[English] A LITTLE TOO FAR (Xa một chút thôi)

Author : Lisa Desrochers

MY EX IS a douche. A point made all the more clear when I bump into Stacey McCarran at the Forever 21 in the mall.
“Lexie,” she drawls, flipping her long, bleached-blond hair over her shoulder and putting on a sympathetic pout. “I was so sorry to hear about you and Rick.”
It’s a lie, and she knows I know it. She was after Rick the whole time we were in high school, and from the knowing smirk underneath that fake pout, I’m guessing they’ve already done the deed. I wonder if she even waited an hour after we broke up to call him.
Sam steps away from the rack she’s perusing, holding a sheer, black tank top with beading around the low V-neck. “Stacey,” she sneers, stepping up next to me. Katie is next to her, glaring thorns at Stacey. I can always count on my friends to circle the wagons.
I shrug. “Things happen.” Like your boyfriend of three and a half years turning into a cheating bastard when you aren’t paying attention. Yeah. Things happen.
“Well,” she drawls, flicking through a rack of cotton shorts, “everyone was shocked. We all thought you two would end up married.”
So did I.
Rick and I had talked about marriage. When I came home for summer break after freshman year, he was the one who brought it up. He was the one who started talking about where we should live after we graduated from college. We’d been voted the couple most likely to make it in our senior yearbook. I’d scribbled my name on countless scraps of paper, trying to decide whether to hyphenate or just change my last name from Banks to Hamilton. So when Sam texted me she’d heard that Rick was seeing someone at school, I chalked it up to the rumor mill.
It wasn’t the rumor mill. Or it was, I guess. It...

A Little Too Far
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Chapter One

MY EX IS a douche. A point made all the more clear when I bump into Stacey McCarran at the Forever 21 in the mall.

“Lexie,” she drawls, flipping her long, bleached-blond hair over her shoulder and putting on a sympathetic pout. “I was so sorry to hear about you and Rick.”

It’s a lie, and she knows I know it. She was after Rick the whole time we were in high school, and from the knowing smirk underneath that fake pout, I’m guessing they’ve already done the deed. I wonder if she even waited an hour after we broke up to call him.

Sam steps away from the rack she’s perusing, holding a sheer, black tank top with beading around the low V-neck. “Stacey,” she sneers, stepping up next to me. Katie is next to her, glaring thorns at Stacey. I can always count on my friends to circle the wagons.

I shrug. “Things happen.” Like your boyfriend of three and a half years turning into a cheating bastard when you aren’t paying attention. Yeah. Things happen.

“Well,” she drawls, flicking through a rack of cotton shorts, “everyone was shocked. We all thought you two would end up married.”

So did I.

Rick and I had talked about marriage. When I came home for summer break after freshman year, he was the one who brought it up. He was the one who started talking about where we should live after we graduated from college. We’d been voted the couple most likely to make it in our senior yearbook. I’d scribbled my name on countless scraps of paper, trying to decide whether to hyphenate or just change my last name from Banks to Hamilton. So when Sam texted me she’d heard that Rick was seeing someone at school, I chalked it up to the rumor mill.

It wasn’t the rumor mill. Or it was, I guess. It was a combination of my boyfriend being an asshat and the rumor mill.

When I got accepted to Notre Dame, there was no question I was going there because, 1) it’s a great school, and 2) it’s Catholic, which my parents insisted on. But it’s also, 3) really far away. A whole bunch of our classmates, including Rick, went to San Jose State because it’s so close to home. I guess Rick was too stupid to realize that you can’t screw half the campus when the place is swarming with friends of your girlfriend and not have a single one of them notice. So the rumors spread.

The stupid thing? Rick gave me a promise ring for Christmas. He did the whole spiel about how I was the love of his life, and he knew we’d spend the rest of our lives together, blah, blah, blah.

The stupidest thing? I fell for it—until we were in his bed the night after Christmas. We were technically engaged to be engaged, so I felt justified reading through his texts when he got up to go to the bathroom and peel off his condom.

Yes, it was a douchey thing to do, so maybe I’m a douche too, but it wasn’t just what Sam had said. People were looking at us funny when we went to a party at Rick’s best friend’s house the day after I got home. It was like they were all whispering behind my back, and some of my friends were shooting me sympathetic glances even though no one said anything. I was feeling super paranoid.

So I looked.

Not only were there texts from at least three different girls, but a few pictures too. The pictures were mostly of him sitting with girls in his lap, or dancing. In one, he was kissing a blonde with big boobs, but it didn’t look like more than just a peck on the lips. Bad, but not totally incriminating. But the texts . . . some of those were pretty raunchy. I didn’t have time to read them all, but I scanned enough of one conversation to know that the rumors were true.

My heart scrunched itself into a tiny knot, and my chest was so empty, I didn’t even hurt right at that second. The hurt came later and stayed for a really long time. Just then, in Rick’s bedroom, humiliation filled the empty space instead. I was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his phone in my hand when he came back from the bathroom. “You f**ked her in your chemistry lab? Seriously?”

His eyes went wide, and all the blood drained from his face. “It’s not what you think.”

Adrenaline rushed my bloodstream at his denial, and I shook with rage. “Really? That’s the best you can do?”

“Lexie, she’s psycho. She, like, stalks me all the time.”

I turned the phone and swiped through the texts. “Which one? Becky? Gina? Or is Helena the stalker?”

He grimaced and rubbed a hand down his face. “****.”

I hurled the phone at him, and it hit his shoulder and ricocheted off. He didn’t even grab for it on its way to the floor, where it bounced off his foot onto the carpet. “You son of a bitch,” I growled, yanking my clothes on.

“Lexie, wait!” he said as I pushed past him to the door.

I spun and flung his ring in his face. “Screw you!”

And that was the end of three and a half years with Rick.

He called and texted almost every day during the spring semester, but I deleted them all without looking. My friends from home were good about avoiding the topic in their texts, so it became easy to pretend Rick had never existed. I was two thousand miles away, and he couldn’t just pop by and surprise me, so I felt reasonably safe. But when an opportunity to get even farther away and spend my junior year abroad in Italy came up, I jumped all over it.

By the time I got home for summer break a few months ago, I felt pretty good. I was over Rick. I’d thrown myself into my studies and was going into my junior year at Notre Dame near the top of my art history class. That had won me the scholarship for the year abroad in Rome from over thirty applicants.

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Still, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of spending my summer watching Rick screw his way through our old classmates, so I’ve spent my days since I got home absorbed in my Rosetta Stone software and feel pretty confident I’ll be able to 1) find a bathroom (Dove passo trovare il bagno?) or 2) tell someone to go to hell (Va ’al diavolo!). My friends have been cool about avoiding the parties we knew he’d be at, so I’ve managed to make it all summer without so much as a glimpse of him.

And now I’m two days away from heading to Rome for my junior year, with the possibility of staying the summer for an internship if they like me.

Life is good, and I’m not going to let Stacey rub my face in the parts of it that aren’t.

“Yeah, well . . . see you later,” I tell her as I turn for the register.

“Bitch,” Sam mutters as we walk away, just loud enough for Stacey to hear, and I can’t help smiling. She hands me the top and a short, black skirt she’s holding. “These are a mandatory purchase. The beading around the neckline will draw attention to your best assets,” she says, cupping my boob in her free hand.

“Will you please not feel me up in public?” I mutter, taking the clothes and shoving her away.

“My job, whether you like it or not, is to be sure you don’t come home without experiencing all Rome has to offer,” she says with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile, “and this outfit will guarantee it.”

Sam and Katie are two of a revolving group of about ten of us who hung out together all through high school, but they are the ones I’ve kept in closest touch with after we all left for college. Sam is deceptively feminine, with long, auburn waves and ivory skin. And she’s curvy in a way that turns guys’ heads. What you’d never get from her appearance is she’s totally kick-ass. Confidence wafts off of her like a strong scent. She’s put her brown belt in karate to use teaching self-defense classes at the women’s shelter for the last few years and is by far the most outspoken of the three of us. But she also isn’t great at keeping confidences confidential. I love her but don’t really trust her, if that makes sense.

Katie, on the other hand, has always struggled with her weight, and, therefore, her self-esteem. I think she’s beautiful, but she always lets her dark hair hang and dresses a little frumpily. She’s generally quieter and more reserved than Sam and tends to blend into the woodwork. I feel like I could talk to Katie, except she’s best friends with Sam, and I’m not sure which loyalty would prevail if push came to shove, so I don’t.

We make our purchases and head to the Applebee’s for lunch. The hostess seats us at a booth near the bar.

“Here,” Sam says, reaching across the table for the bags I’m trying to wrestle into my side of the booth. “I’ll put some over here.”

I hand the big Neiman Marcus bag over the table to her and keep the smaller ones. She takes it and wedges it against the wall as Katie slides in next to her.

“Can I start you ladies off with something to drink?”

Suddenly, all the oxygen is sucked out of the atmosphere, and spots flash in my eyes. I can’t even look at the end of the table where the waiter stands, but I hear Katie’s gasp and know it’s him.

Oh, God.

“Hi, Rick,” Sam says, her voice dry. “Give us a minute, okay?”

There’s a long pause where no one says anything, but I feel the weight of everyone’s gaze. I hate that the first thing to flit through my mind is an inventory of my appearance. I showered this morning without shaving my legs, then pulled my wet, dirty blond hair back into a high ponytail with a mother-of-pearl clip—by far the nicest thing I’m wearing. I rubbed a little foundation over a few zits on my chin and threw on some mascara, not really caring too much what I looked like. My layered tanks are old and stretched, and my khaki shorts are too baggy in the butt.

I look like ****.

I don’t want to care what Rick thinks. But, damn it, I do.

“Yeah . . . okay. I’ll be back in a few,” he answers after a beat.

“Damn, Lexie,” Katie hisses when he’s gone. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he worked here.”

I thought I had this. I thought I was past him. So why, when I glance up and see him walking away, does my heart skip a beat?

Sam grabs the bag she had just stuffed near the wall. “Let’s go.”

I force myself to stop chewing at the inside of my cheek and breathe a shaky breath. “No. I’m not going to let him do this to me. I’m not going to keep living like I’m the one who did something wrong.”

Katie’s expression is all sympathy. “Everyone knows it was him, Lexie. You don’t have anything to prove.”

“I’m fine,” I say, glancing up to where Rick stands at the bar. “I’m not going to be able to avoid him forever.”

Sam sets the bag down, giving me the skeptic’s squint. “You’re sure.”

I nod and pick up the menu. “I had my heart set on the turkey club croissant, and I’m not going to let my dirtbag of an ex deprive me of it.”

We peruse the menus, and, a few minutes later, Rick is back. I look him in the eye this time, and damn, he’s still gorgeous. His straight blond hair is longer than when I saw him last, na**d in his bedroom, and partially covers his amazing blue eyes. He looks really classy in the white button-down and thin black tie they have him in. “Are you ready for drinks?”

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I clear my throat. “Iced tea with—”

“—extra lemon,” he finishes for me with that sideways smile that always sets off butterflies in my stomach. “I remember.”

“Diet Coke.” Sam’s voice lashes out like a whip, and Rick turns to her and Katie on the other side of the booth.

“Anything for you, Katie?” he asks.

“Just water.”

He nods. “I’ll be right back for your order.”

Katie leans across the table as he walks away, and whispers, “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Speak for yourself,” I mutter.

“I say we order a bunch of stuff a little at a time . . . you know, to make him work for it, then stiff him on the tip,” Sam says, glaring at his back as he steps up to the bar.

“Nope,” I say. “He’s just any other waiter. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he even gets to me anymore.” I straighten up in my seat and look at him. “Because he doesn’t . . . mostly.”

“It’s your show, Lexie,” Sam says, “but after what he did, if it were me, I’d leave scorched earth. There’d be no mercy.”

I slide out of the booth. “I’m going to wash my hands. If he comes back, order me the turkey club croissant, light on the mayo.”

The bathrooms are next to the bar, so I have to walk past Rick on my way. His back is to me, and a petite blond waitress is standing next to him, rubbing her arm against his.

“. . . tonight if you want. I can promise you a good time,” she says as her fingers curl against his thigh and squeeze.

My stomach lurches, and I take a wide berth and walk faster, but before I make it to the bathroom door, he calls my name up the hall. I’m tempted to pretend I don’t hear him, but I know he’s coming up behind me fast. He’s close enough he’d know I’m pretending. Which means he’d know he still affects me.

“What?” I say, spinning on him.

He stops a few feet short of me and jams his hands in his pockets. “How have you been?”

“Great, Rick. I’m just fabulous,” I spit. “Are we done?”

“Look, I know I was a jerk,” he blurts as I spin for the bathroom.

I don’t turn around. “You weren’t a jerk. You were an ass**le. There’s a big difference.”

“Fine. I was an ass**le. I’m really sorry.”

I start moving again. “Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

“I still love you, Lexie. I can’t get past it.”

There’s a desperate hitch in his voice that claws at my heart and stops me cold.

“Those girls . . . I was a moron.” I hear him moving closer as he talks, but I don’t turn to look at him. “I haven’t touched anyone else since winter break. I don’t want anyone else, Lexie. I want you.” He lays a hand on my hip, and I swear at myself when I shudder. He gently spins me and tips my face up with a finger under my chin, so I’m looking into his eyes. “I always will.”

He leans in very slowly, watching me the whole way. I can’t even tell you why I don’t pull away from him, but as he presses my body between his and the wall, not only don’t I pull away, I kiss him back.

Chapter Two

HIS FINGERS THREAD into my hair as his other hand grasps my hip and pulls me into the curve of his body. It feels so good. So familiar. So easy.

It was always easy with us. I want that back so badly that I let myself get lost in the feeling . . . until someone brushes past us on their way into the bathroom, snapping me out of my fantasy. Because that’s what it is, a fantasy. He took what we had and threw it away. There’s no way I can ever trust him again.

He leans in again, but I splay a hand on his chest before his lips reach mine. “Don’t, Rick. I can’t do this again.”

His fingers glide down my cheek and trace my lips. “Just think about it, Lexie. Please,” he says, letting me go. “I still have the ring. It and my heart will always be yours.”

“But your heart wasn’t always mine. You gave it away to Helena and . . .” I throw up my hands, frustrated, when I can’t remember the other girls’ names, “anyone else who wanted it.”

“They never had my heart. It was just ***. That’s it. It didn’t mean anything.” His face scrunches, pleading with me to understand.

My heart climbs up my throat at his words. “How can you say *** doesn’t mean anything? We lost our virginity together. I’ve never been with anyone but you because it means everything.”

He purses his lips and hangs his head. “I was so stupid.” His eye flick to mine again. “Tell me what to do to fix this. I’ll do anything.”

“I just need to think.” This time, when I turn for the bathroom, he doesn’t stop me.

I wash up and splash some water on my face, then stare at my shaking self in the mirror. How can I still have feelings for him after what he did? How is there any part of me that isn’t totally repulsed by him?

“Hey,” Sam says when I get back to the table a few minutes later. “You okay?”

“Have you ordered yet?” I ask.

Her gaze flicks across the restaurant, and I’m guessing she’s looking at Rick, but I don’t follow it to find out. “Prince Charming hasn’t been back. I think he was waiting for you.”

I throw a ten on the table to cover the drinks and grab my bags. “You were right. I can’t do this. Let’s go.”

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We collect all my stuff and head to the parking lot. Katie pushes the button on her key fob to unlock her battered, yellow Beetle, and the alarm starts blaring as all the lights flash.

“When are you going to get that thing fixed?” Sam yells, slapping her palms over her ears.

Katie clicks the key fob again, and the shrieking stops. “Sorry.”

Sam looks the Beetle over with disdain. “We definitely need a new ride.”

“You don’t like it, you can walk,” Katie says defensively, patting her car on the roof like a dog as she pulls open the driver’s door. “So, what happened?” she asks me as we climb in.

I slouch into the backseat. “He says he still loves me.”

“Don’t do it, Lexie,” Sam warns, strapping herself in shotgun.

I tip my head back into my seat and stare at the stained roof of Katie’s car. “Why did he have to turn out to be such a douche?”

Sam slouches deeper into her seat. “The sad truth is, I think it’s in the DNA—somewhere in that Y chromosome is the douche-bag gene.”

I lean my head into the window and close my eyes, focusing on making the twenty minutes to my house without crying. I know it’s over. I’ve known it for months, but somehow time isn’t making it easier. Whoever said time heals all wounds was a big, fat liar. My heart still remembers what we had and how it felt to lose it.

When Katie drops me at home, Trent’s motorcycle is in the driveway, but the house is quiet.

“If that stepbrother of yours is looking for an end-of-the-summer fling,” Sam says, flicking a glance at the bike as I get out, “you know where to send him.”

I roll my eyes at her.

She leans out her window. “You think I’m joking, but I’m going to jump that boy’s bones sooner or later.”

“He’s probably out with his friends,” I say, waving a hand at the house. “Go find him and jump away.”

She bangs the side of the car with her palm. “Go f**k some Italian boys and forget about your dirtbag ex.” She grins. “And send pictures!”

I lean in and hug her, then move around to Katie’s side, where she’s out of the car, waiting. “Thanks for taking me shopping,” I say, looping an arm around her shoulders.

She hugs me back. “I’m so jealous.”

I pull away and smile. “I’ll be in touch.”

She climbs back into her seat. “You better.” There’s a waver in her voice, and I realize she’s tearing up.

“I will. And I’ll see you when I’m home for winter break.”

“Bring home a hot Italian!” Sam calls from across the car.

I can’t help cracking a smile as I turn for the house. I slide my key into the front lock and pushed the door open, then wave at Katie and Sam. Katie gives a bleep of her horn, and they pull away from the curb. I watch until they disappear around the corner, then head upstairs.

I climb the stairs to my room two at a time and dump my bags on the floor near my closet. But what Rick said keeps cycling through my brain.

I still have the ring. It and my heart will always be yours.

I thought we’d be together forever. But then he ripped my heart out in the most humiliating way possible. I don’t think I love him anymore . . . but what if I never find anyone else? What if that was my one shot at true love? We were so happy. Why did he have to f**k it all up?

“Damn you!” I grab a picture frame off my dresser—one that has a picture of me, Sam, and Katie at graduation that I put in over the top of a portrait of me and Rick at prom—and heave it at the wall between Trent’s room and mine. It shatters, leaving a gash in the blue paint next to my collage of favorite sketches.

I sink into a sobbing heap on the carpet, glad I have the house to myself. I don’t need an audience for my meltdown.

“Lexie?”

Trent’s voice comes through the door, but I can’t catch my breath to answer. So much for no audience.

The door hinges creak as he pushes it open and pokes his head through the crack. He has a minor case of bed-head—his chocolate brown curls smashed on one side—and his wrinkled gray Loyola Wrestling T-shirt and well-worn jeans look slept in. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah . . . great,” I heave between sobs.

“That was stupid. Sorry.” He comes into the room and crouches next to me, rubbing my back.

I wipe my forearm under my nose. “Sorry to wake you up.”

His deep brown eyes are all concern. “No biggie. What happened?”

“Nothing.” But then Rick’s face when he said he still loved me flashes in my mind, and I heave another sob.

“Come here,” Trent says, pulling me off the floor by a hand. He tows me to the bed and sits, pulling me down next to him. I tuck my head against his solid chest, and he wraps me in his strong arms and rocks me like a baby. He hums as he rocks me, and I know the tune instantly. My heart melts a little, remembering the first time he ever sang it to me, four years ago.

Trent’s thing, like his mom’s, is music. Julie teaches piano, and by the time I met Trent the summer before his freshman year, he could play almost anything. When our parents got married two years later, Julie tried to teach me, but I don’t really have the patience for sitting at the piano for a half hour each day to practice, so after about a year of trying, she finally stopped forcing it on me. But Trent couldn’t get enough. He taught himself guitar and started his first garage band that year. They played together all through high school. Now he’s a music performance major at Loyola. With my fetish for the visual arts and his for music, between the two of us, we have the arts pretty well covered.