Snapshot: Chapter 9

There’s an almost purple-haired girl staring back at me in the mirror. You can hardly see the color against my dark hair, but right now, it’s the best I can do. All I have is cheap box dye. No way I can afford for a quality salon to do this properly. And the last time I attempted to bleach my own hair, it all nearly fell out. My friend Kallie was in a high-end cosmetology course at the time. She snuck me into her beauty school after hours and used all the best products to nurse my poor hair back to life.

She owns Vue Salon now, one of Vegas’ finest. I could probably squeeze in for a free service. She’s told me so many times that the door is always open for me. Back when she had Grover, her bulldog, I’d pet sit when she was out of town, and she’d take care of my hair for free. But he passed, and these days, I don’t have anything to offer in return, so I don’t want to take advantage. That’s how you lose friends.

I always dye my hair after a breakup, but this feels a little different. My breakup with Alan last week wasn’t spiteful. He even texted to check on me the day after. The day after that, I checked on him. He was the most mature relationship I’ve ever had. Perhaps I should’ve anticipated the most mature breakup as well. He even suggested I still take the concierge interview, but I passed. I told him it’d be too hard to see him. Half-truth. I really didn’t want that job. Now, I don’t feel as pressured.

Pound, pound, pound.

I freeze. That’s a knock I don’t recognize. It sounds angry enough that I hesitate in my tiny bathroom, unsure if I should answer the door. Then again, is it Grace? Maybe she forgot her key. I haven’t seen her in a few days, but that’s not unlike her. She’s never been home much in the two years I’ve lived with her. It’s like I pay half the rent but have a whole apartment to myself. A tiny apartment, but still.

Pound, pound.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I mutter, making my way to the front door. I peek through the peephole. The shiny police badge is the absolute last thing I want to see at the moment.

“Um, hello, Officer,” I say as I open the door.

He doesn’t smile. His neatly trimmed stubble is speckled with gray. Mid-forties maybe? Brown eyes, brown hair, medium height. His most prominent feature, however, is his thorough agitation. “Are you Grace Reeds?” he grunts out.

“No.”

He holds up a thick legal envelope. “Are you at least eighteen years of age?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes.”

He hands over the envelope. “I’ve no choice but to leave this with you. This is a lockout order. Grace has twenty-four hours to collect her belongings before the locks are changed.”

My jaw drops. “I’m sorry. Excuse me?”

He squints at me. “Are you a friend of hers? She’s missed several court hearings.”

There is a flurry of questions going through my mind and I try to mentally organize them as fast as I can. “Court hearings? Are we being evicted?”

“We?” the officer asks. My eyes drop to his belt, and the severity of the situation hits me at once. That’s a real beating stick. A real taser. Real cuffs. This is not a sick joke. “Are you a tenant here?”

Oh, shit. Technically, I’m not on the lease. I thought our landlord was cool, turning a blind eye to it. I wasn’t qualified as a lessee when I first moved in. It’s an issue with my credit due to a couple of credit cards and a loan I took out to help my dad years back. One my mom still doesn’t know about. I’ve missed so many minimum payments. I don’t know if you can have a negative credit score, but if you can, I do. I try not to look anymore. It makes my stomach sick. Grace really saved my ass, letting me live with her under the radar. I thought she was kind of my savior, until right now.

“I am a tenant.” Sort of.

“Then why aren’t you on the lawsuit? Apparently, you haven’t been paying rent.”

“Lawsuit? That’s incorrect. I’ve been paying my portion of the rent. Every month. It’s put into a PayPal account Grace and I pay into, then the apartment drafts it from there. This has been happening with no problems for two years. Suddenly, there’s an issue now? Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. Let me call PayPal.”

“It’s not a misunderstanding.” The officer exhales and shakes his head. “Let me guess, Grace has access to this PayPal account?”

My stomach drops a dozen floors as I realize that for the past few months, I’ve technically been buying my own Cokes and candy bars. “Fuck. She’s been draining the accounts and lying to me, hasn’t she?” Her name is on everything. How hard would it be to keep all the notices and documentation from me?

The officer’s expression softens slightly, a look of pity overcoming him. “Can I tell you something off the record?”

I nod.

“Eviction is just the tip of the iceberg. Grace”—he makes air quotes at the mention of her name—“isn’t who you think she is. The feds are very interested in her and if she has any sense, she’s already on the move. If she turns up again, you could try to sue her for fraud and theft, but it’d take a while, and I doubt you’d ever recover your money.” He points into my apartment. “But if you could come up with a deposit and about four months of missing rent, I bet the landlord would let you stay. I could get a message out to her today.”

I raise my brows at him and clench the thick envelope in my fist. “Come up with almost half a year’s worth of rent in one go?”

He nods solemnly.

I scoff. “Yeah, I’ll go pack my shit.”

I was able to cram most of my crap in my car, but I need Finn—and Finn’s truck—to haul my lumpy, queen-sized mattress out of my apartment. I did a lot of work all by myself for the past five hours, but now I need help. After an entire afternoon of Finn and Avery not answering their phones, I ended up on their doorstep pounding away.

I’m standing on their front door mat, cursing their existence under my breath, when it dawns on me that they aren’t home. That’s right. Finn told me a few days ago… They’re in Scottsdale. With Finn’s mom and her new husband at that mountain resort with next to no service. Goddammit. I could call my mom, I suppose. But that’d be opening up a huge can of worms…like why I was living with a potential drug dealer…and couldn’t rent an apartment myself…because my credit is shot…because I helped my dad cover the mortgage and car payments for a home and vehicles that we ended up losing anyway.

Calling Mom needs to be Plan Z. I can come up with something better than that first.

There’s always Alan, but that feels a little selfish. Of course, he’d come help me, but that’s not my right anymore.

I’ve been in panic-mode for so long, I didn’t notice the sky go from bright to dusk. Right on cue, the neighborhood streetlamp planted between Dex and Finn’s front yards switches on, illuminating the sides of both houses. It’s only then that I notice for once Dex’s interior lights are on.

Holy shit. He’s home. The bastard is actually home. And you know what? He drives a jeep. I bet it’s big enough to strap my mattress on top. He’d probably let me store my stuff in his garage until Finn and Avery get home.

Practically skipping with joy that I don’t have to call my mom, I make my way over. I ring the doorbell and wait patiently but to no avail. When that doesn’t work, I start to knock. I know his house is big, but it’s not that big. Did he hear the bell and make himself a freaking sandwich first? I know he’s home. All the lights are on.

By the time he opens the door, I’m scowling. His face, however, lights up when he sees me. “Oh, hey, Trouble. Your hair.”

I grab it self-consciously, remembering my crappy dye job. “What? It’s bad?”

“No, it looks great. Purple again. And with you knocking all crazy like that, it’s bringing back memories. You want to come in and have a beer?” He looks me up and down. “I warn you, though, the pitch jar rate has gone up. Fifteen bucks.”

I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. “Why’d you take so long to answer the door?”

He frowns. “Sorry, I was finishing a work call. I hung up as soon as I could.”

“Work? It’s like eight o’clock at night.”

He shrugs but doesn’t offer an explanation. “Are you coming in?” He nods over his shoulder, gesturing inside.

He smells so good. His house smells good too. I’m going to miss him so much. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here first?”

He screws up his face like I said something absurd. “Do you need a reason to be here? I just thought you came to say hi.”

Dammit, that would’ve been more considerate. “That too.” I cringe.

He chuckles. “What’s up, Len? You need something?”

“I got evicted. My roommate fucked me over big time, and now she’s on the run. I have to be out by tomorrow. I still have to move my bed, but my car isn’t big enough. Finn’s out of town and took his truck. I’ve been breaking my back, moving stuff into my car all day by myself, but now I really need help, and I’m running out of time.”

Dex narrows his eyes as he leans against the door frame. Even leaning, he’s so tall he looks a little intimidating at the moment. It’s not the reaction I was hoping for. I thought we’d spring into action, quick like bunnies. I realize it’s not the most fun task at night, but I’d do it for him. Isn’t that what friends are for? But judging by the annoyed look on his face, I half expect him to brush me off.

“When did all this happen?” he finally asks.

“Earlier today.”

“And where the fuck is your boyfriend? He’s just standing by, letting you go through this all by yourself? This whole good guy façade, and then he shits the bed when it matters most?”

I stare down at my blue cowgirl boots, noticing the fringe on the left side is starting to come loose. There’s also a black scuff on the top of my right boot. I’m really just noticing anything to not have to meet Dex’s stare. I know he’s looking at me. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt my feelings, but he did. I don’t need a reminder of how I blew up my entire life in the past few weeks. Got fired. Threw away the best relationship I’ve ever had. Blindly trusted a freaking drug dealer as a roommate.

I get it. I’m fucking up.

“We broke up,” I muster out. “So, I didn’t call him. I’m sure if I did, he would’ve offered to help.” I finally lift my eyes to meet his, and all I see is sympathy on his face.

“Oh, Len. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“We’re on good terms though,” I assure him with a little nod.

The smile that always starts at the corner of his eyes doesn’t quite reach his lips this time. “No ass-kicking needed?”

“Not at all. And anyway, I’d call Finn for that.”

He clutches his chest, pretending like I broke his heart. “That’s offensive.”

I turn my hands so the backs are facing him, then wiggle my fingers. “I mean, you’re strong, but you’re such a pretty boy. I wouldn’t want you to ruin your manicure.”

His laugh is thick and grumbly. The best sound in the world. It immediately lifts my mood. “Okay, Trouble, you’re going to pay for that.”

I’m laughing now, too. “Go ahead and kick a girl when she’s down.”

He exhales and crosses his arms, still surveying me. What the hell is he trying to figure out? I just told him everything. “Your mattress is a piece of shit.”

“This is fact,” I say noncombatively.

Dex is the one who helped me move my mattress into the apartment two years ago. It was already lumpy when I got it from the secondhand store, but I was just proud it was queen-sized and not a dormitory-looking twin mattress. It felt like a grown-up’s bed.

“Let your landlord take it to the dump. You can have my guest bed. It’s the same size as yours. I don’t need it.”

“Awfully chivalrous of you.”

He pumps his eyebrows at me. “Or maybe I just don’t want to ruin my manicure by moving your bed.”

I roll my eyes. “I was kidding.”

He smirks. “All right, let me grab my keys.” Standing up straight, he stretches his arms overhead. His thin T-shirt hugs all the tight muscles of his abdomen, and as usual, I’m hypnotized. Alan and I aren’t together, but I still feel guilty gawking at Dex.

“Are you headed somewhere?” I ask, taking a step back off his porch.

“We,” he says, pointing to his chest, then mine, back and forth, “need something stronger than beer. We’re going out.”

“I’m in jean shorts, a tank top, and cowgirl boots. And I’m sweaty and smelly from moving stuff into my car all day.”

“Yeah, what’s up with the boots?”

“As I was clearing stuff out, I found them in the back of my closet. I put them on to see if they still fit. They’re so comfortable, I forgot to take them off.”

“Well, they’re perfect for where we’re headed.” He steps out of the house onto the porch right in front of me. I normally don’t let myself get this close to Dex. My knees get weak when he’s this close.

To Dex, every look, touch, and smile is normal and friendly. To me? It’s an exercise of self-control. It’s been three years since I made a move, and he clearly indicated he’d rather be friends. For three years, I’ve pretended like we made the right decision.

When he leans down, he puts his face near my breasts, and I pray to every god, shadow, and spirit that exists that he can’t hear how hard my heart is pounding. He sniffs twice. “You’re good. You smell fine to me. Come on, let’s go have some fun.”