Read Color Me Grey: Book One of the Alexis Stanton Chronicles Online

Authors: J.C. Phelps

Tags: #action, #action adventure, #adventure, #chick lit, #chicklit, #color me grey, #contemporary, #contemporary fiction, #contemporary fiction adventure, #contemporary thriller, #contemporary women, #isbn 9780981769004, #jc phelps, #reflections of grey, #shades of grey, #women love, #women snipers, #women spies, #women stories, #women writers, #womens, #womens commercial fiction, #womens fiction, #womens fiction chicklit, #womens lit, #womens literature, #womens stories

Color Me Grey: Book One of the Alexis Stanton Chronicles

Color Me Grey

Book One of the Alexis Stanton Chronicles

by

J.C. Phelps

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY:

J.C. Phelps at Smashwords

Color Me Grey

Copyright © 2004 by J.C. Phelps

All rights reserved. Without limiting the
rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication
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*****

Written for:

Alexandra

Edy

Jim

Rick

Robert

&

Robert

Special thanks to:

Lynn

Rachel

Robert

*****

COLOR ME GREY

Chapter One

My name is Alexis Stanton, but I always
introduce myself as Alex. Most everyone calls me Lexi though. I
always thought Lexi sounded like a silly girl’s name. Lexi just
doesn’t reflect my personality. I can be silly, but generally I’m
pretty serious.

I can get silly when I’m with my childhood
friend, Colin. He’s a few years older than me but we grew up
together. Our dads worked together in the service and we spent
quite a lot of time at each other’s houses.

My dad is pretty picky about who I associate
with. One of his favorite sayings is, “You are who you run with.” I
didn’t understand that until I got out of the house and started
college. Then I started to run with the wrong crowd. I eventually
started the party thing and got myself a boyfriend; my very first
boyfriend at twenty, pretty sad, but the truth.

I didn’t just get any boyfriend; I got one of
those
boyfriends. You know the kind. I was in love with him
and so was he, in love with himself. His name was Anthony. That’s a
different story though.

My parents have money and could have paid for
any type of education I wanted. I was home schooled and then, of
course, I attended college. College was my only formal education.
At first I worked hard and did great. Then I got involved with the
wrong crowd. Eventually my brains returned. I dumped my boyfriend
and managed to graduate at the top of my class and can pretty much
do anything with a computer.

Going from home schooling to college was
fairly difficult. It wasn’t that it was too much work, it wasn’t
enough and I didn’t know my way around people. I had too much time
on my hands and didn’t know how to make friends. I was usually
found with a bong in one hand and alcohol of some kind in the other
trying to be accepted.

When I was little I used to ask my mom and
dad why I couldn’t go to school with the rest of the kids. Dad
would say, “Most of the teachers out there aren’t as smart as you.
You can’t learn much from a dumb teacher.” I found that he was
pretty much right.

My education started at a very early age. I
think I was three when Mom and Dad brought in my first
teacher/nanny. Consequently, I could read and write at the age of
three and a half. I think I went through two grades a year until I
reached nine. Then at nine I was somewhat allowed to choose what I
wanted to learn. The subjects I picked were like extra curricular
activities to my parents. I would pick karate and Mom would pick
literature and Dad would pick history and I would have to continue
to do well in the subjects they chose or they would make me stop
the one I had chosen until I started doing well again. I always
wanted to try something new, so I was always busy with learning one
thing or another.

I grew up wanting to be a boy, so I chose boy
pursuits. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be a part of the
A-Team. I wanted to learn self-defense, karate, rock climbing, and
mechanics, that kind of thing.

Thanks to Mom and Dad and their money, I
tried my hand at many things. Mom didn’t want me to be such a
tomboy so she made me take etiquette classes. But Dad liked the
idea that I wanted to be tough so he paid to have a Special Forces
drill instructor teach me to infiltrate and take over a small
country. I’ve been schooled in everything from how to be a lady to
the basics of dressing a wound with some covert maneuvers and chef
skills sprinkled over the whole education casserole.

I’ve since decided that being a boy instead
of a girl has it’s advantages, but being a woman is
much
better than being a man. I actually like the way I look and as far
as I can tell, so do most men. I’m 5’4”, fairly petite but not
breakable. My hair is a light brown, straight and long. I like it
long. I can put it up if I want it out of the way or I can leave it
down if I want to make an impression. I have blue eyes and pretty
straight teeth.

I can do what any man can do for the most
part. Of course I’m not as strong as I’d like to be but I know
tricks that make me seem stronger. I’ve never been in any real
trouble in my life because I don’t get caught. Then again, I don’t
do bad things often either, unless provoked.

When a girl turns twenty-one she must
celebrate for at least a year or so. I did my share of celebrating
and found that I don’t like to get stupid. I can still hold my own
when I’m drunk, but I can’t seem to keep myself out of trouble. If
I drink vodka, gin or rum I either get much too talkative or turn
into a blubbering baby. If I drink bourbon I get nasty and mean.
Beer and wine make me that silly, giggly girl I don’t want to be
so, I stick with the whiskey. The only problem with the whiskey is
that it makes me feel invincible and that’s what gets me into
trouble. I’ve always been the type of person to speak my mind when
it’s necessary, but give me whiskey and I speak my mind despite
necessity. Many people get offended when you tell them what you
really think of them and some of them take action.

Mom and Dad live on an eighty-acre estate and
I’m lucky enough to have their love and support in whatever I
choose to do. I live in the guesthouse rent-free. It has it’s own
private drive for my puke green 1967 Mustang. I love that car. I
bought it with my own money a few years ago and have been able to
hang onto it and keep it in pretty good shape.

I was doing all right with a career in
computers but compared to my younger years, there just wasn’t any
excitement. For a few years now I had not been enrolled in any of
Mom or Dad’s educational experiences, no sky diving lessons, and
too much time on my hands. I decided today would be a good day to
look for a different job. Hopefully I could find some
adventure.

I picked up my phone, called in to my job and
quit. I knew it was irresponsible, but it felt so good. If I
couldn’t find a new job I would go to Mommy and Daddy and ask for
some money to set up some private classes for something more
interesting. I could always learn to fly a plane or helicopter.

I walked the mile or so to the local
convenience store and got a paper. On the same block was a really
nice coffee shop called Express Espresso. I went there often to
read. Reading is a habit of mine, not a hobby but a habit. It seems
I just can’t get enough. I will read anything.

I got myself an espresso with cream and
sugar. I like the kick but black espressos are a little too strong
for my tastes. Every once in a while I feel like being rough and
tough and drink a straight espresso, but mostly I chose coffee with
French vanilla creamer. Today, I felt kind of tough, but not quite
‘Ramboish’.

There was an empty table in the back of the
store. I sat with my back to the wall so I could see what was going
on around me and see who came in the door. This also was a habit of
mine. I was taught well by my private drill instructor. Not that I
really needed that training with being a data processor and on the
computer everyday. It was just ingrained in me from my several
years of having Chief Slade screaming at me and also because I
practiced being a spy often.

Dad had hired Chief Slade to teach me
self-defense as well as covert ops. Dad liked the idea that someday
I could be a spy if I wanted to. Heck I still don’t know exactly
what my dad does. All I know is that he works for the government
and makes damn good money. Maybe
he’s
a spy. Probably he is
a spy except he doesn’t go out of the country very often.

I opened the paper and took a sip of the
weenie espresso. Data processor, I could do that job, but that
would be the same thing I’m doing now. Waitress, been there, done
that and DO NOT like it. Bartender at the Skylight.

The Skylight was a semi preppy bar downtown.
I went there regularly and so did the Navy men in the area. I had
some friends there, actually everybody knew me. That’s where I’d
received my waitress experience. I had also waited tables at a
ritzy restaurant but nothing compares to being a bar wench.

I actually liked the job when I was
twenty-one to twenty-three. It was great money for just working
weekends, but it was the same thing every weekend. About the only
time something different happened was when
I
started a
fight.

Fighting isn’t my nature, but being fondled
by drunken men is not appealing to me either. The guys would get
plenty of warnings before I decked them. That caused me a bit of
trouble with some of the women too. It seems some of them didn’t
like their boyfriends being taken down by a girl. I would have to
explain to them they should be mad at the man for not keeping his
hands to himself. The first time I tried to explain the situation
to a girlfriend she would hear none of it. I felt bad for her, but
I had to defend myself. That kind of thing hardly ever happens now
though. I decided to keep looking for another job. Going back to
the Skylight was not an option.

The next few ads below the ‘Bartender at the
Skylight’ were restaurant and bar related so I skipped them and the
next ad was listed in bold ink:

Person wanted with specialized training.

Exciting and highly paid position.

Inquire at 1324 Plaza Dr. Suite 73

Monday through Saturday

What was this? It sounded interesting. Now,
I’m pretty cocky and arrogant, in case you haven’t figured that out
by now, so I thought I would try it out. Just to see what the heck
it was all about. It was probably a listing for a cruise ship
attendant. That could be a fun job.

I sat skimming the paper and sipping my
espresso for another twenty minutes. I watched people come in,
order their coffee and either leave or sit to enjoy the few minutes
of leisure time they afforded themselves.

I would usually walk away with some great
gossip, but then I would feel so guilty about eavesdropping that I
couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I usually knew a lot about
the people in the neighborhood just because I went to the coffee
shop and sat for a while each weekend and sometimes in the evening
during the week.

The gossip was different depending on the
time of day. In the morning you would hear about what the wives had
been doing in the area. Noontime was a combination of housewife
banter and working stiffs talking about the job, bosses and
co-workers. The evening was a lot of teenage type of gossip, which
was by far the juiciest and not always about teenagers. That’s
where I got most of my information about the people in my
neighborhood.

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