SOMETHING BETTER
I wheeled her bike down the promenade, listening as she described her family in colorful detail. Her parents sounded like a trip and her siblings seemed a little selfish when it came to their youngest sister, but I could tell that Faith missed them all. Loved them deeply.
At one point in my life, hearing the love evident in her voice might’ve made me jealous. Since I was ten years old, my family had consisted of me. Just me. I had no funny stories to share about embarrassing relatives, no memories of family vacations to reminisce over. And I never would.
It didn’t make me sad anymore. It just made me emptier.
Being reminded of the fact that I was — and always would be — alone made it easier to scrape out whatever remnants of Weston Abbott remained in the husk of a man I walked around as. Totally empty, it took almost no effort to replace him with someone new. Someone like Wesley Adams — an easygoing man full of charm and good humor. The kind of guy a girl like Faith might easily fall in love with.
I found myself envious of a man who didn’t exist.
Pathetic.
But I couldn’t bring myself to be jealous of Faith, even as I listened to tales of her family. Envying her was like holding the sun accountable for the light it shone on everyone around it — a pointless endeavor. I couldn’t resent her for brightening my life, couldn’t hate her for banishing shadows I’d carried since I was a child.
“What about you?” she asked suddenly. “I’m sorry, I’ve been spewing my whole life story, and I haven’t even let you get a word in.”
I shrugged. “Not much to tell. I don’t have any siblings.” I cleared my throat and stared straight ahead. “My parents are dead.”
It wasn’t necessarily a lie — I had no idea whether they were still alive. Considering the way they’d lived their lives fifteen years ago, it wouldn’t be shocking if they’d wound up overdosed and glassy-eyed in a gutter somewhere.
I could’ve tracked them down, of course — my line of work ensured I could find practically anyone, if I wanted to.
I didn’t want to.
“I’m sorry,” Faith whispered, slipping her arm through mine with a comforting squeeze.
“Don’t be.” I ignored the way the simple touch of her hand nearly brought me to my knees. “It was a long time ago.”
We fell silent, the only sound that of the bike wheels slowly spinning against the ancient stone sidewalk. When we passed the statue of The Little Princess, I couldn’t help remembering the day I’d watched Faith sitting along the riverbank, sketching for hours. It had been one of the first times I’d seen her. She’d captivated me even then, when I’d doubted her inner allure could ever match such an exterior.
She’d been beautiful, that day.
Tonight, though… she was breathtaking.
The dress was part of it. That body, that hair, that smile — there weren’t enough cold showers in the world to wash off their effect on me. If I looked at her for longer than ten consecutive seconds, walking became a bit of an issue and I was forced to recite the Gettysburg Address over and over in my head until thoughts of what she’d look like with that dress pooled around her ankles had been banished to the back of my mind. Hard-ons notwithstanding, the thing that hit me heaviest, the part that really knocked the breath from my lungs, was the fact that I’d been wrong that day on the riverbank.
Inside, Faith Morrissey was just as gorgeous as she was outside.
She didn’t push me to talk about my family. She switched gears to lighter subjects, discussing her history course load and peppering me with questions about the medical research I was supposedly doing for work here. My answers were well-rehearsed — just enough information to sound credible, but boring enough to dissuade her from digging too deep.
By the time we reached her apartment, Faith was yawning.
“Tired, Red?”
She nodded sleepily. “My shift was long.”
“Lots of deliveries?”
“Yeah, around fifty. My legs are killing me. And I have another shift tomorrow morning, followed by several hours of Professor Varga’s lectures.”
“What about tomorrow night?”
She glanced up sharply, a slight smirk twisting her lips. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” I shrugged, shoving my free hand into the pocket of my pants. “Just wondering what your plans are.”
“Are you trying to ask me out on another date?”
“Absolutely not.” I shook my head in swift denial.
“Oh, right,” she murmured, grinning wryly at me. “Because you don’t ask girls on dates — you just ambush them with surprise dresses and magical evenings at five-star restaurants.”
“Essentially.”
“Well, then, if you won’t man up, I’ll just have to be the one wearing the pants in this relationship,” she said decidedly.
I raised my eyebrows, amused.
“Wes Adams, will you go out on a date with me tomorrow night?” Her tone was flippant, but her eyes revealed deep underlying insecurity that I might reject her. I wanted to erase that look more than I’d ever wanted anything in this life.
“Well, Faith Morrissey, that depends.”
“On?”
“On whether you’re going to steal my dinner again,” I said in a serious voice. “I mean, I’m trying to watch my girlish figure. I can’t go around eating steaks every night just because you’re too stubborn to change your order.”
Her mouth dropped open in indignation. “I did not steal your dinner! You forced it on me!”
“Red.”
“The idea that I would steal your dinner is just, well…”
“Red.”
“It’s just wrong, Wes! It’s wro—”
“Faith.” I stepped forward into her space and watched as the words died on her tongue.
“Yes?” she squeaked, her face mere inches from mine. Her gaze darted from my eyes to my mouth and back again.
I cracked an involuntary grin. She was so fucking cute. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said simply. “Seven o’clock.”
“Okay,” she breathed.
Before she could move, I leaned in and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. She seemed to melt a little at the contact, her hands dropping limply to her sides and the tension uncoiling from her shoulders. I transferred the bike into her pliant hands, slid the messenger bag off my shoulder, and looped it over the nearest handlebar.
“Goodnight, Red.”
“Goodnight,” she whispered, blushing furiously as she watched me walk away. I got about ten steps from her stoop before her voice called out again. “Hey, Wes!”
I couldn’t help but smile as I turned back to face her. “What is it, Red?”
She smiled too, and her whole face lit up. “Thanks for dinner. It was the best surprise I’ve ever had.”
Tossing a wink in her direction, I turned and disappeared into the night, determined not to think about her eyes or her mouth or any other distracting parts of her anatomy. I walked away and resolutely ignored the way her words, her smile, her laugh, her very presence seemed to fill those empty parts of me with something pure.
Something better.