Page 27 of Derailed
“Sorry.” I clear my throat and lift my gaze when I realize she’s long since washed and dried her hands and is now waiting for my response. Her face is familiar. Of course, she must be famous. She’s here, isn’tshe.
Oh my God!“Lexi Marx.” Her name pops out of my mouth and I cover my lips, wishing I didn’t sound sostarstruck.
She smiles just a little before her brow pulls together with a frown. “What’s wrong with your dress?” She tilts her head and stares so hard I have to resist the urge to cross my arms over myself. As if I’d be able to hide it. Her gaze lifts and she cringes. “I’m sorry, I was listening in the stall. That was rude ofme.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just . . . uh, my boyfriend didn’t see the dress before I bought it. He gets jealous and I . . . I didn’t think.” I glance down, embarrassed. I assumed I was the only one in here besides the attendant. Now I’ve just blabbed my dirty laundry in this restroom for not just anyone to hear, but to Trent Donavan’s girlfriend. Not a good first impression. I need to be more careful. She could have been a reporter for a gossip column. As it is, I hope Lexi will let this go once she learns who Iam.
“Nonsense. You are rocking that dress. It’s gorgeous on you. I’d never get away with something like that. I’m so short, it’d probably go to my shins!” She laughs and turns around. “Unzip mytop?”
Her hair is already short and styled in a part-bun, part-fauxhawk updo so I don’t have to sweep it to the side to bring the zipperdown.
“Thanks.” She turns and takes it off, right there in the restroom in front of me and the attendant, and shoves the fabric into my hands. “Here, trythis.”
“Oh, I can’t.” I shake my head and try to give itback.
She waves her hand and turns to the mirror, adjusting the black corset top she’s wearing underneath. It’s not obscene, but it’s extremely provocative. I can’t believe she’s gonna walk out of here like that. “You must. I insist. Besides, I was getting too hot inthat.”
“But . . .” I try again, but she’s already striding to thedoor.
“Don’t worry about getting it back to me. It’s a gift. Have fun tonight, okay? Don’t let some asshole ruin it for you. You should wear whatever you feel beautifulin.”
“Thank you!” I shout after her. The door opens wide enough that I can hear the familiar riff of a guitar. “Crap.” I hustle to slide my arms inside the lacey fabric and the restroom attendant steps behind to zip me up without beingasked.
“Beautiful.” She encourages and when I meet her gaze in the mirror I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s perfect. Really, and I’m sothankful.
“I need to go. Myboyfriend. . .”
“Go!Yes!”
“But I want to give you something. My wallet is outthere.”
“No, please. You don’t owe me anything. Pay it forward when youcan.”
“Thank you again.” I swear I almost don’t want to leave the safety of this small room. She’s practically my fairy godmother—both her and Lexi Marx. But this isn’t a fairy tale, and if I don’t get my butt out to that table, I’ll miss Coy’s first public performance with the band. That’s the only thought that moves my feet forward with a confidence I don’t reallyfeel.
