Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Faith.”
I jolt at Nick’s voice, looking up to find him standing in the doorway.
“You scared the heck out of me, Nick,” I say, my hand at my chest, while his chest is hugged by a snug black T-shirt he’s paired with black jeans and biker-style boots, the many sides of this man dauntingly sexy.
He starts laughing in reaction, his jaw sporting a heavy stubble, while his hair is loose and damp, because apparently he took a shower and I didn’t know.
“It’s not funny,” I scold.
“No,” he says, crossing the room to sit on the footstool in front of me. “It’s not funny, but I hate to tell you, Faith, as beautiful as you are, right now you look like the girl from—”
“The Grudge,” I supply, remembering my makeup. “I noticed that, but I thought… I noticed.”
He narrows those too blue, too intelligent eyes on me. “You thought I was gone?”
I could deny the truth, but he already knows, and games are better when naked or trying to get naked. “Yes,” I say. “I did.”
His eyes fill with mischief. “And miss a chance to see how you look this morning?”
I scowl, and he leans in to kiss me before saying, “Minty fresh. I find it interesting that you brushed your teeth and left your mascara like that.”
“Maybe I wanted to scare you away,” I say. “And fair warning. I’m cranky without coffee.”
“We can fix that in about two minutes.” His gaze goes to the drawing. “What’s this?”
It’s a testament to how this man distracts and consumes me that I’ve forgotten what I’m holding in my hand. “The past,” I say, and when I would fold it, Nick catches my hand.
“Was this your work as a child?”
“Yes,” I say. “It was.”
“You saw things in color then. When did that change?”
That day, I think, but instead I focus on the next time I created anything. “Sixteen.”
“What made you change?”
“Life,” I say, and because I have no intent of explaining, I add, “I really need that coffee. Actually, I really need a shower.”
He studies me several beats, then releases my hand. “I’ll be armed with coffee in the kitchen.” I shut the journal, and Nick glances at it. “You’re a journal writer?”
“No,” I say. “I paint. I don’t write. It’s actually my father’s.”
He tilts his head. “Did you read it?”
The question cuts right along with the answer. “Every page many times over, and I understand him less now than I ever thought possible.” I stand and shove it back on the shelf, thinking of the words inside with biting clarity. “He loved her so damn unconditionally.” I look at Nick, who remains on the stool. “And affection to me is, as you said, with tears. It has to be earned.”
“As it should be,” he says, and this leaves me curious about him, but I tell myself it’s time to just stay curious about Nick. To stop talking.
I walk toward the door, but that curiosity wins. I pause before exiting. “Has anyone earned that from you, Nick?” I ask, turning to find him standing by the stool now, facing me.
“There were a few swipes I tried to turn into something right, but they were always wrong.”
“Why?”
“The only answer I have is that I don’t believe in happily ever after,” he says. “That doesn’t sit well with most women.”
And just like that, he validates an acceptable reason for me to continue to bypass my hard limit of one night. “Since I don’t, either,” I say, “we really are the perfect distraction for each other, now aren’t we? It’s really kind of liberating. I don’t have to worry about you falling in love with me, and you don’t have to worry about me falling in love with you.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I exit the library.
Chapter Nineteen
Faith
No love.
No happily ever after.
In these things, Nick and I are kindred souls, but that begs the question: can one soul know another before the two people realize that to be true?
This is what is on my mind as I shower, then dress in faded jeans and a T-shirt, concluding that with Nick and me this must be the case. It’s the only explanation for the right and the wrong of us together. We aren’t so much about dark lust as I’d started out thinking, as we’re damage attracting damage. He’s damaged. I’m damaged. We see each other. We know each other. The understanding between us exists beyond the short time we’ve known each other. But do damaged people cut each other deeper? Or do they heal each other when no one else can? I don’t know this answer, but I do know that in a short time, Nick has changed me. Or maybe just opened my eyes.
As if it’s not enough to feel this, I am staring at the logo on my T-shirt that reads: Los Angeles Art Museum. My ex-employer, where by day I embraced art, and then by night I went home and embraced it again with a brush in my hand. I’ve let the past invade the present. No. I’ve let me be me. I’d say that is a good thing, but it exposes things I can’t afford to expose. I think it’s bad, like Nick—but, also like Nick, it feels good. But bad is bad. Why can’t I remember that with this man?