3
Faith
Ican’t believe he’s here. In our living room, on our couch. His large frame makes the space feel smaller. His body is so muscular, it should have the couch crumbling beneath his weight. I wonder what it would be like to feel that weight against me.
My cheeks heat at the thought, and I force myself to think about something else… anything else.
I could pinch myself. His top lip curls slightly in disgust when he looks at my mother. I can’t believe he sees right through her. No one ever believes me, or maybe no one cared enough to.
Vincent is different in every way. I’ve never met anyone like him, and I don’t think I ever will. He seems so in control of his every move like his body and mind are well trained, but every time he looks at my mom, I can see his disgust. The more I watch him, I realize that he must really dislike her to show so much disdain on his face.
The question is, why did he come over then? Surely, not because of me.
Just thinking about that possibility makes me fall so much harder for him. It makes me believe I might even have a chance.
Up close, he is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. There is just a slight amount of stubble on his face, just enough to shade his cheeks and jaw. His hair is slightly messy but in an artful way. I’ve never known anyone like him before. It still feels insane that he is inside my house right now, that he touched my face, complimented my baking. I keep pinching myself in the same spot on my palm until I realize it’s gone numb.
“So, Vincent,” Mom says, still using the saccharine tone that sends shivers down my spine. “How do you afford that Porsche out front?”
“Mom!” I protest. “That’s so rude.” But so typical of her. All she cares about are nice cars, flashy watches, and rich guys who treat her like shit.
“I’m making conversation,” she snaps. Her megawatt smile turns to bared teeth in a flash, but her mask is back on once she faces Vincent.
“It’s no mind,” he says gently, raising a hand to me. He gives me a lopsided grin, and my stomach does a somersault. “My family and I own a chain of dry cleaners, and I manage the eastern branches.”
“Which cleaners?” I ask.
He seemed too sophisticated to just manage dry cleaners. His gray sweater is lush and tailored perfectly, and he wears jeans that hug his legs, showing off his body. I guess it tracked, but who knew dry cleaners were so lucrative? Something doesn’t add up.
“Fontanas,” he replies, a slight Italian accent creeping into his voice.
Fontanas? That name seems familiar, but I can’t think of where I know it from. I can’t really think of much when Vincent is distracting me with his talking.
His voice is supple, smooth, like worn leather. I want to talk with him all night. I want to fall asleep listening to his voice.
“How is school, Faith?” he asks. My name catapults me back to reality.
His stare is intense as if he wants to devour me. I don’t know why, but it makes me feel really warm inside. I probably should be scared of it, but instead, I simply feel wanted.
“It’s going well. Next semester I’m taking a life drawing class.”
His eyes light up for a moment. “Drawing. Are you very artistic?”
“I used to draw a bit in high school,” my mom interjects. Leaning forward, she puts a hand on Vincent’s knee to bring his attention back to her.
She shoots me a glare, and I know what it means, go away. Mommy’s getting laid.
I purposely ignore her stare. She made me bake cookies; I’m at least spending a few minutes talking to the object of my stupid hormone-fueled crush.
“I am asking Faith,” Vincent says pointedly, removing my mom’s hand from his leg.
Is it wrong that I feel a jolt of happiness in seeing him do that?
“Well, yeah, I think so,” I say in a quiet tone. I love to draw, but I don’t usually show anyone, not that there is anyone to show my stuff to anyway. “I’ve been drawing on my own for a while, and I’m excited to get better at it.”
“I’m sure you’re already wonderful. What else are you studying?” He sounds genuinely interested. It’s as if he actually wants to get to know me more.
He’s leaning toward me and hasn’t taken his eyes off of mine. I’m not even sure he’s blinked. The guy’s more intense than I expected, but it doesn’t scare me. In fact, it only piques my interest. It makes me want to run away with him.