearing a pastel-pink tie.”
He groaned. “Jen bought it for me. It’s hideous, but the first rule in attempting to sleep with your administrative assistant is: If she bought it, wear it.”
Lighting a cigarette, I asked, “What’s the second rule?”
He blew out a loud, frustrated breath. “I have no fucking clue. Covering my body in fucking tattoos and shoving a needle through the head of my cock? You prick.”
“Hey! She doesn’t know about that.”
“She better not!” Smoothing a hand over his short, brown hair, he mumbled in defeat, “I have no idea what to do with that woman. Any thoughts?”
“See, I thought the first rule of sleeping with your assistant is: Don’t. So I’m probably pretty worthless on the second.”
“Come on. It’s Jen.”
“Oh, I get it.” I tossed him a wink that he retu
rned with an all-too-familiar glare.
Ryan had been obsessing over Jennifer Jensen since she’d walked into his office holding her résumé six months earlier. He was right—it was Jen, and she was fucking gorgeous. And, for that reason alone, I hadn’t immediately turned her down when she’d all but sexually assaulted me in the kitchen at Ryan’s office Christmas party. Ryan had been pissed when I’d told him later that night that she and I had shared a kiss (and a few gropes I’d purposely omitted from my confession). He’d blamed it on the tattoos and banned me from all future social gatherings.
Within twenty-four hours, he’d gotten over it and was back on the chase after Jen.
He turned his attention back to the tub. “What’s this going to be?”
“A loveseat,” I answered on a puff of smoke.
“No shit?” he breathed, notably impressed.
“Well, once I manage to get the front off. After that, I have to smooth everything out, resurface the outside, then upholster it. I got this incredible chocolate leather. Cost me a fucking mint, but it’s unbelievable.”
“How much?” he asked, squatting down in front of it and running his hand over the guidelines I had etched into the side.
“More than you can afford.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Try me.”
Ryan Meeks had the money. I knew that much.
I’d known Ryan since we were scrawny kids playing basketball in middle school. We were two unathletic losers who merged a friendship during one season riding the pine. We remained tight through high school and eventually shared a dorm at college. For as many years as we had been best friends, we couldn’t have been more different. I considered myself the beauty in our duo, but there was no doubting that he was the brain. While I spent my days covered in dust with at least one power tool in my hand, Ryan was a criminal defense attorney at one of the biggest law firms in San Francisco. He was still making a name for himself, but his six figures were nothing to sneeze at.
However, neither were my prices.
When I had gone off to college, I’d originally planned to major in architecture, but Christ, that shit was boring. I quickly switched to graphic design and fell in love. I dabbled in the corporate advertising world for a year or two after graduation, but ultimately, I hated that life. One random Wednesday afternoon, as I stood staring at my office door, overwhelming dread filled my gut and bile rose in my throat. It spoke wonders to me that I’d become physically ill at just the idea of doing my job. I couldn’t imagine how that shit would affect me mentally over the course of the years. So, without another thought, I marched to my boss’s office and quit.
In retrospect, it might not have been the smartest decision I’d ever made. The nausea I’d thought was overwhelming dread turned out to be the stomach flu. However, when I finally quit puking three days later, I couldn’t even bring myself to regret my choice. I’d finally discovered my true calling.
I’d always loved working with my hands; it had been ingrained in me at a young age. My parents hadn’t been rich by any means, but they hadn’t been destitute, either. My dad had a series of mental health issues, but even in his darkest hours, he could’ve been found locked in his shop, repairing something. He’d been a firm believer that you used everything until you couldn’t possibly use it anymore. My parents’ microwave had to have been at least twenty years old, but my father had refused to replace it. He’d fixed that thing on a daily basis for almost five years. The amount of money he’d spent on parts and the time researching how to make the repairs was insane. But, as far as he’d been concerned, you didn’t throw anything away ever.
Even after he died, it was a lesson I applied to my adult life as well. So, faced with my newfound unemployment, I tried to figure out some way to put to use my love for graphic design and my experience in repairing and repurposing. I came up with the dream of opening an upcycle furniture store.
One month after I’d quit my job, I opened rePURPOSEd.
I had exactly one piece to show people when I opened the doors. I also had exactly one customer that first month. I just couldn’t gamble on the time and money it took to make a piece that may or may not sell. I did, after all, have to eat. And buy smokes.
Luckily, creativity wasn’t a problem for me, so I developed a plan. I closed the store for a week and settled behind my laptop. Over those five days, hopped up on coffee and cigarettes, I designed over a hundred unique pieces. I had a college buddy help me with the website, and by the following week, Virtually rePURPOSEd was born.
And it exploded.
Suddenly, I had orders flooding in from all around the world. They were far more than I’d have ever been able to fulfill on my own, so I hired two unbelievably talented carpenters, Shane and Travis, to breathe life into my designs. They were a godsend, but they were also expensive as fuck. The first month they were employed at the shop, I had to sign over half of my savings account in order to pay them. But, with my designs and their craftsmanship, we had no problem moving furniture for a hefty profit.
Shane and Travis eventually took over running the physical store, and my time was mostly spent designing on the computer or at the shop behind my house, building whatever project was calling to me at the time.
On this particular day, it was an old claw-foot bathtub I’d found at a thrift shop and was determined to convert into an art-deco loveseat—a project that would easily sell for over ten thousand dollars.
So, while I knew that Ryan could afford it, I couldn’t afford to give him my usual friends and family discount—free.
“Forty grand,” I lied so he’d drop the topic.
“Jesus Christ. That’s it. Next time we go out, you’re paying for drinks. I’m not buying the poor-struggling-artist angle anymore.”
I snuffed my cigarette out in my overflowing ashtray. “Don’t even try that bullshit. How many times have you accidentally-on-purpose left your wallet home in the last month?” I mocked his voice as I slid my safety glasses back on. “‘It’s in my other suit, Sam. I swear.’”
“One time. That happened one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.”
“One time my ass,” I said as I picked my angle grinder up, preparing to get back to work. “Did you need something?”
“Actually, I need a big favor.”
I motioned for him to fill in the blank.
“Okay. First off, my mom wants you to come to dinner tonight as a thank-you for making Morgan that bookshelf.”
I eyed him even more warily. He knew as well as I did that eating his mom’s cooking wasn’t exactly a hardship. “Okaaay,” I drawled suspiciously.
“And secondly, I need you to come fix the drawer on my filing cabinet,” he rushed out in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“I can’t get that son of a bitch open to save my life. I have a big meeting at three, and if I have to hire a goddamn repair man to come in there to open it, I’m going to look like a dumbass in front of the entire office.”
My lips twitched as I crossed my arms over my chest.
Ryan was three inches taller than I was, and while I worked with my hands to keep in shape, he visited the law firm’s private gym on a daily basis. He had me by at least twenty pounds—all of which were muscle. He looked like the clichéd all-American, even as he stood in front of me sporting a pink tie.
I couldn’t even pretend to stifle the laugh that escaped my mouth. “You can’t get your filing cabinet open?” I confirmed incredulously.
His shoulders fell in relief even though I hadn’t agreed to go yet. “Shut it, asshole, and just help me out.”
I continued to laugh as I, once again, dragged my glasses off. “You think me walking in there with a bag of tools is going to look any less conspicuous than hiring a handyman?”
He curled his lip in disappointment. “What a fucking novice.” Chuckling, he steepled his fingers under his chin like the evil genius he so obviously thought he was. “So here’s the plan. No tools. Just
pretend you’re coming to say what’s up. They all know you.” Pausing, he narrowed his eyes and pointed an angry finger in my direction. “Stay the fuck away from Jen.”
“Right. How exactly am I supposed to fix this with no tools?”
“I snuck a hammer, screwdriver, a pair of clamps—”
My eyebrows shot up. “Clamps?”
He tipped his head and lifted his fingers to mimic a pinching motion. “You know, the little things you use to grab stuff or pull it off.”
“Pliers?” I asked in disbelief.
He tapped the tip of his nose. “Bingo. Anyway, I snuck them all into the office this morning. They didn’t work for me, but I have faith in you.”
I stared at him for several beats. “How the fuck are we best friends?”
“No clue. Now, put on a long-sleeve shirt to cover the ink and get your ass in my car.”
“Right,” I smarted, but I said it as I dragged my jacket off the chair and headed to his car.
One hour later, I pried my best friend’s filing cabinet open so he wouldn’t look like the bitch he really was.
Then I parked my ass at his mother’s dinner table for the best home-cooked meal I’d ever had. Well, since the last time I’d eaten there. All the while I was counting down the hours until I could head back up to the bridge—hoping and praying that it wasn’t too late for the designer shoes I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.
“OH, THANK GOD.” My heart jumped with relief when I saw her standing on the bridge. I dragged a cigarette from my pocket and headed in her direction. “I hope you know you scared the piss out of me last night,” I said when I got close.
Her hidden gaze flicked to mine, but her lips didn’t pull up at the corners like they usually did when she saw me. “I’m not in the mood tonight, Sam.”
“If I had a dollar for every time a woman told me that.” I smiled, but it fell flat as tears rolled from under her dark sunglasses. My breath painfully stilled as my mind raced. “What’s going on? Did something happen? Did he—”