by K. Webster
My face blazes with heat.
“What?” Mom asks in astonishment, hurt lacing her tone. I’ve always been able to share things with her. Aside from Sean and Easton, I’ve always been upfront with her. She knew the first time I let a boy touch me and gave me the longest lecture known to man about the birds and the bees. But she did it out of love. I know this.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I bite out, shooting Aunt Kimmie a scathing glare. “Trust me, Mom.”
Her gaze softens and she strokes my hair. “But you want him to be.”
I give her a weak smile. “Yeah.”
“Where’d you meet him? Better yet, when do I get to meet him?” she questions as we take our seat.
I wave her off. “Mom, I told you, he’s not my boyfriend. I met him at church.”
Her blue eyes brighten as she grins. “I knew you were going every Sunday and Wednesday night but I had no idea you met someone there. How wonderful. That’s a great place to meet boys. They don’t have expectations of a sweet girl like yourself.”
I flinch. The only one with expectations is me. And this boy is a man. “Yeah.”
“It’s settled then. I’m coming with you tomorrow. I haven’t been to church since your Dad was alive.” She beams at me. “It’ll also give me a chance to meet Pastor McAvoy. I’d like to chat with him and see how your counseling is going.”
All I can manage is a nod. Thankfully Mom gets distracted with Jimmie when he spills his soda all over the table. I take the moment to text Easton.
Me: My mom makes me happy.
He replies immediately.
Preach: I’ll add it to the list.
I bite on my bottom lip as I type.
Me: She’s coming to church tomorrow.
It takes him ten minutes to respond.
Preach: I’d love to meet her.
That’s it. We don’t discuss the kiss or him making me come. Nothing. Even as my mother hugs me from the side and babbles on about her job happily, I still can’t help the lonely feeling that has settled at the pit of my belly.
Why must my life be so complicated?
Mom sings along to all the hymns beside me and listens to Easton’s sermon attentively. Normally, I enjoy our togetherness but today it leaves me on edge. I tossed and turned all night thinking about the kisses Easton and I shared. I’m afraid the dynamics of our relationship have changed. He’s hardly cast a glance my way the entire morning. I daze out, not listening to him preach, as I stare boldly at him. Today he’s handsome as ever. He’s shaved his face smooth and his brown hair is tousled on top of his head. It reminds me of how it was last night after I ran my fingers through it.
He’s so gorgeous. You’d have to be blind to not see it.
I catch a woman in the choir staring at me. Her brown hair is curled and she has kind eyes. Familiar kind eyes. I’m stunned for a moment as I realize she must be Easton’s mother. Feeling guilty, I tear my gaze from the pulpit and stare at the Bible he gifted me the second weekend I met with him. He’d highlighted some passages he wanted me to read. Quickly, I flip through them—anything to take my mind off the woman watching me watch her son. Eventually, I get caught up reading and it isn’t until my mom touches my shoulder do I realize people are leaving.
“I can see why you enjoy coming,” she says. “Pastor McAvoy has a way with keeping your attention.”
I stand and follow her out of the pew. “He’s good at what he does,” I agree.
“So show me this boy you like,” she whispers, her eyes scanning the congregation that’s laughing and talking as they leave. “Was it the blond boy who kept looking over here?”
Blond boy?
All I saw the entire sermon was Easton.
He’s all I ever see.
“Uh…” I start but my words die when said blond boy saunters over to me with a goofy grin on his face. Bobby, the church’s janitor, watches intently from the pew the boy came from. They have similar eyes and it makes me wonder if they’re siblings.
“Hey,” he greets, his cheeks slightly pink as though he’s embarrassed.
Mom pats my shoulder. “Sweetheart, I’m going to go catch up with Pastor McAvoy. I’ll leave you two alone.”
She abandons me with this stranger whom she thinks I like. I mean, had I never encountered Easton, perhaps I could have been into someone like the guy in front of me. He’s tall and cute and wears an endearing smile. But he’s not…
“I’m Bryce.”
He holds his hand out to me and I reluctantly take it. My gaze skims the sea of people until I find a pair of familiar blue-green eyes. Easton’s jaw ticks even as he attempts to smile at my mother. I don’t miss the flicker of jealousy in his eyes. It makes my heart stutter.
“Nice to meet you,” I murmur as I drag my attention back to Bryce. “I’m Lacy.”
He opens his mouth to speak when a woman clutches my elbow.
“Excuse me,” the woman says, her voice sweet and warm. “Can I get your help finding candles for tonight’s service?”
I turn my head to regard her and almost flinch when I stare into the same eyes Easton has. “Um, yeah. Of course.”
“Bye, sugar,” she says to Bryce before guiding me down the aisle, her grip never leaving my elbow. “Tell Bobby and your parents I said hi.” I’m worried she knows about Easton and I. Is she taking me away to yell at me?
We pass by Easton who frowns at us in confusion and then she ushers me down the foyer. It isn’t until we push through his office door that I really begin to feel nervous. The woman closes the door behind her and then sheds her choir robe.
“Lacy Greenwood?”
I nod at her, a stupid stare on my face. “I am.”
She smiles at me as she opens a cabinet and hunts for a coat hanger. “I’m Lydia McAvoy, Easton’s mother.” Once she hangs her robe up, she closes the cabinet and turns my way. Her eyes are narrowed as she scrutinizes me. “Easton’s a good man.”
I freeze at her words. “Preachers usually are.”
She smirks. “You’re a guarded girl, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She picks at imaginary lint on the shoulder of my dress. “You keep secrets tucked away and not many people know the real you.”
I blink at her in confusion. “I don’t have secrets.”
“Good answer. Especially when those secrets involve my boy.” She lets out a sigh. “Listen, he’s a good man. Problem is, he wears his heart on his sleeve. I’ve been watching the two of you for a couple of months now. I’ve noticed the attraction. The pull. And then, after this weekend, the tension. Something happened. I prodded Easton before church and he blew me off but his eyes don’t lie. Just like yours don’t either.”
“I…I…”
“You’re not quite eighteen, darling. And while I don’t approve of my son’s choice in desiring a woman so young, I can’t stop him. I’m also not one to talk. I fell for his father when I was fifteen. We married by the time I was your age.” She smiles fondly. “All I’m saying is that I wanted to get you alone so that I could see for myself what has my boy all flustered. I see it. You’re gorgeous and quiet and mature compared to others your age. You’ve been through some difficult times. My only request is that you don’t hurt him. That you please don’t do anything to put him in a position that could get him into trouble or fired from the church.”
“Of course,” I choke out.
“Also,” she says with a sigh. “Stay clear of the Johnston boys. Bobby isn’t right after the accident and Bryce…” Her lips press into a firm line. “I’ve heard unsavory things about him.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“June eleventh.”
“Come by June twelfth for dinner. You and Easton. As a couple. Gregory, my husband, would be charmed to officially meet you as well, I’m sure.”
I’m still gaping at her when Easton barges into the office with Mom on his heels. Mom’s babbling
on about colleges or something but he’s not listening. His eyes find mine. Concern is painted on his features when he sees my shocked expression and his mother beaming.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he grumbles.
“Oh, sweetheart, you interrupted nothing,” Lydia says. “You must be Lacy’s mother. I’m Lydia, Easton’s mom. My do you two look like sisters or what?”
Mom chuckles. “We get that a lot. I’m Stephanie Greenwood.”
“That’s a beautiful dress. Kate Spade?” Lydia asks as she motions at my mom.
“The Target knockoff. Lacy shows me where I can find good style at half the price. My girl is a great shopper,” Mom explains.
“This is fun and all but I’d like to speak to Lacy alone for a moment. Can you take this riveting conversation into the hallway?” Easton deadpans.
Lydia laughs. “Little snot. Fine. Come on, Stephanie. Let’s go grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen.”
As soon as they leave, Easton prowls over to me. He looks handsome in his charcoal grey suit and thin dark grey tie. I want to slide my palms up his hard chest and kiss him. Instead, I stay rooted to the floor.
“Your mom says you’re seeing Bryce Johnston.” His eyebrow lifts in question.
“And your mom wants us to come for dinner on June twelfth.”
We blink at each other for a long moment before he cracks a smile. I can’t help but smile back.
“I’m not seeing Bryce. You know this,” I murmur.
His palm finds my cheek and he brushes his thumb across my bottom lip in a bold way. “I do know this. What I don’t know is why Mom is inviting us to dinner.”
“It’s the day after my birthday,” I say with a huff.
Understanding flickers in his gaze. “Ahhh, I see. That was Mom’s way of approving of you.”
I let out a choked sound. “What?”
“She likes you.”
“She intimidates me,” I breathe. “She’s all beautiful and intense.”
“And protective,” he quips. “And intuitive.”
“Are we really that obvious?” I ask, heat burning up my neck.
“I didn’t think so but apparently we are.”
I frown. “Not like it matters anymore.”
He leans in and my heart rate skitters. “Why’s that?”
“Because you made it clear that we can’t.” I throw his word back at him.
His palm slides to my neck and he clutches me in a possessive way that makes my skin buzz. “Maybe we can.” The torment—a never ending war—flickers in his gaze but he blinks it away as he stares at me in appreciation.
“What?”
He doesn’t reply but instead presses his lips to mine. The kiss is sweet but makes a statement. When he pulls away, he murmurs, “I didn’t like seeing you sad today. And when that kid was holding your hand, I wanted to pry him away from you.” He takes my hand in his. “I’m not going to lie, I’m struggling because of my position here at the church and betraying my calling, but this is mine.” He squeezes my hand.
I melt at his words and then let out a moan when he kisses me deeply. After thinking all night he was done with me, I was wrong. Easton McAvoy does want me. Guilt tugs at my heart about how he’s feeling but it only wants me to try and assure him that this decision is a good one.
The door pushes open and we wrench apart. He doesn’t let go of my hand though.
“In Jesus’ name,” he says. “Amen.”
“Amen,” I squeak.
He releases my hand and we both turn to see my mom. She glares at him for a moment but when I smile at her, she softens.
“You ready to head out, sweetie?”
I nod and shoot Easton a quick glance. His eyes are burning with need and promise and maybe even slight indecision. The stare he gives me is far too intense to share in the presence of my mother.
“See you at next Saturday’s session,” I chirp to Easton as I leave.
“I’ll be looking forward to it, Miss Greenwood.”
His words make me blush and I nearly stumble over my own two feet on the way out the door.
Lacy: Tacos make me happy.
Lacy: Running makes me happy.
Lacy: OMG…Chris Pine makes me happy. Swoon.
Lacy: Looking at old pictures of my dad and I make me happy.
Lacy: Music makes me happy.
Lacy: Thinking about our kisses make me happy.
“What are you so happy about?” Dane asks me, a smirk on his face as he sips his beer.
I stuff my phone in my pocket and shrug. “Just helping one of the church members.”
He arches a dark brow. “By the smug look on your face, I’m going to assume this member is a chick. Am I right?”
Laughing, I tilt my beer up to my lips and speak before drinking. “You might be right.”
“Fucking right, I am,” he says with a crooked grin.
“What are you so damn happy about anyway?” I counter.
“I’m seeing someone.” His gaze drifts out the window. “It’s serious.”
“I figured after your divorce, you’d be ready for anything but serious.”
He scratches his jaw and pins me with a firm stare. “This is different. This is real.”
As he rambles on about a client of his, my mind drifts to Lacy. She’s definitely different. And my God is she real. I can’t get her scent out of my nose or her laugh out of my head. It’s been five days since I’ve seen her. With school and running track, she stays busy. I’m supposed to see her tomorrow morning per usual but suddenly I don’t want to wait.
“I think I’m going to head out,” I tell my friend. “Catch you for lunch one day this week?”
“Quinn’s going to meet me Tuesday for burgers. You should come then.”
I slap some bills on the table beside my hardly touched beer and saunter out of the bar to my bike. After I straddle it, I text Lacy back.
Me: You make me happy.
The dots move as she replies.
Lacy: Seeing you would make me happy.
Me: I don’t think your mom would approve.
Lacy: Mom is at a movie with my aunt and nephews. They left about thirty minutes ago. You could come visit…that is if you wanted to.
My heart thumps in my chest. I miss her and want to hold her.
Me: I’m on my way.
Twenty minutes later and I pull up to her fancy house on the outskirts of town. The lawn isn’t as neatly kept as the neighbors’ but the home itself is. My loud Harley rumbles through the streets making me feel extremely out of place. I guess a middle-aged preacher calling on a teenage girl is what seals the deal though.
Once in front of her house, I kill the engine, leave my helmet sitting on the seat and trot up to her front door. Before I can raise my hand to knock, it swings open.
Jesus, give me strength.
Standing before me is an angel. An angel I want to undress and worship. One I want to taste and touch.
She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder baring her creamy skin and no bra strap. But what has my cock waking up and interested, is the fact that she doesn’t seem to be wearing pants. The sweatshirt barely covers the tops of her thighs. If she were to lift her arms, I wonder if I’d be able to see her panties.
“You going to stand there staring all day?” she teases, her hand on her hip and a smirk tugging at her plump juicy lips.
Okay, so coming here was a bad idea.
A very bad idea.
“Come here,” I growl as I reach for her hand. I pull her to me for a friendly hug. But there’s nothing friendly about the way my hands cup her ass over her sweatshirt. She hugs me tight and I squeeze her bottom tighter.
“Getting a little handsy there, Preach,” she teases, her voice light and playful. “You’ll give all the neighbors a reason to want to come to church. I mean, if you’re giving that kind of show…”
I pop her on her ass with both hands before pulling away. “Does that mouth ever g
et you in trouble?”
Her lips twitch. “Only always.” She reaches for my hand. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
She leads me inside and heat seems to burn from the place she’s touching me. I groan when we head upstairs toward a bedroom. As soon as we step into the girly room, I know it’s hers.
“Sit down,” she says softly. “I won’t bite. You look nervous.” She laughs. “You haven’t sinned yet, Preach.”
I let out a deep breath and sit on the edge of her bed. She walks over to her desk and pulls out a notebook. When she comes back, she sits close enough to me that our thighs touch. I’m thrown back to when I was fifteen and had a girl in my bedroom for the first time. I keep listening for sounds—just waiting to get caught by my parents.
“I made this. For Mikey.” She swallows and looks at me with teary eyes. “It’s…It’s probably stupid but it helps.”
I take the notebook and lean forward to press a soft kiss at the corner of her lips. Her breath hitches. I want to kiss her hard but I want to see what’s in the book more. She’s revealing a part of herself to me.
Leaning away from her, I open the book. As I start to read, I quickly discover she’s written a fictional piece about a boy and his mother. He’s clever and funny and rowdy. She adores him. Reads him stories and they pretend they’re dinosaurs. It’s both heartbreaking and beautiful all at once. She’s written many chapters. I read them quietly for a good half hour as she sniffles. Every now and again, I reach over and squeeze her hand. Once I reach the end of her story, I regard her with a solemn stare.
“This is really nice, Lace.” And it is. Not only is it emotional and powerful but it’s well-written too. Her handwriting is neat and I can tell she took great care in writing this story. “Are you going to finish it?”
She takes the book from me and nods. “I started it after you and I met that first time. I wanted to honor Mikey doing something I love.”
“I didn’t know you liked writing,” I admit. It’s another piece of her that she has shielded from the outside world.
“Mom says you can’t make a living writing,” she says with a laugh.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I read some pretty stupid books while in prison. They weren’t half as good as this.”
