Lex (Unconventional Hearts)
Read Lex (Unconventional Hearts) Online
Authors: S.K. Logsdon
Unconventional Hearts Novel
S.K Logsdon
~~~
Nook Edition
Copyright © 2014 by S.K. Logsdon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any
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quotations in a review.
Cover art by: Marika Kraukle
Editor: Anna Coy : ACG Editing
Editor: Lindsay Errington : LTE Editing
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Author
Stricken Rock Series
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Stricken Unveiled
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Attraction Series
Artful Attractions
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Of Delicate Mind
I want to dedicate this book to all of the people in
the world who feel different. Who are unsure of themselves. Who
have been through abuse and tragic times. We are all unique, we are
all beautiful, and we all deserve love, even living with the most
painful of pasts. No one is perfect. No one walks this earth
without baggage.
In the end, love, and who we have loved is what
matters.
This is for you.
My fans, my readers, my friends, and those of you
I’ve never spoken with.
I love you all.
Firstly, I want to thank everyone who has shown
immense support through all of my writing endeavors. It means the
world to me to have such a great support system.
I want to add a special shout out to Tracy who’s been
my constant rock through this writing process. Encouraging me to
tell this heartfelt story. Even when I questioned what I was
writing she helped guide my way.
I want to thank Colleen and Nicole for reading Lex
and providing me with their invaluable feedback.
And lastly, I want to thank my Mom. She’s not a
reader but she’s been a fantastic support system. Helping with
ideas, covers, talking about everything in my stories, even if I
know she’ll never read them.
This book is a work of fiction created by the author
S.K Logsdon and is not associated with any real lives or
stories.
Chapter One
“Lex, are you about done?” Roni, or should I
say Veronica my quasi best friend who happens to live on the same
parcel of real-estate I do, calls from our small shared
backyard.
“I’m in here
,
” I yell, walking over to
the window that’s open above the white apron sink. I’m standing in
the kitchen, slaving rather tirelessly over my vintage stove. It’s
exhausting being me sometimes.
Quieter now, Roni reaches my back screen door
and welcomes herself inside.
“Are you attempting to boil water, again?”
she inquires, sarcastically with a juicy all-knowing smile as she
plops her jean-clad country girl butt down at my table, seated in
the most perfect breakfast nook. Complete with bay windows, draped
with mint green swags, a booth with a floral print cushion, two
chairs, and a rectangular farmhouse table.
“I’ll have you know, I’m using the kettle for
some tea, Sassy Britches. Would you like some?”
Already knowing her answer, I pull two blue
paisley printed mugs from inside my newly renovated white
cupboards. I had my dream kitchen installed six months ago, leaving
me with pale pink walls, a giant silver chandelier, a refurbished
nineteen fifties stove, and a sealed wood slab countertop. It’s
almost like having a butcher block as my entire counter, except its
smoother.
“Don’t I always? And you wouldn’t…”
Holding up the biscotti that I ordered
online, shushes her. Well, for the time being. It won’t last long.
Never does.
This is a daily routine for us. I wake up at
six on the nose, do a rather invigorating yoga session alone in my
meditation room—I had one of my five sizeable bedrooms converted to
Zen status two years ago and it’s been money well spent ever since.
After yoga, I shower and primp—it takes a lot of time. Between my
hair and my entire makeup regiment, it’s no quick routine, and by
eight, I’m downstairs doing this.
Lifting the annoying whistling tea kettle
from the stove, I serve our tea and biscotti on petite white
scalloped edged plates, and take a seat across from my fussy best
friend. Who just stumbled out of bed less than ten minutes ago and
is ready to get on with her day. The perpetual indigent slob, or so
you would think, looking at her day in and day out.
“So are you going to make me check it myself
or will you give me the goods willingly?” She winks, pulling her
green tea to her mouth and giving me a god-awful smirk over the rim
of her mug.
“Work’s great,” I uppity answer, aimlessly
avoiding eye contact. I can feel her pupils drilling holes into me
as we speak.
“That. Is. Not. What. I. Meant. Lex, and you
know it,” she clips, seething in her chair, biting angrily into her
breakfast. It’s not much of a breakfast. I know this. But I swap
out flavors of tea and biscotti on a weekly and sometimes daily
basis to keep it fresh and interesting. It’s our thing, and has
been for the past six years.
“Mmmm,” she foodgasms.
Yes, I know, those chocolate chip with
macadamia nut ones are my new favorite.
“Good?” I sip my tea, following her lead.
“Delicious as ever. One minute I swear you’ve
found the best biscotti and the next you surprise me with an orgasm
on a plate.”
Awe, isn’t she darling? That’s a Roni
compliment sandwich for ya, ever the proper lady.
“Now…” Quickly rendering her happy mood
useless, she moves into starring daggers at me, more intensely this
time.
Alright…alright…I surrender. For now.
“My profile has had sixty two hits and I’ve
received twenty one emails since last night,” I sputter blankly,
and internally I’m wallowing in unhappiness even speaking about
this.
“That’s fantastic!” She claps—literally—like
a two year old girl whose mom just bought her a sparkly Barbie
doll.
Yes, soooo…joyful, Roni—not!
If only she’d have the mountain of obstacles,
I have to overcome to find a date, let alone a boyfriend. She
doesn’t get my dilemma, between my giant secrets and even larger
scars. It’s impossible to force her to recognize I’m not a normal
girl. I may look like one, but parts of me are so hard to admit. I
just choose not to. It’s better for everyone if I pretend to be
okay. Even if I’m not—well, not entirely. Don’t get me wrong, my
life is spectacular. It’s the darkness that looms over me, that’s
not.
“So? Did you pick one?” She is way too
excited and getting a tomboy like her excited is a rarity.
“One what?” I play stupid, I know what she
means.
“To date, silly.”
“No, I did the profile for you. To keep you
happy. I’m not planning on securing any dates.”
Honesty is the best policy, for the most
part. Even if I know it’s going to peeve her off.
Bingo!
Banging her hand on the table, she sneers and
huffs at me in palpable agitation.
Two weeks ago, Roni informed me that I have
to date too, now that she’s dating Bob, from Auto’s auto shop. Yes,
that’s what I said. Don’t even get me started on the name. It’s a
Heartfair thing. A Patty’s Pancake House, Jimbo’s Gym, Larry’s Lawn
Service and those are just the tip of the small town of Heartfair
iceberg.
Any who, like I was saying. Since my less
than feminine best friend started dating Bob, the thirty-five year
old sweetheart, auto mechanic, she’s decided I need to get over my…
How long has it really been? Five years, yes, five year dating dry
spell. Okay, it’s more like the Sahara desert without water, sort
of dry spell. I don’t date for a thousand and one reasons. And yes,
I’m lonely sometimes, but I love my life, and I’m always busy. I
don’t have much time to be bored or lonely, at least not for
extended periods of time.
“Are you paying attention to a word I say?”
She snaps her tanned freckle speckled cheeks flaring fire hydrant
red.
“No, I tune you out when you start spouting
this dating nonsense. Get over it. I did the profile. That’s all
you’re going to get, Roni. I’m too old to date anyhow.”
Standing, I take my mug and rinse it out,
leaving it for the housekeeper to clean in the sink when she drops
by around noon. It’s nearly nine already, and I have an important
meeting at ten. I don’t have time to waste.
“Bullshit, Lex! You’re twenty eight, the same
age as me!”
Yes, I am. But I’m different from her. She’s
sassy and forward and well—I’m just me, Lex Keagan, millionaire,
entrepreneur, philanthropist, who lives in a tiny town of eight
thousand residents. Which just so happens to be the main city
within forty miles of anything larger. So we cater to those small
villages and towns around us; providing them with schools, an
inventive teaching hospital, and twenty-four-hour fast food joints,
among other things, of course.
Having had more than enough of this
conversation with Roni, I exit the kitchen to grab my pink Gucci
purse from the sitting room and slide on my white, size twelve
Prada pumps. Today I’m wearing my favorite pale blue wispy A-line
dress with plunging V-neckline. It scrumptiously highlights my
large, fake breasts, I think. My new investors will be in today to
broker a deal, and making men stupidly drool is kind of my thing,
or so I’m told.