A Little Too Far

A
L
ITTLE
T
OO
F
AR

LISA DESROCHERS

Dedication

To the brilliant Kody K.

Keep the faith . . .

Contents

Acknowledgments

L
EXIE WROTE HE
R
story over the course of thirteen days in January and took me on quite the ride in the process. But she would have wallowed on my hard drive if it weren’t for the faith and hard work of many incredible people who I am privileged to have as part of my life.

First and most importantly, to readers who have taken precious time out of your lives to take the ride with my imaginary friends, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You’ve made it possible for me to do something I truly love for a living, and I will be forever grateful.

Huge hugs to my family, who have supported me in all aspects of my life. I couldn’t ask for a better group of people in my corner. Especially huge hugs to my daughters, Michelle and Nicole, for providing constant inspiration, and to my husband, Steven, for the ear to bend and for providing sustenance to my starving children while I obsessed over my imaginary friends.

There aren’t words big enough to express my deep gratitude toward my truly fabulous and tireless agent, Suzie Townsend, who, among everything else she’s done for me over the years, managed to find
A Little Too Far
the perfect home at William Morrow. And speaking of William Morrow, my most heartfelt thanks go to the entire HarperCollins team. This incredible group of people has managed to put
A Little Too Far
into the world a mere nine months after the idea popped into my head, and I started writing it. Thanks especially to my amazing editor, Amanda Bergeron, for her enthusiasm, her faith in me, and for loving Lexie, Trent, and Alessandro almost as much as I do.

Thank you to Jennifer L. Armentrout for her sage advice. To my bestest writing bud, the brilliant Kody Keplinger, whose friendship and encouragement have meant more to me than I can adequately express in just a few lines, you are and always will be my hero.

Thank you also to Jessica and Giada Bertesina, and Susi Marcone for straightening out all my garbled Italian.

To all the lovely bloggers out there spreading the word and supporting me over the last few years, huge smooches. Y’all ROCK!

And because my muse is a wannabe rock star, I need to send a very special thank-you to the bands that inspired Lexie’s story. This book is basically a tribute to Jason Wade, the mastermind behind Lifehouse (whose songs beg to be written into books), with a side of Rob Thomas. See if you can hear Lifehouse’s “All In” as you turn the pages of the last few chapters.

Chapter One

M
Y 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 fucked 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. “Shit.”

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.

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 shit.

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, naked 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?”

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 asshole. There’s a big difference.”

“Fine. I was an asshole. 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.