“Amen,” I repeat as I reopen my eyes.
His greenish blue eyes are narrowed. Our hands are still conjoined and neither of us makes any moves to pull away. I’m still stunned that the church counselor my mother set me up to meet with was so hot. After me falling for Sean Polk, I’m surprised she allowed this. You’d have to be blind to not think Easton McAvoy was attractive.
A strong, chiseled jaw that wears a bit of brown scruff with hints of red mixed in. Full lips that beg to be kissed. Strong nose with a few freckles sprinkled over it like toppings on a delicious sundae. But the best part of him is his hair. It’s cropped short on the sides and longer on top. It’s a dark brown but when the sun hits it, I see a hint of auburn shining through.
After a squeeze to my hands, he releases them and rises. I stand up next to this giant preacher. I’d heard rumors about him. That he did almost a decade in the penitentiary. I’m not sure for what. His eyes seem kind but the man has a body of a beast. My throat heats as I follow him up the aisle. His dark jeans hug his tight ass and his shoulders are broad. He’s more muscular than lean but not in a meathead kind of way. In the way that would suggest he could toss you over his shoulder and spank your ass if you misbehaved kind of way.
Once we’re in the foyer, his eyes travel my way. I don’t miss how his gaze skims over my body. Hell, most men can’t help but stare. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. With Sean, I’d loved the attention. He was older and said dirty things. I liked him a lot. Then, I thought I loved him. In my teenage brain, I was sure he’d kick his girlfriend to the curb and marry me. That we’d raise our baby together. But everything blew up and I was alone. When I lost Mikey, I was more than alone.
“Hey,” Easton murmurs, his voice a low growl. “You okay?”
I blink away the tears and nod. “I’ll be okay.”
He stares at me for a beat longer as though he doesn’t believe me but then stalks toward his office where I left my purse. I fold the sticky note with his number and slip it into my purse. He’s gathering his things when my phone buzzes.
Mom: Hey, sweetie. Your Aunt Kimmie showed up with the boys. They’ve brought out the water balloons and are making a huge mess. Can you ask Pastor McAvoy to run you home?
Irritation bubbles in my chest. Aunt Kimmie and her boys are obnoxious. They always show up when Aunt Kimmie needs money. After eating everything in the house and letting her six-year-old twins destroy everything they come in contact with, they leave at least a thousand dollars richer. Mom just can’t tell her sister no ever. And nine times out of ten, Mom abandons me to deal with them. Just like now.
“Uh,” I start but then my eyes dart over to Easton as he picks up his helmet. “Never mind.”
His brows furrow together as he studies me. “Lying in the house of God is a sin.”
My neck and cheeks blaze bright red. “W-What?”
He flashes me a panty melting grin. “I’m teasing, Lacy. What’s up?”
“It’s nothing. Same time next week?”
His gaze is soft as he regards me but eventually nods. “Don’t forget to start your list.”
I give him a forced smile and rush from his office. As soon as I step outside, I wish I’d worn a little more clothes. Old habits. Once the school skank, always the school skank. Holding my head high, I start the long journey by foot home. The skies are darkening in the direction I’m headed which only makes me more frustrated with Mom and Aunt Kimmie. I make it a good half mile when I hear the rumble of an engine. The sound is chased off by cracking thunder ahead of me. When the first raindrop hits my head, I groan.
I’m thankful I wore my Chucks and start running. The rain is now splattering me faster and harder. I’ve hardly made it very far when the sound of an engine roars behind me. One peek over my shoulder tells me that Easton McAvoy is coming to save the day on a loud motorcycle. I’d seen the helmet on his desk but seeing it on his head as he powers through the rain with the bike between his thighs is quite a sight. A sight that makes my heart skip in my chest.
“Get on,” he barks as he pulls off his helmet. The rain soaks his handsome face and his shirt now molds to his sculpted body. His blue-green eyes are imploring me to take the helmet. As much as this feels like a bad idea, I can’t help the tiny thrill that shoots through me as I push his helmet on over my head. It smells like him. A masculine mix of cologne and peppermint. The water pings off the helmet but I’m thankful for a reprieve.
“Careful for the exhaust pipe. It’ll burn your leg,” he warns as I straddle the bike behind him. I wrap my arms around his solid middle and have to swallow down the excitement surging through me. My core that’s pressed right up against his ass throbs. He gives my knee a little pat. “Hold on tight.”
I squeeze him and let out a yelp when he gasses the bike. He doesn’t go very fast on account of the rain but the drops ping painfully against my flesh anyway. I’m shivering and miserable, so much so, that I realize I haven’t told him where I live. He turns down a street into a modest neighborhood and drives to the end. We come to stop at a house that sits mostly by itself. He pulls the bike under a covered carport and kills the engine.
“It’s not safe to ride in the rain. I figured you could hang out here until it passes and then I’ll drive you home,” he says, his voice husky. Lightning cracks and I shriek. “Come on, honey, let’s get you inside.”
He climbs off and then offers me his hand. I’m warmed by the fact that he helps me off the bike before removing the helmet. His gaze roams down my front before he stalks over to the door that goes into the house. He murmurs prayers under his breath but I hear them. Lord, give me strength. I follow him inside and I’m immediately impressed with his small home. For one, it smells good. I thought guys had gross houses. Sean’s house smelled like sweaty socks. Easton’s house smells like oranges and cinnamon.
“Are you cooking something?” I ask as I shiver. My teeth clatter together.
He stares at me intently. Anguish flickers in his gaze and I immediately somehow feel responsible for the look. It’s as though he’s struggling. Guilt nags at me because as much as I want him to like me, I don’t want him to feel as though it pains him. “My mom brings me this wax stuff that you melt and it makes your house smell good. Don’t ask me how it works. Every couple of weeks she comes and switches it out for me.”
I laugh but then my teeth start chattering again.
“Come on,” he says, the pain in his eyes fading away as compassion floods in. “I’ve got something for you to wear.” This time, it’s me who stares for too long. His eyes are beautiful. Unlike Sean who had evil intentions in his gaze, Easton’s eyes are gentle and good. He feels safe. Like the type of person who knows exactly the right things to say and just when you need a hug, he’d be the first to give it. Despite his rough exterior, love for his church and God are worn proudly upon his shoulders and in his kind gaze. It’s evident he takes pride in what he does. “This way.”
Following him through his house toward his bedroom feels naughty. A thousand dirty images flit through my mind. Images where the preacher pleasures the girl with his mouth. I bite on my lip to suppress the moan that rumbles in my chest. He strides over to a dresser and pulls out a white undershirt, a pair of white socks, and a grey pair of sweatpants.
“There’s a bathroom in the hall you can change in. Leave your clothes in there and I’ll toss them in the dryer.” He flashes me a warm smile. “You like coffee? I’m afraid I don’t have much else to offer you.”
I don’t tell him I hate coffee. When I was fourteen, I got it in my head that I would drink some of Mom’s black coffee. It was nasty and I vowed never to drink it again. I simply nod and fumble along until I’m in the bathroom. One glance in the mirror and I’m mortified. My hair is a frizzy soaked mess. The mascara I’d put on is smeared beneath my eyes and my lips are slightly purple from the cold. I look terrible. Of course he looked good enough to eat in his rain-soaked dress shirt that molded to his carved from stone body.
After peeling off my soaked clothes, I put on the dry ones that smell just like him. They’re huge and hang from my body. Even after tying the sweatpants as tight as they’ll go, they still slide down my hips. At least the socks are warm. I can’t do a thing about my hair but I do manage to clean away the smeared mascara. When I finally emerge from the bathroom, I find him in the kitchen making coffee.
He hands me a Harley mug and I frown to see the coffee is more of a tan color than black. His gaze is on me, almost expectantly, so I bring the steaming cup to my lips. Each time he stares at me, heat floods through my body. A nervous, excited kind of heat. Lacy, do not crush on your preacher. Just because you like to screw up your life, don’t mess with his.
I take a tiny sip. “Oh,” I mutter in surprise. “This is actually yummy.”
A boyish grin turns up one side of his lips. It positively melts me from the inside out. So much for not crushing on the preacher. “I figured judging by the look on your face when I mentioned coffee that you weren’t a black kind of girl. Lots of cream and sugar. Is it sweet enough for you?”
He’s talking about coffee and here I am imagining dirty things. Again. All I can do is nod before stealing another tasty sip.
Don’t crush on him. Don’t do it.
“Hold on just a sec,” I tell him as I set down the mug. I rush back to the bathroom where I abandoned my things and fish out my phone from my purse. I tap out to the number I was given.
Me: Easton’s coffee makes me happy.
I’m just walking back to the kitchen when I hear his booming laughter. When I round the corner, he’s staring at his phone with a smirk on his lips.
“That’s a great start, Lacy.” His eyes twinkle with warmth. I wonder how to turn that warmth into heat—like the heat that has begun to burn in my belly.
Lacy, he’s good and he’s your preacher. Enough with the girlish crushes.
We sit down at the bar in his kitchen and I shiver when his knee brushes against mine.
“I heard you were in prison once,” I mutter. When I chance a glance his way, his gaze darkens.
“I made some mistakes. We all do.”
Because I’ve always been one to push by nature, I prod at his answer. “What sort of mistakes?”
Shame causes his cheeks to turn pink. “Young, stupid ones. I got involved with the wrong crowd. Trusted people I shouldn’t have. When they asked me to run some drugs to a friend’s out of state, I did it because it was good money.” He runs his fingers through his soaked hair and a strand falls in front of his eye. It gives him a dangerous look. “I got pulled over. Despite being a first-time offender, the amount of coke I had in my trunk had me looking at eight years.”
I frown and my heart clenches. Easton is a good guy who made a dumb mistake. It changed the course of his life forever.
Kind of like me.
Before I can stop myself, I reach up and brush the hair from his eye. His greenish blue eyes darken to more blue than green as he glares at me. The glare isn’t an angry one though. It’s as though he’s attracted to me and it’s taking everything in him not to maul me.
And he can’t maul me.
At least, I’m pretty sure he won’t maul me.
The fact that I’m in his space, a blonde little temptation, has guilt once again making my skin crawl. Why can’t I flirt with a guy my own age and with someone who isn’t bound to the church? It makes me as evil as Sean for wanting something I shouldn’t. I shudder and Easton frowns as though he worries I’m cold. I smile quickly and sip more coffee.
“Did you serve all eight years?”
He looks away, breaking our stare, and takes a sip of his coffee. I feel like I wait forever before he speaks again.
“I did ten, vixen.”
Vixen?
Letting that comment slide for the moment, I gape at him. “Ten? How come?”
“Early on, I was angry. I’d abandoned God after growing up in the church, and didn’t know how to cope with my emotions. I was just an eighteen-year-old kid looking at eight years in prison. When some bigger guys thought they would teach me a prison lesson in the showers, I lost my head. Whatever they tried to do didn’t happen. But I ended up putting three of them in the hospital. I sort of blacked out with rage. To this day, I still don’t remember.”
“Oh…” I swallow down a sip of my coffee to formulate my thoughts. “So they added some time?”
“Five more years. Luckily, not long into my sentence, I cleaned up and got right with God. Stayed on the straight and narrow. Thanks to my friend I’d met named Tom.” His eyes flicker from fondness to sorrow. It breaks my heart for him.
“Did something happen to him?” I whisper, my voice shaky. I don’t want him to be sad but I want to know more about him. He’s learned so much about me so far that I feel like it’s only fair.
“He died of a heart attack. For six years, Tom studied The Bible with me each day and prayed with me. My hardened heart was no longer something dirty and ugly. With his help, I’d polished it into something worthy and shiny. His approach was tough—tougher than my own dad—but that’s what I needed. And when I got out of line, he’d thump me in the head. I think I still have bruises,” he says, chuckling.
I smile too. “I’m sorry about your friend. So they let you out early?”
“My reviews after that initial screw up were all stellar. I was allowed to work on my college degree and ministered some to the other inmates thanks to Tom’s teaching and guidance. They let me off three years early.”
Ten years in the penitentiary.
Wow.
“How long have you been out?”
“A decade. I’m at peace now. The anger at my friends and myself are long gone.”
I work out the math in my head. He’s thirty-eight. Same age as my dad had he lived that long. Heat creeps up my neck. “I’m sorry that happened.”
He smiles and it’s reassuring. “It made me who I am today. I’m stronger because of it.” He stands from the bar stool and clutches my shoulder. His thumb is dangerously close to my breast. “I’d planned to watch The Walking Dead marathon today. If you’re not in any hurry, you’re welcome to hang out and watch.”
I laugh and it feels strange. Lately, I don’t do much laughing at all. “The Walking Dead? Preachers can like zombies?”
He smirks and I swear my insides combust. “Who says we can’t like zombies?”