“And I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

I unfold my arms, lifting my head from its bowed state as I look at Elder Fisher. His eyes are already buried in his scriptures.

The meeting we had with his investigator a few days ago went well. So well in fact that we are scheduled to return for another lesson tomorrow. His name is Andy, and he seems really interested in what we have to teach him. But he also has a lot of questions. Thus the reason Elder Fisher started our lesson-planning session with a prayer asking for guidance. He thinks, if we can give Andy the answers he needs to hear, he’ll be a member before the month is through. We just need to make sure God is ready and willing to help us provide those answers when the time comes.

I stare at Fisher as he pours over his scriptures, his eyes darting frantically across the pages. If you ask me, the guy just wants to be able to say he has at least one baptism under his belt before he gets moved to a different area. It has nothing to do with the fact that Andy is so eager to convert. Fisher just hates that he hasn’t been able to close the deal yet.

I open my own Book of Mormon, pretending to read. Instead, I think about how intense this guy is. I mean, I grew up in Utah. I know how devoted Mormons are. But Fisher takes it to a whole new level. I knew most of our time would be spent proselytizing, praying, and planning. But I always heard stories of some of the funny antics missionaries would get into on their downtime. Nothing crazy, of course. These boys weren’t going out, drinking themselves blind and getting themselves into trouble. But I heard about pranks and jokes the Brothers in my ward had pulled on their companions while out in the field, and it always sounded fun. A brief respite during an otherwise intense schedule.

There’s absolutely none of that with Elder Fisher though. This dude lives and breathes for the church. If we’re not out tracting, we’re planning our route for the next day. If we’re not planning, we’re studying. If we’re not studying, we’re praying. And, if we’re not praying, we’re sleeping. I’m almost positive he’d skip that whole last bit if he could. Fortunately for me, the mission president mandates lights out by ten p.m. Otherwise, Fisher would be out knocking on doors at four in the morning. I’m sure of it.

So, no, there are no shenanigans occurring when Elder Fisher is around.

My thoughts turn to the other day, that afternoon when we ran into Quinn at the bistro. I asked him a few simple questions and answered a few of his. No big, right? When you meet someone, it’s common courtesy to try to get to know them.

Only I didn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the night. As we made our way to Andy’s house, Fisher scolded me over and over on getting too friendly with the man living upstairs. He tried to make it out like he’d have a problem with my talking casually with anyone, chatting them up like we were buddies out grabbing a bite. But I knew the truth. It wasn’t the questions I’d asked Quinn that Fisher had a problem with. It was the person I’d voiced them to.

Case in point, we know all about where Andy grew up. I can tell you he has three brothers and one sister, a sister who will never get married if her brothers have anything to say about it. And I can tell you Andy and Fisher had a good old time talking about their little league baseball days. Both went on to play in high school with the same boys they’d played with growing up. Between the two of them, I heard more baseball stories in those two hours in Andy’s living room than I had in my entire life combined.

But I ask Quinn about being an actor, and it’s basically the end of the world as we know it.

I let out an exasperated sigh.

Fisher briefly lifts his eyes, his brow furrowing when he sees me not studying my scriptures. “You okay?”

I quickly try to cover my tracks. “Yeah, I’m cool. Just tired. It was a long day. And my head kind of hurts. Think we can call it an early night tonight?”

Fisher scrunches his nose as he considers my request. I know the answer before it leaves his mouth.

“This lesson tomorrow is important. I think it could be a huge turning point for Andy. We need to make sure we’re one hundred percent prepared. I don’t think going to bed early is a good idea tonight.”

He lowers his face back to his scriptures, his monotonous voice reading aloud once more. Well, at least one good thing will come out of this. The sound of his voice as he drones on actually does give me a headache. So, at least I’m not a liar.

“You’re right,” I say, lowering my head back to my book. “This is much more important.”

He nods curtly, his face falling back into an appeased yet smug smile. “You’ll see. Once we get our first baptism, all these long, hard days and nights will seem like nothing in comparison. No amount of hard work is worth more than bringing the Lord into people’s lives.”

I can’t listen to him anymore. I push back from the table where we’re sitting and get to my feet, strolling into the kitchen before he can object. “I need some water. You want any?”

“No, thanks.”

I pull a glass out of the cupboard and fill it at the kitchen sink. I can’t remember the last time I drank water from the tap. And I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that the water in California causes cancer. Or makes you grow a sixth toe. Something like that. But bottled water isn’t exactly in the budget these days. I take a sip of the room temperature water, cringing as the metallic taste washes over my tongue. I’d kill for a Coke right about now. It is my one and only vice. But caffeine is against the Word of Wisdom and all that. So, carcinogenic water, it is.

I drain the glass with a couple of more gulps, setting it on the side of the sink so that I can use it again later. Dropping my chin to my chest, I relish the few moments of quiet solitude I’ve found in the kitchen even if Fisher is only ten feet away. At least there’s a wall between us. But I know, if I don’t get back out there in the next three seconds, he’ll come looking for me.

That’s another thing about Fisher. As missionaries, we’re supposed to be together all the time. I always thought people were being sarcastic when they said they’d have to wake their companions up when they went to the bathroom in the middle of the night. But, apparently, Fisher took that advice to heart. He wakes me up every time he has to pee, making me stand just outside the door. And I swear, he plants things in the bathroom, so he can tell if I got up and didn’t wake him. I’ve done it twice now, and even though Fisher sleeps like the dead, he always seems to know the next morning that I got up to pee at three a.m. I’ve learned it’s easier to just hold it.

Deciding my reprieve has lasted long enough, I take in a deep breath and walk back out to join Fisher. But, just as I step foot inside the living room, a clamor comes from outside, followed by the sound of two deep voices as they try to stifle their laughter.

Walking over to the living room window, I crack open the blinds with two fingers to peer out. Two men are on the sidewalk, their arms slung around the other’s shoulders as they try to straighten their bodies. It’s obvious from their stumbling and not-so-silent laughter that they’re drunk. But that’s not the surprising part. No, the surprising part is that, when they’ve finally righted themselves, the one in the leather jacket pushes the other one against the car parked right outside our front door, his lips coming down hard on the man’s as he pulls at the guy’s shirt.

I stand and watch the two of them, wildly intrigued by what I’m witnessing. I know I should feel disgusted. I know I should look away. But I can’t.

Because, when the man against the car shoves off and spins the other man around, pushing him back against the car door, I realize one of the men is Quinn.

Quinn’s hands leave the work they were doing on the man’s shirt, instead tangling his hands in the other guy’s hair as he pulls the man’s lips to his own neck. Quinn’s head falls back against the roof of the car as the man kisses and licks his way up the smooth flesh.

I wonder what he tastes like.

“What are you looking at?”

I literally jump out of my skin. Okay, maybe not literally. But with the way my skin tingles and heats, my heart beating faster than the Indy 500, it sure feels like it.

“Nothing,” I sputter. “I, um…I was just—”

But Fisher is already pulling open the blinds with his hands. “Are you kidding me? Look at what those two fruits are doing on our car!”

Huh. That is our car. Funny, I didn’t notice. What with the two men pawing at each other on top of it. Plus, it’s not like we use it often. I’ve only seen the inside of it once. It’s not hard to excuse the fact that I didn’t recognize it.

Yeah, we’ll go with that.

“What the heck do they think they’re doing? That car belongs to the church. So, in turn, it belongs to the Lord. They can’t desecrate God’s car that way.”

He’s so completely outraged, and it takes everything in me not to laugh. I mean, really? Desecrate God’s car? He can’t be serious, can he?

But, as I watch him step toward the door, I know that he must be. Is he actually going to go out there and tell them to stop?

“Wait! Look, they’re moving along. Don’t waste your time going out there. They’re drunk. You don’t want to start something with someone who might get violent.”

Elder Fisher returns to my side. “That’s true. Last thing I need is a black eye. But, if they’re not out of here soon, I’m calling the cops. Report them for trespassing.”

I roll my eyes as I look back out the window.

“Is that Quinn?” Fisher all but shrieks. “I knew it. See? I told you about him. I knew I was right. You need to watch yourself with him. You don’t know what weird fantasies he’s making up every time you talk to him.”

Right. Because every gay guy instantly wants to have sex with every man he sees. And, of course, he’s only into weird fetishes. Because why not?

Fisher pushes back from the window, groaning once more in disgust. “Ugh. Let’s just go to bed. I don’t think I’ll be able to feel the spirit again after seeing that. We’ll just have to prep extra in the morning.” He heads toward the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stops halfway across the living room. “You coming?”

I take one last look outside the window. The two men are still out there, having moved from the car to the light pole. Quinn’s back is pressed against it, the man’s lips on his neck once again. The blissful smile on Quinn’s face ignites something deep inside me, a burning deep down in my soul. His mouth falls open in ecstasy, and I can’t help but wonder what noises are coming from his lips. Just the thought kindles the flame blazing within me, and I need to look away before what I’m feeling becomes very evident to my companion.

I take one final look at Quinn’s face, his sculpted features awash with euphoria. But, as I move to turn away, something happens. Quinn’s eyes pop open, his head straightening on his neck, as if he can feel my gaze on him. And, before I can look away, his eyes lock on mine, his fiery stare sending a scorching heat radiating through my veins. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t look embarrassed that I’ve caught him with his lover. He lets the man continue the work he’s doing on his own neck, the man’s hands now trailing down Quinn’s abdomen in search of more. But Quinn’s eyes don’t leave mine. He stares at me as the man teases and caresses. And I get the odd sensation he’s wishing the exact same thing I am.

He’s wishing the man were me.