Building Faith (Long Beach Series Book 2) (4 page)

What is that awful smell?
My nose wrinkles as I shut off my alarm clock the following morning and get a whiff of something that smells a lot like paint fumes. I peer blearily at my alarm clock and see that it’s eight. I have to be at the café by nine to start my shift, which means I need to get moving. I toss back my sheets and inhale deeply again. It still smells.

Wait—do I hear voices coming from my living room?

I leave the bed and open my bedroom door. I pad barefoot down the hall and come to a dead stop in the doorway of my living room.

I pinch my arm to verify that I am indeed awake.

Yep. That hurt.

Zoey, Caleb, and Ace are painting my living room walls yellow. A tarp has been spread across the carpet, and they have one wall already painted. It’s not the sight of them painting that has me frozen where I stand, it’s the sight of Ace shirtless.

His back is to me until he lowers the paint roller in his hand and turns to do something, only instead he catches sight of me and freezes. I’ve never seen a man like Ace before with his shirt off. I saw Justin’s chest plenty of times, but it certainly hadn’t been as impressive as Ace’s. His shoulders are broad, and my eyes halt on the little barbell piercings that pierce each one of his nipples. My mouth goes dry as my eyes slowly drift away from his piercings and down to his well-defined abdominal muscles. He clearly works out, and his body is pure perfection. My eyes drop lower, taking in the distinct “V” at his hips. They then skitter to the slight bit of hair—I think it’s called a ‘happy trail'—that leads down into the low waistband of his jeans.

At first, I’m embarrassed by my bold perusal until I realize that Ace’s eyes are roaming over me almost hungrily. Momentarily forgetting what I’d worn to bed, I glance down at myself. Zoey had thrown out all my old stuff, so I have no choice but to wear my new clothes. I’m braless—and even though my breasts are by no means impressive, I still have them, and my nipples are straining against the thin material of the camisole tank. I quickly cross my arms over my chest as heat rushes to my face. I feel vulnerable in the skimpy tank and matching little shorts. Crap! My hair probably resembles a rat’s nest.

My eyes lift to Ace’s, and our gazes collide.

Zoey happens to turn around and spy me. “Faith! Did we wake you up?” she asks with a grin as she puts her paint brush aside.

Caleb turns around as well and smiles affectionately. “Morning, Faith.”

I give them a slow, disbelieving look before my eyes drift over the cheerful, yellow wall. “What...are you guys doing?”

“Painting,” Zoey muses as she adjusts what looks like an old shirt of Caleb’s over her busty chest. There’s a couple streaks of yellow on it, and it’s tucked into an old pair of cut-off jean shorts.

“I figured that out when I saw the wall. But
why?
”

“She twisted our arms and insisted you needed your apartment painted. If you hate it, it’s on her,” Caleb says dryly as he points his paint brush at Zoey.

Zoey shoots him a look and looks at me expectantly. “You like it, right?”

I’m speechless. First off, Ace is still standing there in his shirtless glory, and I’m having a hard time avoiding his gaze. Second, they are painting my apartment without even asking for my permission. How did they get in? Oh—wait. The spare.

Ace snickers as he sets down the roller. “I think you fucked up, Z.”

Zoey flips him off without looking at him as she keeps her gaze trained on me. “I know you’re short on money and can’t afford to really decorate the place as much as you’d like. I thought if we painted the walls it would look more appealing to you. You kept gravitating to yellow a lot when we were shopping, and I assumed it’s your favorite color. We can switch colors though, if you like,” she says easily.

I stare at her, taking in the sincerity in her eyes. She genuinely wants to do something nice for me. I feel my eyes sting slightly, and I fight back the urge to cry. I haven’t had a real friend in a long, long time. I struggle to find my voice. “No, you’re right. Yellow is my favorite. But is this allowed? Did you check to see if it’s okay?”

Zoey shrugs. “As long as we paint it white again before you move out, no one should care.”

“Okay… Thanks,” I say to all three of them. I remember I have to shower and grab breakfast. “I’d stay and help, but I have to be to work by nine. I have to shower and get ready.”

“I can drive you,” Caleb offers.

“It’s just a short walk.” I look at the painted wall again and admire the pretty color. I can’t help but grin hugely. “I love it.”

“I knew you would,” Zoey says as she turns to grab her paint brush again.

My gaze slides to Ace, who is still watching me. I’m not sure what to say, so I give him an awkward smile and turn to quickly walk back down the hall to the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door and turn on the light, I rush to the vanity mirror. Thank God my hair isn’t as bad as I thought. It’s tousled, but there aren’t any obvious snarls. I lower my eyes to my chest and cringe. My nipples are still pointing outward.

Heat sweeps through my body as I remember the way Ace’s eyes had slid over my body as if he was savoring the sight and liking what he was seeing. It dawns on me that he
had
liked what he’d seen. I always figured I wasn’t much to look at. Even Justin pointed out how my breasts were too small and my hips not shapely enough. He’d been critical of my body, and I’d grown self-conscious of it after a while.

It’s kind of nice knowing someone like Ace finds me at least a bit attractive. A smile curves my lips, and I feel good about it. But then the smile fades. I remember watching Ace walk out of the bar with the pretty brunette that had approached him when he was getting a drink earlier in the evening. I’d seen his hand sliding down to her butt as they’d left, and I’d known exactly what they were going to go do. I found myself surprised by how disappointed I’d been before I’d forced myself to brush it off.

I peer at myself in the mirror and push aside those bothersome thoughts as my lips bloom into a smile again. I'm beginning to think that Justin's opinion about how I looked was just that, his own opinion. He'd made me feel like all men would see me in the way that he did. Apparently, he was wrong. Looks like there's hope for me yet. Just not with Ace, I clarify to myself.
That one is way out of my league.

I’ve been in Long Beach for a week, and I’ve come to love it. I enjoy my job, and I like the fact that everything I need is within walking distance. I’ve been out once more with Caleb and Zoey—this time to a karaoke bar where we’d met up with AJ, Nina, and Bev. I’d been disappointed that Ace never showed up, but I'd quickly shelved it and tried to enjoy the night.

Ace is hard to put out of my mind, though. I feel so drawn to him, and I’m curious about everything that makes him who he is. Of course, he’s got to be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, so it makes sense that I’d find him intriguing. However, I keep reminding myself that he’s Zoey’s friend, not mine. And seriously, as if I would have a chance with someone like him.

As for Oliver, it has been surprisingly easy to push him to the back of my mind. Staying busy has helped, and thanks to a fellow employee being sick most of the week, I’ve worked more than I’d originally been scheduled. My paycheck next week will be pretty sweet.

My thoughts come to a halt as I rush through the complex entrance before the glass door can swing shut.
Yes!
I’d been debating how to get the door open with my arms full when a couple of girls chose that moment to exit the building. After walking back from the store with three bags of groceries in my arms, I feel like I’m going to keel over. I decide I’ll take the city bus the next time I have to hit the market to restock my cupboards.

I walk as quickly as I can to the elevator, and over the rim of one of the paper bags, I see the elevator doors are just starting to slide shut. I call out a bit desperately, “Hold the elevator! Please!”

The doors immediately slide back open and large, tanned hands pluck two of my grocery bags out of my arms.

“Thank you,” I say with relief as I step in the elevator, peering over the last paper bag I hold to smile at the Good Samaritan. I don’t recognize him at first, but as I take in the familiar gray eyes and the sexy smile, I realize it’s Ace. He’d cut his hair since I last saw him. He looks…even hotter, if that’s even possible. There’s nothing to distract one’s gaze from his face, and his strikingly handsome features are now on full display.

He grins down at me. “Hey there, Angel.”

“Angel?” I echo.

His grin widens. “That’s what you remind me of.”

“An angel?” I ask doubtfully.

“Angel and faith go hand in hand. That, and you radiate innocence. I bet you don’t have a mean bone in that little body, do you?”

My lips part as I gaze at him with absolute fascination. This is the first time I’ve actually had a one on one conversation with him. “Are you always so outspoken?”

Amusement flickers across his face. “This is me holding back.”

He’s holding
back?
“What are you usually like?” I can’t help but ask curiously.

He shifts the paper bags in his arms, leans closer to me and says in my ear, “I’d make your ears burn, and I don’t think you’re ready for that.” He moves back as the elevator dings, announcing we’ve reached the second floor.

As we step into the hallway, I am aware that my body is on full alert. When he’d leaned in closer to me, I’d gotten a whiff of his cologne. He smells really, really good. He looks good, too. He’s in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that hugs his upper body. I remember that his nipples are pierced, and I wish I could see them again.

Ace escorts me to my apartment door, and I quickly use my free hand to dig my key out of my purse. Once the door is unlocked, I push it open and tuck the key back in my purse. I hold out my free hand. “I can take them from here,” I say as I motion to the bags in his arms.

“I don’t mind helping,” he says as he walks past me into my apartment.

I chew my bottom lip for a second before following him inside.

Ace sets the groceries on the counter top, his eyes roaming over the yellow walls with approval. “Z was right, yellow suits you.”

After setting down the last bag, I turn and smile. “Thanks for helping them paint. I really like it.”

His eyes drift back to me. “I’m glad.”

He makes me nervous, but in a good way. I turn and begin to pull the groceries out of the bag so that I don’t stare at him too long. “Have you eaten? You’re welcome to stay for dinner.” The words are out of my mouth before I can yank them back, and I blush at my boldness. There is just something about him that makes me want to get to know him. After a brief moment of hesitation, I glance at him to see his reaction.

His eyes flicker to the grocery bags, and they brighten as they focus back on me. “You cook?”

“Of course, I cook.”

“What’s your definition of cooking?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

He seems serious, so I answer him. “Cooking is mixing ingredients together and either cooking it in the oven or on the stove. What did you think I meant?”

“Most of us consider using the microwave as cooking,” he admits.

I shake my head and pull out a package of dry enchilada sauce mix. “I like real food. I’m making beef enchiladas. You’re more than welcome to stay and eat with me. I usually end up with leftovers since most recipes are for two or more people,” I offer quietly.

I bite my lip and avoid looking at him as I await his answer. Outside of family, he’s the first person I’ve made an effort to reach out to in any way. I don’t know why, but I feel safe with him. Caleb’s good friends with him, so he’s got to be a good guy, right? Caleb’s usually a good judge of character.

She’s biting that lush lower lip again, and I wish it was me doing the biting. I shove aside my soon-to-be R-rated thoughts and concentrate on the topic at hand. As I study her, I see that she looks uncertain but yet hopeful. I know enough about her past to know that she’s probably uneasy around men, and it’s obvious her invitation came as a surprise to even herself. If I felt like she regretted it, I’d turn her down. But I can see the curiosity in her eyes as she gazes at me. I fascinate her, which immediately has my dick stirring.

I’ve never gone after anyone that’s not experienced. I’ve never had an inkling to break a woman into the world of mindless sex. But Faith…fuck. I want to slide into her and have her in every conceivable way possible while watching her eyes widen with wonderment and pleasure. I bet her pussy’s tight as hell considering she probably hasn’t had sex in at least a year. Toss in the fact that the girl is tiny—it’s a given she’s got a pussy I’d give my left nut to pound.

Faith clears her throat awkwardly. “You probably already have plans.”

I’ve been silent too long, too caught up in my thoughts to remember she’s waiting on my answer. “I’ll stay, if you want me.” As the words leave my mouth, I grimace inwardly. I’m seriously not trying to hit on her but…

I’m finding when I’m around Faith, my dick controls my brain.

She looks slightly nervous and says, “Um, sure. I’d like the company.”

“Put me to work. I’ll help,” I offer, wanting to be rid of the awkwardness between us.

“Oh! You don’t have to. You can go sit and relax. Justin always says that…” Her voice trails off and she averts her gaze, face turning red.

I feel a slow burn of anger build within me at her slip-up. Caleb had warned me that Faith’s ex had done a number on her. As my eyes drift over her petite frame, I feel sick over the realization that her ex had probably used it against her. Someone as small as Faith could easily be pushed around and controlled.

“I’d rather help,” I say lightly as I fight to keep my face relaxed so as not to betray my thoughts.

Her eyes shift back to mine, and she nods slightly. “Okay. You can chop the onion,” she tells me as she pulls out a large onion from the grocery bag. She sets me up with a chopping board, the onion, and a sharp knife. While I try to focus on the onion and the job she'd given me, she quickly goes about unpacking everything she bought and storing it in the cupboards or refrigerator.

I peel the onion and rinse it as she suggests, then get to work on slicing and dicing as she sets a large sauce pan on the stove and drops some ground beef in it to cook. As she moves around the tiny kitchen, pulling out a measuring cup out of a drawer to measure the shredded cheese, I track her with my eyes. My thoughts immediately shift back to her past. She’s only nineteen, so young to go through what she’s experienced. How often had her ex coaxed her into doing shit she didn’t want to do because she hadn’t felt she could deny him? Had she felt as dirty as I had—

“Son of a bitch!” I curse as the knife slices into my pointer finger. I quickly yank it to my mouth so that blood doesn't drip all over the onion.

Faith rushes over to me, her blue eyes instantly concerned. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing,” I mutter around my stinging finger.

Her eyes shift to the droplets of blood on the counter before she looks up at me with steely determination. “I said let me see.”

With a shrug, I pull my finger out of my mouth and hold it up. Blood oozes over the pad of my finger and begins to drop to the linoleum.

She winces and grabs some paper towel. Before I know it, she’s got my finger wrapped tightly in one hand while her free hand rests on my shoulder. “Come on.” She nudges me towards the living room, clearly intent on getting me to the bathroom. Because I am absolutely fascinated by this little slip of a woman, I let her lead me into the tiny bathroom. She quickly walks over to the toilet and flips the lid down. “Sit,” she tells me as she moves away to drop down and squat in front of the cupboards under the sink. “I just bought a first aid kit the other day.”

I sit down on the toilet and hold the paper towel to my finger as I watch her open a small red and white box. She digs through it briefly and rises to her feet triumphantly. She has antiseptic cream and a couple packets of Band-Aids. She motions for my finger, and I unwrap it and hold it out. She’s a sweet, little thing. If it were Zoey, she would have told me do it myself.

Faith bends down, leaning over slightly to take my injured hand in her own. As she inspects the half inch cut, I realize I can see down her tank top. She’s got small tits, which doesn't bother me. I’m more of an ass man. Show me a tight ass, and I’m good to go. As for tits, I like ‘em big or small. Usually the women that end up in my bed are curvaceous with big tits though, because the women that know they got a bangin’ body are the ones that aren’t shy about sex. And they’re experienced.

But as I study the soft, slight swells of her breasts encased in a white bra, I feel my interest in her growing. I know she’s got a tight, little ass. I saw it in those itty bitty shorts she’d been wearing the day we’d painted her apartment. That ass was in my dreams last night. If it weren’t for her past or for Caleb warning me that she’s hands off, I’d have her on her bed right now, legs spread and eyes wide with anticipation.

“Ace?”

I blink and realize my hand is still in her smaller, softer one and that my pointer finger is bandaged. She’s finished. I feel like a tool for zoning out, and I clear my throat awkwardly. “Thanks,” I mutter as I pull my hand out of hers.

She gives me one of her sweet smiles. “You’re welcome. I need to get back to the kitchen or our dinner is going to burn,” she tells me as she turns and hurries out of the bathroom.

I rise to my feet, and since she’s already disappeared, I adjust my junk and grimace. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard up for a specific woman my entire life. Sure, for a while there when I first met Zoey, I wanted her and imagined the things I’d do to her. But I didn’t lose my head around her, zoning out and shit.

As I make my way to the kitchen, I realize the smart thing to do would be to bail on her and stay the fuck away. I have a feeling that the more time I spend with Faith, the more I’m going to want her. Guess I’m a glutton for punishment though, because it’d take the hounds of hell to tear me away from her this evening. Especially since she’s cooking. When was the last time I had a home cooked meal? I can’t even remember.

Faith smiles at me from where she stands by the oven. “The beef didn’t burn.” Her eyes shift, and she gives me a look as she points to the stools by the counter with the spoon she’s holding. “Sit.”

I stare at her. Beneath all that uncertainty, I bet there’s some fire just dying to get out.

She must realize she’s being bold, and I watch as she hesitates before saying, “I’d be more comfortable if you just sit and keep me company. Honestly, I like to cook. I don’t mind it.

I pull out a stool and slide onto it. “I’ll watch, otherwise we might just end up at the ER.”

She looks relieved before turning to throw away the pieces of onion I’d bled on. “So, were you on your way to visit Zoey and Caleb? I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” She asks as she cleans the cutting board in the sink before drying it off.

“No, I was headed to my apartment.”

Her head swivels around, and she looks at me with surprise. “You have an apartment in the building?”

“Yeah. Just two doors down. I live on the other side of Caleb and Z.”

“Oh.” She sets the cutting board on the counter top and begins slicing the onion that I hadn’t finished. “Do you go to the university?”

“Yes.” Her back is to me, and my eyes drift over her tiny waist and down to her ass encased in shorts. My eyes lower to her legs. For being short, she’s got long legs instead of short ones like you’d expect on someone with her height. They are tanned and slim, but still shapely.

“What is your major?” she asks, completely oblivious to the fact that I’ve been scoping her out since I walked through the door.

“I’m studying athletic training and working on my BA. After that, I want to get my Master's.”

“What exactly does athletic training mean?” She glances questioningly at me over her shoulder before turning back to dump the chopped onion in the frying pan.

“An athletic trainer is someone who is trained and certified in preventing, managing and rehabilitating injures. Mostly from physical activity, like sports.”

“So you want to work with athletes?”

“Professional athletes, hopefully. That’s why I need my Master’s. I’m hoping to get a job with a professional sports team. I like to stay busy, and traveling with a team would be better than sitting behind a desk all day and never going anywhere. I couldn’t handle working in a clinic doing the same routine every day. That’s not my thing.”

Faith nods thoughtfully and moves to the refrigerator to peer inside. “Are you thirsty?” She peeks back out at me, and her expression is adorably sheepish. “I’m underage, so I only have soda,” she warns.

“I have nothing against soda. I don’t drink that often anyway.” Alcohol messes with the mind, and I like being in control of everything I do.

She walks over and sets a can of soda in front of me. “Your major sounds interesting. I can tell you enjoy what you’re doing.” She tilts her head quizzically. “Is that how you met Caleb? Through the university?” Her hands rest on the counter top as she focuses her full attention on me.

I nod. “We had a few classes together when he first arrived, and I showed him around. We started hanging out, and then Z cuffed him to her bed. The rest is history.”

Faith’s eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”

“You didn’t hear the story yet?” I ask with amusement as I accept the can of soda she’d set down and pop the tab.

“Caleb never told me how he met her. All I heard was that he’d met someone, and it seemed serious. Then, a month ago, news spread that he got himself engaged.”

“Z got hammered at one of my parties and stole my cuffs. She cuffed Caleb to her bed and then passed out. Imagine my surprise when she’s in my apartment the following morning trying to steal the key.” I shake my head, smiling as I remember the days when Zoey led Caleb on a bit of a ‘pussy chase.’ “Those two danced around each other for weeks until Caleb finally got her to admit her feelings. They’ve been inseparable ever since.”

I watch her delicate eyebrows furrow. “You have handcuffs?”

Her question has me inwardly wincing. After the shit she put up with, she probably wouldn’t approve of my sexual preferences in bed. Then again, she’ll probably hear about it from someone else eventually. I meet her questioning gaze. “Yeah, I got handcuffs. Among other things.” I have a drawer full of toys depending on what gets a woman off. Every woman is different, and I like to be prepared.

“Why would you…
Oh.
” Her eyes widen before she promptly turns around, so I can no longer see her expression. “Are you and Zoey close?” she asks lightly as she keeps her back to me, stirring the frying hamburger.

“She’s one of my closest friends,” I tell her as I take a drink from the can of soda. I wish I could get into her head. I wonder if my kind of kink turns her off. Is she regretting asking me to dinner?

“She’s very bold,” Faith replies in reference to Zoey.

I release a low chuckle. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Faith turns and looks at me again, her blue eyes bemused. “She’s used to getting her own way, I can tell.”

I snort. “She’s a fuck—er, she’s pretty bullheaded.” I don’t know why, but swearing in front of Faith seems wrong.

She drops the spoon in the frying pan and releases a sigh as she gazes at me. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Filter what you say. I’m nineteen, not fourteen,” she says indignantly.

Shit. Now I’ve gone and upset her. “I didn’t want to offend you,” I say carefully. This is not a woman I want to piss off. I usually could care less when I rile someone up. But Faith… I don’t want her pissed at me for any reason.

Her lips tighten, eyes flashing as she meets my gaze. “I’m more offended when people tip-toe around me because of my past. Going by the way you’re filtering your language, you know what Justin did to me.” The second the words leave her lips, she visibly winces. “That was rude of me,” she says softly, her gaze lowering to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles before she abruptly turns her back on me, her hand reaching for the spoon in the frying pan.

I find myself staring at her back, my jaw clenching as I try to figure out what to say next that won’t make things worse. I can see how torn she is. She’s trying hard to be her own person, but when she says something that might have gotten her in trouble with her ex, she second guesses herself and feels the need to apologize. “Faith?”

“Yes?” she asks, still not turning around as she stirs the hamburger.

“Look at me.”

Her back tenses up even more, and she slowly turns around, her blue eyes wary.

“If you’re going to apologize to me, it better be because you did something that warrants an apology. Don’t fucking apologize for speaking your mind,” I say bluntly.