Page 33 of Wanted You More

Nostrils twitching with irritation, I turn my head over my shoulder to get a glimpse of Monty standing with a six-pack of beer in one hand and a bag of pork rinds in the other. “I told you that you wouldn’t.”

His cocky grin spreads across his slimy face, and I wonder what I ever saw in him. My standards have never been particularly high, but I’d like to think I havesome. “You used to say a lot of shit you didn’t mean. But you’re here now, so why don’t you come back to my place and have a drink with me? We can watch those stupid movies you like. The Christmas ones.”

The teen behind the counter snorts at his lack of romance, making me focus back on her. When she tells me my total, I pass her the money and say, “As enticing as your offer is, it’s not going to happen.”

Those “stupid movies” may be low quality and a little cringeworthy, but they were some of my mom’s favorites. I used to watch them with her every year when Hallmark and Lifetime started playing them. It didn’t matter that most of the plots and actors were the same every time. There was something cheesy about them that made Mom and me addicted.

Grabbing the plastic bag with my new holiday decorations, I turn and halt mid-step when Monty gets in my way. “You don’t have to be so uptight. We both know you’re not getting any other offers. You’ve got too many problems.”

Those words pack a bigger punch than I want to admit. He’s rarely seen me in bad form. He never coaxed me through a panic or anxiety attack or stayed awake long enough after sex to help clean me up or wipe away the tears that would spring from time to time.

I may have problems, but I’m certainly not the only one. Does he really think he’s the best I can do despite them? “I’ll never understand why men like you think you’re God’s gift to the world. Have a nice life, Monty. Or don’t. I don’t care one way or another.”

Pushing past him and opening the front door, I hear him call out, “I wouldn’t want to be with a cunt like you anyway. Everyone knows you’re fucked up from the shooting.”

Heat blasting over my whole body, I try standing a little straighter and pretending like that doesn’t bother me. When things like that are said by men like Monty, they shouldn’t anyway, because he’s more fucked up for calling me out.

At least I know I’m messed up.

I don’t need the reminder.

“Words can be the deadliest weapon against somebody,” Mom used to tell Wolfe and me. “And I never want you to use them to cut people down. Only use them for good. Understand?”

Her entire career was based on words. The books she read, studied, and taught all had morals that she loved teaching us. And I’d soak up everything she said because I wanted nothing more than to be the best person—a daughter she was proud of.

But I’ll never be able to agree with her about words being the deadliest weapon because they weren’t what killed her.

Letting the door close behind me, I take a deep breath and hold on to the bag of Christmas lights a little tighter. People like Monty, like anyone who makes everyone feel little so they can feel better about themselves, aren’t worth my time. So, I move on to my next destination for the last gifts I need to buy Ben and Noah.

But those stupid, ugly words echo in my head as I go storefront to storefront instead of reflecting off the bulletproof barrier I keep snug around me.

***

There’s a prettypink sweater on the mannequin in the boutique window that makes me stop. I’m admiring it and searching for the price tag when I hear, “That’d be an amazing color on you.”

I smile at the compliment and turn to the voice that says it. My lips waver when I see Bailey standing beside me with a few shopping bags of her own hanging off her arm. It’s hard to stop the smile from dropping altogether, but I force myself to say, “Thank you.”

The bubbly brunette’s bright eyes turn from me to the window, where she starts studying the top. “You could pair that with those ripped jeans I saw you in when we went for ice cream. And a nice pair of boots.” She perks up, jabbing her finger behind her. “I saw a cute pair of leather booties a few stores back that’d make the outfit.”

I’m not entirely sure why she’s being so nice to me when she doesn’t owe me anything. It’s like the night I went out with her and Noah. She barely let it fall to silence, always finding things to ask me about.What’s your favorite color? How do you like school? Are you planning on going to college? What do you want to be when you grow up?

The entire time she’d been whipping off questions, I’d gaped at her in awe. I hadn’t answered most of them before she’d start answering them herself, as if I asked to get to know her. She didn’t seem offended that I wasn’t talking because she always had something to say.

I find it hard to trust people who want to be my friend. There’s usually a motive behind it.

But maybe her motive is simple.

It’s for Noah.

“I don’t have the money for a new pair of shoes,” I tell her honestly. I love shopping as much as the next girl, but most of my paycheck has been spent on Christmas presents and decorations.

Bailey frowns before brushing a few strands of her silky hair behind her ear. “Tell you what,” she bargains, turning to me with her smile returning. “Consider the boots a Christmas gift from me.”

My eyes widen. “Bailey, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can!” she stops me, grabbing my arm excitedly. “You mean a lot to Noah and his family, and he means a lot to me. So, I want to do this.”

I’d already guessed her reason, so hearing it doesn’t make me feel any type of way. We don’t owe each other a friendship because of Noah. “You do realize you don’t have to do anything like that just to get his or his family’s approval, right? He already likes you. And if he likes you, chances are his family does too.”

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