I blink.
His voice is deeper than I expected. A little raspy too— probably from smoking.
But he doesn’t turn around. He must assume I’m Boy-Next-Door, here to continue the argument. Either way, the bizarre spell has broken. If he’s dealing out sass, he’s going to get it back.
I lean against the doorframe, propping a hand on my hip. “Maybe you’re nice to look at.”
His spine straightens as he peeks over his shoulder.
"Hitting on a guy at Bible Camp of all places?” He exhales a stream of smoke. “How sacrilegious.”
I shrug. “I’m sure you hear it often enough.”
White teeth flash as he coughs on a laugh. “Blunt too, huh?”
“I prefer honest.”
He twists at the waist, bicolored eyes locked on mine. Scrutinizing. Curious. He brings the cigarette to his lips again. “You're not my usual type.”
"And what type is that?”
His nose scrunches. "Assholes."
"Literal or figurative?"
A full laugh bursts from his chest. I grin back at him. Risingto his feet, he drops the light and crushes the butt under his sneaker, shaking his head with a smile.
"Whoareyou?"
“Pretty sure you can read."
His gaze dips to the red and white badge on my chest. “Andrea Sinclair,” he hums, rolling his bottom lip through his teeth. "Though, without that name tag, I'd be hard-pressed to believe you're the Pastor’s daughter.”
“You mean you're surprised I’m not a mindless drone in a nun outfit reciting bible verses?” I'm graced with his laugh again. I lift a brow. “Your turn. Who areyou?”
He reaches into his pocket and peels off the backing ofhisname tag before slapping it on his shirt. Then points at it like a dick. “Cade. And to answer your question: Literalandfigurative. Either gender. I don’t discriminate.” A shrug and a challenging stare. “But I’m sure you believe all queers are on a one-way train to hell.”
If he thinks openly expressing his sexuality will shock me, he’s severely mistaken.
"What I believe is…” I muse, holding open the emergency exit door. “God has some pretty fucked up priorities."
Fireworks spark in his eyes as his grin widens.
“Oh, you and I will get alongjustfine.”
Seven
SEBA
Alcohol has never appealedto me before— deceased drunk dad and all— but right now, breaking into the sacristy and chugging the blessed wine doesn’t sound like such a bad idea if it drowns out the obnoxious flirting happening right in front of my fucking face.
They’re not eventryingto be subtle.
A small hand tugs on my jeans.
“Saint Seba?”
Thanks to Cade’s loud mouth, I wasn't given the choice in what the kids— or Andrea— called me. I look down to find a wide-eyed redhead.
