Chapter 7 LEXI
LEXI
Wondering how thin the line was between a crime of passion and premeditated murder, Lexi tossed her gym bag down and plopped down on the bench that sat next to the front desk. Her slumlord -er, landlord Mr. Hotchkins, insisted the hot water heater was perfectly fine.
He had no problems with hot water on his side of the duplex, so according to him, there was nothing to fix. Yet there she’d been, six o’clock in the morning, taking a cold shower for the third time that week.
After the phone-call-turned-shouting-match with the slumlord, Lexi went to leave for work. Except someone had knocked over her garbage can so it blocked her car in the driveway. Fine, no problem, just a minor annoyance, she thought.
She’d gotten back out of the car to pick it up, and a raccoon the size of a goddamn dog came launching out at her, knocking her on her ass on the side of the street.
It hadn’t scratched her with its outstretched claws before it had scuttled away - she’d checked repeatedly. But the fall had claimed her coffee. It had miraculously not spilled all over her, just all over the ground as she’d sat, stunned.
So here she was, late to the gym, chilled as shit, with a skid mark on her ass, no caffeine, and it seemed like the raccoon wasn’t the only thing trying to kill her this morning.
Her necklace had gotten tangled and she couldn’t get it off.
Her repeated tugs and twists only tangled it more, and she was getting more agitated by the second.
She couldn’t seem to find the clasp, and her breath was coming in short bursts. Her shirt felt too tight, her scalp was tingling, and in some part of her brain she was dimly aware that she was having a panic attack.
The gentle ding of the door opening didn’t register with her until a tall shadow fell across her. Attempting to breathe in a four-count, Lexi glanced up for less than a heartbeat at the baritone hello. She grunted in return and went back to hyperventilating, wishing they would walk away.