Page 68 of Go Find Less

“Younger.” He lets someone in a white truck merge in front of us. “He graduates from LSSU in May. We’ve got Frannie, my sister, between us, though. She’s got a daughter, Greta.”

“Right.” Something in my memory goes off - I had briefly met his sister when we were in school together, she was a Sophomore our senior year. But if I remember the right person, she looked very, very different from her brother - same red hair. That’s where the similarities ended, with her pale complexion, narrow nose, only having gotten close enough to see during one of the student fashion shows we ran and the few trips we may have been on together in large groups of rowdy kids for ourMarketing Student Organizationcompetitions. “Is she your half-sister?” Another nod. I wonder to myself which parents I’d seen at our school functions, the few times I remembered seeing any at all. Was that his mom and stepdad? Or his father and stepmother?

“She went to LSSU, too.”

“Ah, so you’re the lone Longhorn.” I give a pointed nod to the gigantic ring on his right hand, now gripping the steering wheel.

“Not completely lone,” he says, a small smile on his lips. “My mom went to UT, too.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel. Before I can press, he offers “She passed when I was a baby.”

“I’m sorry.” My voice is quieter than normal, and that makes him look at me, just slightly, before his hand reaches out and gives my knee a squeeze.

“It was a long time ago.” His hand doesn’t linger, finding its way back to the wheel. “What about you? Any other siblings?” I shake my head, and then, remembering he’s driving, respond.

“No, just Penny. Though, we consider a lot of our friends, family at this point.” He nods. “I’ve known Vic pretty much my entire life, so he’s the closest thing I have to a brother, not including Brett and Nolan.”

“Your entire life?”

“Our families went to the same church growing up.” His head tilts towar me, just slightly, and I laugh. “I haven’t been involved with the church in a long time. But he was probably the best thing to come out of that time.” I twirl one of the rings on my fingers absently.

“What do they do? Your family?” The question brings me back to the day at the baseball game, and I smile to myself.

“Is work all you think about?” He shrugs, but smirks. “My mom’s an attorney, mostly contract litigation. My dad is a textile dealer, he has a warehouse in Shopper’s Alley. He’s the one that taught me about cars.” I run my hand along the pristine interior of the door next to me. “Penny and Brett both work for a payment processing company in Fort Worth.”

“Carla does something medical, right?” I knit my brows, but answer.

“Yeah, admin at a physical therapy office. How’d you know?”

“I mean, Facebook,” he says, as if it’s obvious. Ah. “Also, I picked up, like, four pairs of scrubs the other night in your living room. Do either of you ever get changed in your bedrooms?” I snort. I hadn’t thought about what all he’d picked up in our living room the night he stayed over - and silently, I pray to myself that I didn’t have any of my embarrassing giant granny briefs from my own personal shark week lying about. “What about Alex?”

“She works for a marketing firm from home. Same one I used to.”

“What made you leave?” We stop at a red light, and he looks at me.

“Sobriety,” I say, honestly. “And I was sick of staring at my wall, by myself, all day.” I shrug, fidgeting with the hem of my dress, noting that part of it is starting to fray. Internally, I note to add it to my fix pile.

“I get that.” He’s still looking at me, and suddenly I feel a swoop in my stomach. “Actually, that’s a lie. I could probably work at home all day, but I also dislike people.” I laugh at his admission.

“Clearly not all people.” Fitz smiles, genuine and bright, and that swoop hits harder.

“No, not all people.” He turns back to the road as we enter the winding streets of downtown, where traffic is buzzing as people get to their first destinations of the night.

“You never said where we’re going,” I muse.

“You’ll see.” The teasing tone in his voice takes me by surprise, but I take it as an answer as I watch the people stare at the gorgeous car we’re in - and probably, the gorgeous man next to me, as well. I’d never really taken any time to appreciate how attractive he was until the last few weeks. Probably because, way back when, I would have never even given him a second glance. In the same way I never gave Andy a second glance, I was never a ladder-climber - I didn’t yearn for men that I felt were totally out of my league. But as the years passed and my confidence grew, I realized, apprehensively, that men like Andy were lucky to have someone like me even give them the time of day. Because behind all the bravado and womanizing tendencies, he was scared shitless of someone like me. An open book. Someone who knows what she wants and goes for it. No games. No bullshit.

But Fitz, I ponder as we pull into a valet line in front of the Monarch Hotel, feels different. Based on the conversations we’ve had - he knows, or at least somewhat understands, what he’s getting himself into.

And aside from that stoic stare from those piercing green eyes, there was so much else that drew me to him physically - those deep auburn curls, waiting to be tamed. That dimple in his chin, which always looked freshly shaven. Lashes that had me jealous. Fitz could probably have any woman he wanted, and yet I’m here with him. And I drank in that power, however much a part of my brain reminded me that he was lucky to be here with me, too.

Once we’re in park, I pull my hair out of the clip and take off the scarf, shaking it loose around my shoulders, stuffing both items in the glovebox in front of me. I swear he watches, until one valet comes up and opens my door, and another meets him at his.

“Mr. Westfall,” the valet on his side says with a little nod.

“Mike,” Fitz responds, and then stands, leaving the car running. As I amble out, careful not to catch my tights on anything, I hear him say “none of the kids driving this one, ok? Just you or Aaron.” Mike nods his head in understanding, tearing off the bottom of a valet ticket and handing it to Fitz, who stuffs it into his pants pocket and then turns to me. I realize that all three of them are eying me - Fitz, Mike, and whoever the third valet is.

Because I’m staring. I’m staring at Fitz and when I realize it, I blush furiously and turn around, stuffing my purse under my arm and wait for him to come around to my side. When he does, his face is unreadable, but he touches my arm lightly and leads me through the front door, which a uniformed man is holding with a smile on his face.

“Evening, Mr. Westfall,” the doorman says.

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