Free The Diary of Lexi Ashford (Lexi Ashford: Part One) by Jessica Sorensen Page A

the bumper to keep from tipping over.
    He leans in to grab a bag. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. That tiara gives you mystery solving, super brain power.” Mocking rings through his tone.
    “I never said mystery solving, super brain power,” I argue, my speech starting to slur. “I said it gave me mystery solving, awesome brain power.” I exaggeratedly snap my fingers. “Come on, Silver; get it right.”
    He twists to face me, and for the briefest second, his lips are parted in shock. But he swiftly collects himself and puts on his I’m-too-cool-to-give-a-shit expression.
    He then shrugs, focusing on the suitcases again. “Congrats on solving the mystery. Me, I’d like to forget about it.”
    Confusion mixed with dizziness makes it complicated to concentrate. “Forget what? That I figured out who you are?”
    “Forget about Silver altogether.” He drops the last of the bags down onto the ground.
    “You want me to forget about him? That’s so sad.” I pout. “He was sweet and such a great listener.”
    “He was also socially awkward, a loser, oh, and my personal favorite, a devil worshipping freak.” Evan glowers at the suitcases as if somehow they’ve offended him.
    “You were not. You were sweet and quiet and cute in this strange, intense, I-rarely-blink way, which FYI, you still do that.” I’m attempting to convince him, but when he gives me this you’re-cuckoo look, I sigh. “Okay, so maybe that’s what everyone called you back in high school, but trust me, if I believed everything the cool kids told me in school, I’d still think I have t-Rex arms. But I don’t.” I stick out my arms and wiggle them around like I’m an octopus. “See? Perfectly normal length, my friend.”
    That gets him to smile, and for some reason, it makes me feel like I’ve won some grand prize. Gold medal for Lexi! Hell, yeah!
    “So, how about this?” I continue. “Instead of spending the night living in the shadows of our past, how about we go pro-nerd and celebrate our dorkiness?” I stick out my fist for a fist bump.
    “I’m not dorky anymore,” he says, but fist bumps me anyway.
    “No, you’re not.” I mull an idea over, checking him out as I thrum my finger against my bottom lip. “You look too sexy right now. It kind of contradicts dork celebration night.”
    He wrestles back a smile. “Why do I have a feeling you’re about to do something really weird?”
    “Because I am. Be worried, my soon-to-be-dorky friend. Be very, very worried.” I make a dun, dun, dun sound, tapping my fingers together like I’m about to do something sinister.
    He smashes his lips together, struggling not to laugh at me.
    I ponder how to make Sexy Stranger look less hot, and for some reason, the man dressed up as cupid pops into my mind.
    “I have an idea.” Without warning, I reach forward and tug his shirt over his head.
    “What the hell, Lex?” Evan’s face turns bright red, either from anger or embarrassment.
    I don’t know why he’s embarrassed. The guy is ripped—not overly muscular or anything, just toned and lean and nicely yummy. He has tattoos, too—curvy patterns that ink down his side and disappear underneath the waistband of his jeans. I have issues with turning into a nympho when I’m drunk, and it takes all of my willpower not to unbutton his jeans and pull them off, too.
    Although, maybe I could get away with licking his abs …
    I laugh at myself.
    Evan suddenly folds his arms across his chest. “For future reference, a guy never feels too great about himself when a woman takes off his shirt and then laughs at him.”
    I blink my attention to his face. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at what I want to do to you.” It takes my drunken mind a second or two to sort through what I said. “But, anyway, that”—I twirl my finger around in front of his chest—“doesn’t make you dorky. If anything, I think your hotness when up a notch.” I give him a thumbs up.
    A beat or two of silence