My Name Is Not Alexa Pearce

by Kerri McLoone

  “Yeah, yeah I’m okay.”

  “You sure? Lex, you can talk to me. You can tell me if there is something wrong.” I look away and just shake my head. I see him through the corner of my eye look over my face again. “I’m here for you, you can trust me.”

  Can I really though? Can I trust you, Matt? His light brown eyes never leave my hazel ones. I decide I can trust him, but the entire truth has to wait for another day.

  “I’m okay. I am. It’s just hearing you talking to your mother reminded me of my own. I lost her about five years ago. It was, uh, very sudden.” It’s not a complete lie, but it’s the best I can manage without revealing too much and possibly letting my guard slip.

  It has the desired effect. Matt’s face falls as what I’ve said registers. “Oh, wow. I had no idea, Lex. I’m so sorry.” I just nod, it’s all I can manage. Before I know it, he’s engulfed me into one of the strongest hugs I’ve ever felt.

  As he holds me, I breathe in his scent. A mixture of Old Spice, laundry detergent, and peppermint. When he lets me go, I find myself immediately missing his touch. He doesn’t completely let go of me though. His hand finds mine again, and he intertwines our fingers.

  We walk the six blocks to the restaurant in a comfortable silence. Just before Cali and Mickey spot us as we walk in, he lets my hand go but not before giving it a squeeze and me a smile. My manic heartbeat and the blood rushing in my ears overwhelms my senses as I understand just how much I liked having Matt so close to me.

  And just how dangerous that could be.

  ● 8 ●

  “You guys are just in time, they were about to seat us when I saw you two walking up,” Mickey says to Matt and me. She raises one eyebrow and grins as she looks at me.

  What’s that look for? Uh oh, if she tells Cali she saw us holding hands I’ll never hear the end of it.

  Mickey chuckles and then gestures with her head for me to look down. It’s then that I remember Milo is joining us for dinner. He’s busy playing with Cali and Matt. Their legs are blocking me from seeing my dog completely. I call for him to come to me as I squat down to his level.

  When Milo comes over, curled tail wagging happily, and I finally see him full on, I just stop in shock. I look at him for a moment, proudly showing off his tank top and sweatbands, then I look up at Cali mirroring his proud stance. And I can’t help myself. I crack up laughing. Harder than I have in a while. Milo leaps up slightly to put his paws on my chest and knocks me from my squatted position flat onto my ass on the ground.

  I continue laughing as he gets riled up and licks my face from top to bottom. Normally I hate when Milo, or any dog, licks my face but I’m laughing too hard to stop him. Cali, Matt, and Mickey are also laughing just as hard.

  “Oh, I’m sorry buddy. What’d she do to you?”

  “What are you talking about? Dog Man is dressed for success.”

  “Okay, Milo. Okay, good boy.” I calmly pet Milo’s head to settle him, which he does quickly. He sits down in between my stretched out legs, facing me, his tail unfurled onto the ground and still wagging. I scratch behind both of his ears at the same time. “That’s a good boy, Milo. Now, you have to behave in here, okay?” Milo snorts and ducks his head a bit.

  “I swear to god, that dog just nodded his head at you,” Cali says, reminding me that the three of them are waiting on my boy and me.

  Matt leans over offering a hand to help me up. I feel a jolt of electricity as I grab it. He pulls a little too hard, and I pop up off the ground ending up nose to nose with him. He holds my body and my eye contact for an extra second before releasing me.

  Cali claps her hands twice, effectively ending whatever moment Matt and I were possibly having. “Well, now that we’re all here, how about some food?”

  The hostess seats us toward the back of the restaurant, whether it’s because of Milo, or that she can tell we’ll be a loud group, I’m not sure. It’s probably both.

  We sit down at a four-person table. Cali to my left, Mickey across from me, and Matt on my right. Milo lays down under the table across my feet.

  Within two minutes of sitting down, our waitress comes over to introduce herself. She asks for our drink order and if we would like guacamole and chips to start. We all declare a resounding yes to my personal favorite snack before putting in our drink orders; Cali orders a margarita, Matt orders a bottle of Modelo, and Mickey and I both order seltzer with lemon.

  When the waitress leaves I see Cali take Mickey’s hand that is resting on the table.

  “I see you two have gotten past whatever little tiff it is you had?” I ask with a smirk.

  “Yeah, she can’t resist me,” Mickey replies with a sly smile, raising her eyebrow again.

  Cali scoffs. “I can too resist you.”

  “No, you can’t,” Matt and I say in unison.

  “Can too.” Cali reiterates letting go of Mickey’s hand.

  “Is that so?” Mickey asks. Cali stubbornly nods her head. “Well, what about...” Mickey trails off as she leans in to whisper something into Cali’s ear. Whatever she says, it makes Cali’s eyes widen and causes her to blush so deep, her ever apparent freckles all but disappear. Cali squirms in her chair slightly and bites the side of her lower lip.

  “Okay!” Matt laughs. “Before you two run off to have sex in the bathroom, let’s change the subject. Oh, this’ll help keep it in your pants. Mom wants to know if you’re coming to dinner on Sunday.” He directs his question to Cali, but swings his head to both Mickey and myself adding, “You are both also invited.”

  Mickey leans back over to sit entirely on her chair, while Cali responds, “I’m good for Sunday. Mick?” She turns to look at her girlfriend.

  Mickey pulls out her phone from her bag to check her schedule for Sunday. “I have a few classes from mid-morning to early afternoon, but they’re all done before three.” She adds, “So if dinner is after that, then sure, I’d love to.”

  The three of them turn simultaneously to me for my answer about Sunday. How do I tell them that I would go but Sunday, a day I’m not working, is already earmarked to be spent in the place where I do work to try and get access to a specific publication that has been hidden, possibly for centuries?

  I’m searching my brain for a solid enough excuse when I’m saved by our drinks arriving and a man in a chef’s jacket wheeling a cart up to the table with a mortar and pestle and the makings for guacamole.

  I turn to Matt and say quietly, “I’ll let you know about Sunday, okay?” He nods. I can see his smile falter a little bit, but he recovers quickly enough.

  I hear Cali ask that no onions be put in the guacamole. The chef responds with an, “Of course.” When it’s done being mixed, the chef leaves the mortar, sans pestle, in the middle of the table and places a bowl of red, blue, and yellow corn chips next to it.

  Cali is the first to take a chip and some dip. She puts it on the small plate in front of me. I’m slightly confused by this but pick up the chip anyway.

  “Uhh, thanks, Cal.”

  As I’m bringing the chip to my mouth, Cali says, “Whoa, whoa! That’s not for you.”

  Now I’m really confused. “Um, what?” I ask her. She looks at me as if the answer is obvious.

  “It’s for Dog Man.”

  Matt rolls his eyes at Cali while Mickey just retakes her girlfriend’s hand and brings it to her lips. I shrug rather than argue and lean down to present the chip to Milo. “Take it nice, Milo.” My dog sniffs the chip once and gently takes it from my hand. “Good boy, Milo.”

  When I sit up straight again, there are three more chips on the plate.

  “Are these mine now, or still for the pup?” Cali’s stare tells me all I need to know. “Okay, then.”

  I feed Milo his chips while dipping some of my own. As the first chip touches my tongue, I close my eyes at the taste of it. It might be the best guacamole I’ve ever had. Or maybe it’s because in my foolish hiding from Matt earlier, I sort of skipped lunch. I quickly eat f
our more chips and then decide to cool it so I can enjoy my meal.

  Our waitress comes back to take our order for dinner. I choose the fish tacos platter, but rather than have half my meal go to Milo under the glare of Cali, I also order a grilled chicken breast plain with no seasoning, no tortilla. I see out the corner of my eye that Cali gives me a satisfied nod at hearing my order.

  Matt orders the carne asada tacos, and Mickey orders chicken tacos. The waitress then turns to Cali for her order. I can tell by the look on Cali’s face that she is about to make a strange request.

  “I’ll have what they’re having.”

  The waitress looks confused, so she clarifies, “You want fish tacos, carne asada tacos, and chicken tacos?”

  “Yes, please. But without the rice or beans, just the tacos please.”

  The waitress pauses for a second and looks at the rest of us. We all shrug so the waitress says resignedly, “Okay.” She puts her order pad in her apron, collects our menus and goes back to the kitchen.

  We all stare at Cali for a minute. She merely continues to eat the chips and guacamole from the plate in front of her. Matt snickers and says, “Oh my god, Squirrel.”

  With a mouth of chips and dip, Cali looks perplexed and asks, “What, Moose? I’m small, but I burn at least half of my calories just trying to keep up with this one.”

  Mickey chokes a bit on the chip that she’s chewing and reaches for her seltzer. Her blush of embarrassment at Cali’s statement makes us all crack up again.

  “Maybe that’s true,” Matt says. “But also, some things don’t change.” Matt explains that Cali has always been able to eat more than anyone else ever since they were little. He launches into a story of how she challenged the captain of their high school wrestling team to a tater-tot eating contest and absolutely demolished him.

  Sitting at the table, us all laughing, I feel lighter than I have in a while. It’s so nice to just have a good night, I think. A good meal with good friends. I really needed this.

  When our food comes, Matt is in the middle of a story about someone at the library today who was looking for erotic novels of a highly specific nature. He’s got the rest of us, especially me, cackling so hard we’re gasping for air. I have to take off my glasses and wipe tears from the corners of my eyes with my napkin.

  Mickey, Matt and I are each presented a platter of four tacos with a side of black beans and yellow rice, plus the chicken breast I ordered for Milo. Cali is presented with two giant plates, each with six tacos on it.

  I cut up the chicken breast into small cubes and lay the plate down on the floor in front of Milo. He’s being so good and quiet that if it weren’t for the weight of him across my feet I would forget he’s even here. I make a mental note to give him a couple of crunchy bones with his scoop of food when we get home.

  I scarf down my first taco, barely tasting it just wanting food in my stomach. I eat the second one much slower. The conversation has all but stopped as the four of us chow down on our meals. I finish my second taco, and as I scoop up some rice, I ask Mickey how things are at the studio.

  “Things are great. Really busy, but really great.” Her blue eyes sparkle as she gets excited talking about her business, her passion. “This is my busiest time of year. In January, you know, everyone comes in with their resolutions but it usually doesn’t last. When it starts to get warm out, I guess people are like ‘oh shit, it’s almost summer,’ and then I’m their first stop. Usually, almost every class throughout April and May is full.”

  “That’s awesome! So then do those people stay on?” I can see Cali in the corner of my eye looking at her girlfriend while she talks with a soft smile. Mickey nods as she swallows her bite of food to answers my question.

  “Yeah, mostly. I think people come in initially because they think they need to look a certain way when it gets hotter out, or whatever. But I don’t like to perpetuate unrealistic standards or shame anyone for not looking a certain way. I tell everyone when they first sign up that my place is not about losing weight or fitting a mold of who you think you’re supposed to be; it’s about improving what you already have and that there is no one set way to do it — mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally. That’s why I have that sign posted up: Be Better Today Than Yesterday.”

  “I love that sign.” Matt chimes in.

  “Me too,” Cali adds. “And I love how passionate you are about it.” She reaches over to lightly rub Mickey’s upper arm. Mickey smiles and leans in to kiss her girlfriend. They are so good together, I can’t help but think, and for a moment — longer than I’m willing to admit to myself — I’m jealous.

  My eyes widen as a thought comes to me. “You know, you should have t-shirts made with the Be Better saying on them,” I suggest. “You could sell them at the studio.”

  “That’s such a good idea!” Cali exclaims. “I could design them for you, babe!”

  Mickey raises her eyebrows and nods as she thinks it over. “Yeah, that could work.”

  “That really is a good idea,” Matt says to me with a genuine, easy smile, looking me straight in the eyes.

  I duck my head back to my meal before I hold his stare for too long, trying to calm the severe blush I can feel rising up my neck. I take a final bite of food finishing my whole plate and lean back stuffed. I say to Mickey, “Well after this meal, I think I’ll definitely be in class tomorrow.”

  Matt and Cali bob their heads in agreement, cheeks comically bulging with food.

  ● 9 ●

  Darius

  Over two thousand five hundred and ninety miles away from Alexa’s joyous dinner with friends, just outside of Atlanta, Georgia, Darius still stands at the bar. His foot is tapping the ground persistently. He grips his glass of whiskey hard enough that the clear crystal starts to splinter under the pressure. He drains what’s left in one gulp and slams the glass onto the bar.

  He spins away from the bar and heads toward the door at the back of the room that leads to the grease caked kitchen. He walks through, never breaking his stride and exits to the deserted alleyway behind the building. He paces for a few minutes, his anger rising until his eyes land on the crates of empty bottles ready to go back to the beer distributor.

  With a wave of his hand, his telekinesis power takes three wooden palates from the ground and leans them at an angle against the brick wall at the end of the alleyway. Another wave and three full crates of empty bottles zip through the air, clanging down one on each palate.

  Darius walks ten paces away from the crates. With each step, his anger at his ceaseless waiting rises higher. By the time he turns back around, his right fist hanging at his hip is glowing a bright yellow. With his left arm out to the side for balance, he thrusts his right arm straight out in front of him. A ball of fire launches from his hand. It slams into the crate causing the bottles to explode and sets the wooden palate on fire.

  As pieces of glass rain down onto the ground, Darius jerks his right arm out again and another glowing ball crashes into the second crate. It meets the same fate as the first.

  Darius is about to hurl a third flaming orb when a door opposite the one he exited bursts open. Darius has only seen this guy in passing but knows it’s the owner of the pawn shop next to the bar the demon has set up camp in.

  “What the hell is going on out here?!” the man shouts.

  Darius looks at the man and sizes him up.

  The pawn broker’s sweat-stained white tank top strains against his substantial beer belly; the thick, gaudy gold chains around his neck meant to look fancy are downright tacky; his thinning hair is styled in a comb-over, slick with grease from his scalp; black three stripe joggers cover toothpick-skinny legs; his feet, concealed in dirty socks with a hole in the left big toe, sit in slide sandals.

  The whole ensemble presents a clear picture to Darius: this guy is a through and through sleaze ball. And Darius likes sleazy guys. But right now Darius doesn’t have the patience for anyone, or anything.

  Dar
ius lets his hand fall back down to his hip flesh-colored again. He turns to face the man head on and scowls through furrowed eyebrows.

  Darius speaks very slowly and enunciates every word. “Get the fuck back inside your hole.”

  The man bristles at some random guy in his alley telling him what to do.

  “Look, buddy, I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

  Darius interrupts him and repeats his command even slower. “Get, the fuck. Back inside. Your. Hole.”

  With each word his fist is beginning to glow again, brighter and brighter. The pawn shop owner’s eyes go directly to the demon’s hand. He doesn’t know what the glow means and has no plans to stick around and find out. He scrambles to open the door he came out of, but his palms are slick with sweat from fear and he can’t get a grip on the handle.