He stepped outside of Roscoe’s into the warm night and inhaled. He glanced left and right, looking for the blonde. The blonde who was nothing like Faith.
He walked down the wooden porch steps leading to the bar and caught sight of her. She stood in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of a truck, her elbows propped behind her so that her chest was thrust out.
He moved toward her, burying one hand in his back jeans pocket. “Hey,” he greeted.
“Hi there, sexy. Thought you changed your mind about joining me.”
She wasn’t as young as he first thought in the dim confines of the bar. She was at least his age. Maybe older. Out here with Roscoe’s perimeter lights and the sporadically situated parking lot lights, he could see the heavy application of makeup on her skin. It was like a layer of beige primer that failed to hide the drawn and tired flesh of her face. No amount of makeup could disguise the lines and heavy shadows that resembled bruises under her bloodshot eyes.
“C’mere,” she slurred, her hands reaching for him. She grabbed his shirt with two hands, twisting the fabric in her balled-up fists. “Wanna go back to my place?”
He opened his mouth to say yes. Yes. That’s what he wanted. That’s what going out tonight had been about. Find a willing partner. Down a few beers. Fuck like rabbits and then pass out. Sleep a dreamless sleep. The offer was here for the taking. It shouldn’t be so very difficult to find the words to accept.
He closed his hands over hers where they clutched at his shirt. “I . . .” The single syllable stretched long and then faded away.
Apparently it was difficult because staring down at her the only thing he could see was the defeat in her stare. It was a familiar sight. He’d seen it enough times in himself over the years.
He wouldn’t be one more thing, one more reason, chipping away at what remained of her soul.
She read his hesitation. “What?” she asked in her hoarse smoker’s voice. “You want to go to your place? Or we can do it right here in my car?”
He lifted her hands from his chest and dropped them away from him. “Sorry. I’m gonna call it quits for the night.”
“What?” Her face twisted with angry emotion, which only seemed to highlight the broken spirit within. “It’s not even that late yet. What did you follow me out here for if you weren’t up for it?”
“My mistake.”
She shoved off the truck and lurched past him. “Asshole.” Mindy jabbed a thumb at the building. “Plenty of guys inside there will be happy to tap my ass.” To emphasize her point, she twisted around and slapped her backside.
She walked away, her strides choppy with the frenzy of her temper, her shoes crunching over loose gravel.
“Hey,” he called. She stopped and glanced back. “You can do better than this.” He motioned to himself and Roscoe’s with one sweep of his hand.
Even as he uttered the words, he cringed inside to hear himself use his brother’s own words on someone else. And he didn’t know why he even bothered. He wasn’t anyone’s savior.
Red splotches broke out across her face. “What are you, a missionary? Fuck off.” She slammed back inside the bar.
He stood alone in the parking lot for a few moments before managing a laugh. A missionary was the last thing he was. He was not in a position to save anyone.
He couldn’t even save himself.
He moved to his bike. Straddling it, he felt especially grim. This was not the way he’d planned to spend the night. Heading home alone and it wasn’t even 10 p.m. yet. He bet his neighbor was having a better time than he was.
And that thought was the cherry on his already shit night.
The date was going well.
The encouraging thought ran through her mind on repeat. Almost like she was trying to convince herself of that fact, but it was true. Brendan Cooper was a gentleman. He never made a misstep.
She had liked him in all their previous interactions, but still, with her track record, buried deep inside, she had been braced for disappointment.
Over an appetizer of fried calamari he asked about her job. Over their entrées of lasagna and chicken parmesan, he asked about her family, voicing his respect and admiration for her father and brothers. All checks in the respect-for-family column. It was companionable and intimate and comfortable.
When he offered Faith a portion of his chicken parm, she offered him some of her lasagna.
“I’ll never say no to food.” He smiled as he handed her his small bread plate and she gave him a portion of her entrée.
He cut into her lasagna and closed his eyes as he brought it to his mouth. After he swallowed his bite, he pronounced, “Wow. Don’t tell my mother, but that puts her lasagna to shame. She’s half Italian and would take great offense.”
Faith smiled, certain those were just words. “I won’t say anything.” He surely didn’t mean that she would meet his mother. They weren’t talking that far ahead yet.
“Do you like to cook?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. I love to bake actually.”