Love & Lies

by Julie Johnson

  “That looks juicy,” Wes commented happily, taking the first bite of his chicken.

  I looked up at him and tried to glare, but couldn’t quite muster the strength. One more glance at my plate, and my facade cracked completely.

  “I have a confession,” I muttered, setting down my utensils.

  “Let me guess.” Wes grinned at me. “You don’t eat steak?”

  I blew out a huff of air. “How’d you know?”

  He snorted. “You look like you’d rather swallow your knife than you would a piece of your dinner.”

  “Can you blame me? It’s gross. There’s no way I’m putting that meat in my mouth,” I said, grimacing. When Wes chuckled softly under his breath, I thought about the unintended double meaning behind my words and felt a blush flame up to my hairline. “Don’t even go there,” I ordered.

  “It was too easy, anyway.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Just red meat, or all meat?” he asked.

  “I eat chicken and fish.”

  Wes stood, picked up his dinner, and, before I could protest, swapped his plate for mine.

  “Wes, no,” I started. “This is your dinn—”

  “Red.” His voice was firm as he sat back down. “No more arguing tonight.”

  I swallowed the rest of my words. The chicken before me looked delicious — vastly preferable to the poor baby cow Wes was now consuming with vigor. I cut into it and tried not to moan when the first bite hit my tongue. In all the steak drama, I hadn’t realized just how ravenous I was. After a long shift on my bike, I had a tendency to eat like a truck driver.

  We ate in silence for several minutes. I was headed toward a full-on food coma when a subdued laugh from the other side of the table made me look up.

  Wes wasn’t eating — he was staring at me with a small grin on his lips.

  In as ladylike a manner as I could manage, I swallowed the huge mouthful I was currently chewing. “What?”

  “You like to eat.” The approval in his voice was unmissable.

  I shrugged. “Food is awesome.”

  “Yeah, well, most girls who don’t eat red meat are also vegan-vegetarian-gluten-free-you-name-it.”

  “True enough,” I agreed. “You tell people in California that you eat gluten, they look at you like you said you enjoy barbecuing puppies on the weekends or slicing kittens into your sashimi rolls. Sheer horror.”

  Wes laughed and I cracked a smile at the sound.

  “You really are weird, you know,” he told me unnecessarily, his voice soft and his eyes warm.

  “I know,” I said, stuffing another hunk of chicken into my mouth. “But you like me anyway.”

  He grinned and picked up his fork.

  Chapter 18

  Weston

  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.

  Chapter 19

  Faith

  CAST AWAY

  * * *

  I closed the door behind me, leaned my bike against the living room wall, and collapsed onto the sofa with a deep, dreamy sigh. I’d been seated about five seconds when the door to Margot’s bedroom flew open and she was there next to me, launching herself onto the couch with an expectant look on her face.

  “Tell me everything,” she demanded.

  I giggled.

  “I’m serious! Tell me. I want details. How was it?”

  I looked up at the slow-paddling ceiling fan as a huge grin split my face in two. “Amazing.”

  Margot squealed and threw her arms around me. “Yay! Ohmigod, I’m so relieved you had a good time. Then again, how could you not with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Ridiculously Handsome at your side? He is delectable. Seriously. When I met him for coffee, it was hard to keep my eyes off him — and there was a chocolate croissant on my plate. Fierce competition.”

  “How did he even know we were roommates?”

  “He was standing on the sidewalk outside our apartment the other day, probably waiting for you to come home. He must’ve recognized me from the speed-dating night,” Margot explained, her eyelashes fluttering. “Or, maybe from the fact that when I saw him my jaw dropped, I stopped in my tracks, and screamed Ohmigod, Wes! It’s you!’”

  I snorted. “Oh, great. Very subtle, Margot.”

  “So, where did he take you?”

  “Elvarázsolt.”

  “Ohmigod! That place is like impossible to get reservations at. And it’s ridiculously pricey.” Margot’s eyes were wide with appreciation. “That man is not fucking around. He must really want to bang you.”

  “Margot!”

  She giggled. “Oh, fine. He must really like you. Totally platonically, I’m sure. Like a doting older brother or a completely non-creepy uncle. That’s why he chose that dress.” She eyed my neck and hemlines.

  I blushed for the millionth time tonight.

  “Did he kiss you?”

  “On the forehead, like a good brother.” I smirked.

  Margot sighed. “Damn. Well, when are you seeing him again?”

  “Tomorrow night. He’s picking me up at seven.”

  “What?!” she exclaimed. “But that gives us basically no time to prepare!”

  I stared at her quizzically. “Prepare for what?”

  “The fact that you’re even asking me that question is exactly the reason we need more than—” She glanced at the clock. “Twenty-one hours to prepare you.”

  “I have work and class all day tomorrow,” I pointed out.

  Margot threw her hands in the air, disgusted. “Well, that’s just perfect!”

  Against my will, a flurry of incredulous giggles escaped.

  “I’m happy one of us is taking your dating life seriously,” she muttered.

  “You do realize how backwards the logic behind that statement is, right?”

  She glared at me. “Until I find a boyfriend, I will be living vicariously through you. Channeling my sexually-frustrated powers for good, so to speak. Deal with it.”

  I sighed deeply and tried to ready myself for whatever Margot had up her sleeve. No doubt she was about to spend the next twenty-odd hours imparting all manner of dating tips and tricks on me, while also coordinating the perfect outfit and coaching me on the dos and don’ts of starting a new relationship. As though I’d never been on a first — well, technically, second — date before.

  I closed my eyes and resigned myself to the fact that there was no possible way I’d get my history homework done before bed tonight. Hell, I might not even make it to class tomorrow, if Margot was feeling determined. In a match between Professor Varga and my tenacious roommate, there was no doubt about who’d win. Where Margot was concerned, I knew all too well that any resistance was futile.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you brought flashcards to dinner.”

  “I was worried you might bore me to death,” I teased, trying to cover my deep mortification. I was going to kill Margot. She’d been the one with the genius suggestion that I bring discussion points with me on my date. In fact, it hadn’t been so much a suggestion as a demand, considering I’d had zero choice in the matter. After I’d refused to bring them along, she’d evidently thought it was a great idea to shove them in my purse when I wasn’t looking. I didn’t even notice them — at least, not until they came spilling out during dinner, when I clumsily knocked my clutch off the side of the table. Of course, Wes had seen them and immediately demanded an explanation.

  He arched one dark eyebrow.

  I took a sip of my wine. “Oh, relax. They’re only conversation starters. It’s supposed to be a fun, get-to-know-you thing. Or, you know…” I shrugged casually. “A fail-safe if things get dull and we run out of things to talk about.”

  “You really doubted my ability to make basic conversation for the course of a single meal?”

  I pressed my lips together to keep in a giggle. “Do you want the honest answer or the fake, we’re-on-a-first-date-so-I’ll-compliment-you-even-if-you-have-lettuce-in-your-teeth answer?”

  Wes stared at me with an indecipherable look on his face. “You are so weird.”

  “Yes, we’ve covered this.” I heaved another sigh. “And?”

  His crooked smile appeared. “Just give me the cards.”

  “No! You can’t have the cards. You made fun of the cards.”

  Deftly, in a move so fast I could barely track it, he reached across the table and plucked the stack from my grip.

  “I don’t like you,” I muttered.

  “Yes, we’ve covered this,” he mocked. “And?”

  I shook my head in vexation.

  He’d picked me up an hour ago. I’d been sitting in my bedroom, listening to Margot’s endless dating advice, when the loud, unmistakable rumbling of a motorcycle pulled up outside our apartment. We’d both raced to the window and jockeyed for the best view. I think our
mouths had dropped open in unison as we’d watched Wes, clad in a dark gray, distressed leather jacket, dismount from the bike and saunter up to the front door like he owned the place.

  “So hot,” Margot had breathed.

  I’d gulped, unable to form words.

  That sensation of being totally in over my head had only increased as the evening waned on. I’d felt my mind short circuit as we rode Wes’ motorcycle through the city, my arms wrapped tight around his torso. My thoughts had scattered entirely when we’d pulled up at a tiny outdoor café on the banks of the Danube, with a view so spectacular it seemed the stuff of romantic legends. My brain had melted into a puddle of worthless goo when Wes had pulled out my seat like a true gentleman, ordered a bottle of crisp white wine, and turned those dark chocolate eyes on me, where they’d remained riveted ever since.

  Let’s just say, by the time the salad course arrived, I was more than thankful for Margot’s once-ridiculed flash cards, as I wasn’t entirely confident I could string original thoughts together.

  In a voice choked with barely-contained laughter, Wes read off the first card. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where it be?” He flipped to the next card. “If you could be any animal for a day, which one would you choose?” He tried to read a third, but he was laughing too hard.

  Jutting out my bottom lip in a pout, I muttered under my breath. “I never said they were good conversation starters.”

  “Did you make these up?” he asked disbelievingly, scanning through the stack with wide, amused eyes.

  “Margotprintedthemofftheinternetforme,” I mumbled quickly, averting my eyes.

  He snorted so hard wine came out his nose.

  “Nice,” I commented, handing him a cloth napkin. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, you know that?”

  “Shh, I’m starting for real now. Question number one.” He cleared his throat and adopted a faux-serious tone. “If you were trapped on a desert island with no hope of rescue, what single item would you bring?”