Building Faith (Long Beach Series Book 2) (12 page)

I am completely aware of Faith as I drive us to the local PetMart. She's like a little ray of sunshine beside me, and she looks happy.  The excitement in her blue eyes hasn't faded since she'd first laid eyes on the orange ball of fur I'd surprised her with. I'm still debating whether or not it was a good move to surprise her with the kitten. On one hand, I knew she'd be ecstatic, and I want to be the one to give her all her firsts. Well, most of them anyway, as I think of number four on her bucket list. The fact she wants to explore sex teases me on a daily basis.

I deliberately focus my attention back to the damn kitten that's probably shredding Faith's shower curtain right this second. Sure, she had looked cute and cuddly when I'd picked her up, but fuck, she’d turned into an orange fluff from hell the second Faith had put her down. It's just now sinking in that I'm going to have to deal with that orange tornado every time I go over to Faith's.

“What's wrong?”

I'm jerked out of my thoughts by Faith's question, and I glance at her. “Why do you think anything is wrong?”

Her eyes search my face. “You were frowning.”

I turn my attention back to the road and slow the Hummer down at a set of stoplights. “I was just thinking that your shower curtain is probably getting shredded. It might be a good idea to get a crate or something, so you can lock her up when you're working.”

“I can't do that!” Faith sounds utterly horrified.

I glance at her, and sure enough, her expression matches her tone. “Why not?”

“I refuse to put an animal in a cage for hours on end,” she says firmly, her blue eyes flashing with a stubbornness that has begun to show itself more and more these days. “I'll lock her in the bathroom and take down the shower curtain if I have to until she's declawed.”

“She might shred the bathroom cupboards,” I point out.

“So I'll get a thingamajig that she can use her claws on. I have no idea what they're called, but I bet the pet store will have them.”

I nod, fighting back a smile. “Okay. We'll add a thingamajig to our list of things to buy at the store.”

“Haven't you ever had a pet before?” she asks curiously.

“Nope. The closest I ever got to an animal was the horse I used to ride when I played Polo,” I tell her as I turn into the PetMart and find a parking space.

“Polo? Is that where they ride the horses and swing at a ball on the ground?”

“Yes.”

“And you played it?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I say as I cut the engine and glance at her. Her eyes are focused intently on me as if everything that comes out of my mouth fascinates her. I've never had anyone look at me like that before. She's unlike any woman I've ever met. I don't ever want her to stop looking at me like the way she is right now.

Her delicate eyebrows draw together. “You didn't like it?”

“Hell, no. Hated the sport.”

“Then why play it?”

“Didn't have a choice in the matter,” I mutter before I turn and open my car door, ending the conversation. I feel a bit like an ass, but Faith has no idea how much I like to avoid talking about my family or past. It's not like I hate my parents or anything, but I'm certainly not close to them. I walk around to her side of the vehicle and open the door for her.

Before I can help her down, she literally hops down, practically bouncing in her sandals. Her eyes are once again lit up with an inner light that I envy. “I can't wait to buy Daisy some toys. I wish I had a camera so I could capture all her firsts,” she says a bit regretfully before she grabs my hand and begins to tug me towards the store.

Just like that, the awkwardness of our earlier conversation ceases to exist. Faith is one in a million, and I decide then and there that no matter what happens in the coming months, I'm not letting her slip out of my life.

I'm not a pushover by any means, but I let her tug me into the store, and I fight back a grin as she yanks me down one aisle and then another in search of the perfect set of toys for Daisy. As I scan the toys with her, I can't help but wonder what she's like when she's got a boyfriend. She has so much positive energy, I bet she puts all she's got into a relationship.

My thoughts turn dark as I think of her ex. She hasn't spoken much about him, and I'm hoping one of these days we can delve more into her past. I want to know what that fucker did to her. It'll torture me to know, but I want to know everything about Faith—the good and the bad. Everything that's happened to her has made her the woman that stands before me today. She's not that scared, uncertain little shell of a woman I'd met that first night at the bar. Faith is now stronger, and she's embracing who she's becoming. I enjoy watching her grow, knowing I played a part in it. A small part, but a part nonetheless. She would have grown into who she’s becoming on her own, regardless of whether she'd come here to Long Beach or not. It just might have taken a bit longer.

Faith tugs on my hand—the one she's been holding for the past ten minutes. I'm betting she's not even fully aware of it. “You're frowning again,” she tells me.

I look down at her and give her a wry look. “Sorry. Zoned out for a second.”

Her eyes search mine. “Is something bothering you tonight?”

“No, not at all. Hey, there's the scratching posts,” I point at the end of the aisle. That effectively distracts her, but unfortunately, she lets go of my hand to go check them out.

I sigh inwardly and know I'm getting in over my head where she's concerned. Everything I feel when I'm around her is brand new to me. I'm still trying to figure out how to ignore my attraction to her so that I can be a good friend. It's hard to do when I dream of her at night. Hot dreams that involve sweaty skin, moans, and lots of dirty sex.

“Ace?”

There I go again, lost in thought like a fucking twelve-year-old. I amble over to where she's holding a box that contains a scratching post. “What are you up to tomorrow?”

She shrugs. “I don't know. I have the day off.” She holds up the box. “This one or that one?” she asks, nodding to another box still on the shelf.

I don't bother looking at the box on the shelf; I could care less what she buys. “The one you're holding. Want to hit the beach for the day?”

“Sure,” she says, her expression brightening. I watch as her smile suddenly drops slightly. “I don't have a swimsuit.”

“Not a single one?” I ask incredulously.

She shakes her head sheepishly. “I can't remember the last time I went swimming.”

“Let's go get you one after we're done here,” I suggest.

“Really? That's what you want to do?” she asks a bit doubtfully.

“Unless you'd rather go skinny dipping tomorrow instead,” I tease.

This has her rolling her eyes when a few weeks back she would have been blushing. “Of course, that would be your suggestion. Typical male,” she mutters as she turns and scans the boxes on the shelf. “Okay, this is it. Let's go grab some of those toys I saw down the last aisle, then we'll go find me a swimsuit.”

We check out, and before Faith can pay, I hand the cashier my credit card. I ignore her protests and even smirk at her as she smacks my arm with frustration. One thing is for sure, Faith is definitely not after my money. Some women get a glimpse of my Hummer and think I'm loaded, which draws more of their interest than what I like. Fact is, I am loaded, but it's not something I like to flaunt. The Hummer is one of the few things I've splurged on since I turned eighteen. I come from a rich family, but I want to make it on my own. I don't want shit handed to me because of my last name. I don't want to live the kind of life my parents have. I want my own.

Faith grumbles under her breath about me paying for Daisy's things as I carry the bags to the Hummer. I glance at her and grin. She's adorable when she's upset with me.

She catches sight of my grin and her eyes narrow. “It's not funny. You need to let me pay for things, Ace. I do have a job, you know.”

I toss her shit in the back and then open the passenger door for her. “I know.”

She sighs and climbs in.

Fifteen minutes later, we're in a store that sells nothing but swimwear. I'm not big on shopping, but Faith is always entertaining, so I'm guaranteed not to be bored. I trail behind her and watch as she pulls out bikinis here or there from racks, then puts them back as she bites her lip.

I'm trying to figure out what her problem is. Nothing in the shop seems to please her, but I'm noting a ton of shit I'd do just about anything to see her in. She seems uncertain, and I'm sure it has nothing to do with the scars on her back now that she's covered them with tattoos. So why is she looking so uncomfortable?

She picks up a one-piece swimsuit that has a ruffle across the top, and she seems to be considering it.
Hell no.
I walk up and grab it out of her hand before I know I'm doing it. I put it back on the rack and look down at her. “Absolutely not.”

She looks taken aback by my sudden opinion when I've silently watched her up until this point. “Why not?”

“How old are you?”

“You know how old I am.”

I nod to the swimsuit I'd unceremoniously shoved back on the rack. “That screams thirties. It's too old for you.”

Her eyes turn troubled. “But it covers my...” Her lips clamp shut, and she looks away.

I am completely clueless as to how the female mind works. Since she's not comfortable admitting whatever the problem is, I grab the swimsuit and hold it up, studying it. It's backless, so she's not worrying over her back. The bottom is a regular high-cut bikini. If she were concerned about her ass, she'd be looking at shorts or those ugly suits with attached skirts. My eyes lift to the ruffle across the top that would effectively hide her tits.

Now I get it.

I open my mouth to say something but find myself hesitating as I study her. Her back is to me, and she's looking through another rack—probably hoping I'll forget about her little slip-up. I want to tell her how much I like her tits, and that there's nothing wrong with them being small. But is that something a strictly platonic male friend would say? I'm afraid if I start praising her body parts, she might think I'm hitting on her or something.

Bloody hell.

I've never been just a friend to someone like Faith before. If it were Zoey getting all worked up over her tits, I'd be making crude comments about what could be done with those full C's of hers. But Faith isn't Zoey.

Thank God.

I try to figure out how to handle the situation. If I don't step in, Faith is going to be buying an ugly one-piece that will do nothing for her delectable body. It makes me wonder what she sees when she looks at herself in the mirror. Does she see what I see? Or... It suddenly sinks in why she's doubting her body. Motherfucker. If the bastard wasn't rotting in prison, I'd seriously consider taking a road trip to Harrison to pay her ex a visit.

It takes me a moment to reign in my temper. When I do, I calmly put the one-piece back and glance at Faith. She's still going through racks, and I see two one-piece swimsuits are draped over her arm. Nope. Not happening. Instead of trying to coax her away from the one-pieces, I begin to do some browsing of my own. She's pretty small, so I'm guessing smalls for bottoms, XS if they have them. I look for bikinis that are in Faith's size range with a thirty-two cup. She's not going to want something that makes her look flat, so I look for the ones with padding.

“What are you doing?”

I have about six small bikinis in my hand, and I'm looking at a seventh when Faith's voice speaks up from my side. I glance at her with a lazy smile. “I thought I'd help,” I say, motioning to the bikinis I'm holding.

She looks at them doubtfully. “For me?”

“Do these look like they're my size?” I joke dryly.

That causes her to laugh softly. “Would you be willing to try them on to find out?”

“Not likely. Here.” I hold them out to her.

She doesn't reach out to take them. Instead, she looks down at the swimsuits she already has. “I already picked some out.”

“It doesn't hurt to try on these, too. You never know, you might just like them,” I coax. I watch as she bites her lip, and I know her well enough to know what she's thinking in this moment. She doesn't want to hurt my feelings by making me put the bikinis back.

“Okay,” she murmurs as she reaches for them. She adds them to her pile, and I see her touch the padded cup of the one on top with her free hand. Her head tilts slightly, and she shrugs, clearly deciding they are worth trying on after all.

We make our way to the dressing rooms and since the clerk isn't around, I follow her inside the main hallway.

She looks over her shoulder at me with surprise. “You're coming in?”

“Not in the room, but I'll sit right here by the three-way mirror. I'll help you decide what looks best.”

Those blue eyes widen. “You want to
see
me in them?”

“Wouldn't I be seeing you in one of them tomorrow anyway?”

“Oh. Okay.” She turns and disappears into a dressing room, firmly shutting the door.