Worship (On My Knees Duet 1)

SNAP…the spell is broken. His face shuts down—just before his lips pull taut into a thin line, like he’s angry. Luke McDowell turns onto his back, staring at the starry sky, his body rigid, thick chest pumping. He shuts his eyes, clenches his jaw.

“Shit. I’m sorry. That was stupid. You want me to eat my foot? I’m pretty good at that.”

I’m not looking for much—just a twitch of his lips. But he’s frozen.

I turn onto my back, too, and blow a breath out—quiet, so he doesn’t hear it.

“’S all good.” His throaty murmur swells between us. I feel more than I can see him shift. His arm covers his face. Then, so quietly I can barely hear him, he says, “You were right…as it were.”

I let a long, slow breath out as it dawns on me what that means.

I’m the first one, aren’t I?

A hot rush of adrenaline slips through me. It spins my head and burns out in my body, leaving only flop sweat and a knot in my throat. “Am I?” It’s supposed to come out smooth and easy, but it sounds choked.

I don’t dare to move, but I need to touch him, so I inch my hand toward his until my fingertips brush his knuckles. His fingers lace through mine, loosely clasping my hand, then squeezing.

When I look at him, his eyes are closed. His face is tense—almost pained.

“Just…could never risk it.”

“But you could that night.” Because we were completely off the grid, and because he probably realized within the first few minutes that I didn’t know him.

“Low risk.” His eyes open, blink up at the perfect sky. His mouth twists. “Plus, you called me out.”

I don’t know why I did that. I think I was horny and still upset over Lana.

“Sorry.”

He shuts his eyes again. “It’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Mc-D?” I swallow hard and weigh the question out. It falls from my lips before I can vet it. “You’re not bi or pan…are you?”

His hand squeezes mine. “No.”

That word is a weight on my chest, making me feel breathless. “You don’t think God…cares, right?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think.”

“Other people do, though—other people care. And being a pastor is a lot about other people, isn’t it?” His chest expands, but he doesn’t answer. Anger swells in my throat. “People are stupid.”

His lips thin. “Untrue.”

“So what is it?”

“It’s like kindergarten.” His eyes open…find mine for a moment before fixing on the stars. “In my class, we had the Big Cheese. Every day…a different person was the line leader. We were all excited for it, right? Everybody wants to stand out. To be good. To wear the badge. What they do and think matter. People— We’re thinking about us, so we don’t think about each other enough. Any issue of moral superiority…it’s a chance for everyone to be the Big Cheese. Smarter. Better. Right. In politics, too. Same thing. Part of being human.”

Yeah, okay, so people are ego-crazed dicks. “But why is it an issue at all? In your religion?”

His eyes shut again on a sigh. “Society is innately…procreative. And people are inherently suspicious of differences. And the Bible…” He blows another breath out. “It’s open to interpretation. To translation.”

I’m sure people choose the interpretation that suits their worldview. Enforce the rules that don’t apply to you and bend the ones that do, right?

“Come here.” His murmur cuts into my thoughts. I blink and see he’s got his arm out. I move closer, and he pulls me up against his chest. Warm and solid. Feels good…smells good. Everything about him deeps into my chest and tugs like a damn magnet—and he feels the same way.

I hold onto him, kiss his throat, and say what I can’t keep to myself. “It’s not bad. Wanting what you want.” He shuts his eyes. “I’m not like you—I don’t know about religious stuff. But would a god make people ‘wrong’ or ‘bad,’ and if he did, is he even worth it? Is he worth your whole damn life?”

He’s gone stone still.

I know I fucked up, but I can’t help it. I can’t fucking stand to think about him going back to that shit. Thinking about him by himself…my quiet, lonely guy in his bed by himself at night, with no one. Soldiering up all the fucking time so he can jet around the fucking world trying to help people—when there’s no one to help him. The way his chest expands now…like he can’t breathe. This shit’s got him scared, and I don’t even know what kind of shit his people probably told him back when he was a kid.

He takes a couple heavy breaths, and I feel sorry that I said it. Even I’ve heard the phrase “preaching to the choir.” What’s dumber than preaching to the preacher? I rub my face against his jaw and kiss his cheek and hug him hard enough so he’ll remember. “I’m not trying to disrespect what you do. That was out of line and stupid. Forgive me?”