Chapter Four
Then — Before
“Where are you going?”
I look across the room to where Ward sits on his bed. I survived the first week of school, but I can tell there’s something I need even more than taking a post-breakfast nap today.
In the week I’ve gotten to know Ward, I not only like him, but I’m definitelyinlove with him. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to jerking off in the shower a couple of times to fantasies about pulling his mouth onto my cock and fucking his throat. There’s something about his very nature that calls to me and makes me want to make himmine.
Not that I can admit any of that to him, of course. We haven’t discussed sexuality because I didn’t want to randomly blurt it out, once I saw he didn’t appear to be a douchebag. But I have watched him when we’re together, such as during breakfast and dinner, and I haven’t picked up any hints that he might be homophobic.
“I’m going to church.” I finish buttoning my dress shirt.
“Church?”
I hope he’s not going to give me a hard time. I didn’t go last weekend because I was exhausted and wanted to spend the time studying. “Yeah. There’s a Methodist church a few blocks from here. I want to attend their service and try them out.”
Then his next question pleasantly surprises me. “May I go with you?”
I had turned away while buttoning my shirt, but now I face him again. “Sure.” Spend extra time with the hottie I’m rooming with?
Heck, yeah.
He scrambles to get ready while I watch, amused. I’ve noticed he has a tendency to let me take the lead about things, like when we go eat dinner, where we sit in the dining hall, who showers first—all of that.
It gives me…pause.
Could I be so lucky?
Doubtful, but it will likely fuel another shower wank session for me this evening.
A few minutes later, we’re heading downstairs and I risk a comment. “I didn’t realize you were religious.”
“My parents are more than I am. I go with them because I have to.”
“What church do you attend?”
“It’s an evangelical Baptist church.”
Weird. He hasn’t tried to save my soul once. I’ve said grace silently in my head without giving any outward indication of it, and I haven’t spotted him pausing to say grace before his meals, either.
“Ever been to a Methodist church?” I ask.
“No. I’ve only been to one church.”
“Ever?”
He nods. I get the feeling he toes his parents’ line. Especially his father’s.
I take a deep breath. “Well, I was raised Episcopal, but I’ve been to a Methodist church a few times. They’re sort of doubly-lite Catholic, even more than Episcopal.”
“What’s that mean?”
I laugh. “You’ll see.”
“Why are we going to a Methodist church, then?”
“Because it’s close, and I liked what I saw on their website.”
