God help him, but he covets.
He'd done well for himself; he worked hard, managed his money well, and kept to his faith- a lingering reminder of his childhood. If only he hadn't been so alone.
He and his mother had moved around so often when he was growing up that it had been impossible for him to open up to anyone. He grew up silently, the consummate new kid. He got used to being overlooked, got used to letting go of what he was good at because the uncertainty of whether the program would be at his next school had already crushed his soccer dreams. He got used to being quietly right and silently miserable.
He got used to the church being his only solace. And he got used to people judging and rejecting him for it.
So by the time he was running his own, very successful, start-up, he'd given up on any dream of finding a wife. There hadn't been anyone in college. Well, that wasn't true. There had been several crushes, admired from afar. But there had been no dates, and no girlfriends. There were no tailgates, no wild parties, no exaggerated stories told to a group of friends.
So he focused on duty, because the church had been there for him, and he could give back.
Then she had come along. They started slowly, pathetically slowly. She was so patient with him, so kind and loving and absolutely wonderful. And he'd doted on her, completely hung up in ways he'd never imagined himself lucky enough to experience. Even now, he still didn't have it in him to hate her, but when he'd learned she was after him for his money he'd felt despair beyond words.
He probably would have self-destructed if he'd had any idea how to go about it. In the end he went back to work, a sadder and emptier shell.
Until Balthazar waltzed in.
If a celestial voice telepathically communicating with him could waltz, that is. He was pretty sure that if any angel could manage it, Balthazar could.
He'd been raised on cautionary tales of the devil's whispered promises. Of roads paved easy, lust unparalleled, greed unending, pride and envy dueling for dominance.
Balthazar made him think the devil should take lessons from his angel. He hadn't said yes for the women, or the booze and the parties, or the fast life. Not for the stories of moments he'd read about as a child, for moments of faith affirmed and rewarded. That had all been later.
His road to hell, as it were, started with five smooth words, and were sealed with two.
"Feel like livin' a little?"
"God, yes!"