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“Not lost, just evolved, I suppose.”
“So, you came out of Jesuit school a reformer?”
“Holy reformer.” The first cocky grin I’d ever seen of Father Bastien Castaneda tilted his lips.
“A rebel priest. That’s pretty hot.” I regretted the words the second they were on my lips.
“Rebel priest, huh?” His devilish eyes ate up the small space. “First time I’ve heard that.”
I bit down on my lip, still working the foot out of my mouth.
“How many times are you gonna take me by surprise, Tressa Torrado?”
And with his velvety Cuban accent wrapped around the letters of my name, I buried myself deeper into the scratchy blanket at his side and quietly died.
