“Your friend has quite a mouth on her.”
“Oh,” I said, turning to look at Preacher. “You’re still here.”
He cocked an eyebrow and didn’t say anything.
“I’m waiting,” I said.
“For what?”
“For you to say something insensitive.”
He gave me a funny look.
“About what?”
“About my friend.”
He burst out laughing.
“Honey, if you think I’m bothered by what anyone else does to make themselves happy, or hell, unhappy, for that matter . . .” His voice was deep and rich and tinged with mocking laughter. “I never have and I never will.”
“Good,” I said grudgingly. “But don’t call me honey.”
“You’re protective of your friend,” he offered. “That’s good. Just don’t draw attention to things that don’t need drawing attention to.”
I stared at him, my mouth opening slightly. He was right, I realized. Clarice attracted enough attention on her own. I didn’t need to fight her battles for her, especially if they were imaginary battles.
“I’m supposed to look after you,” I said instead of just admitting that he was right.
“I heard,” he said warmly, his eyes way too intimate. “I’m not sure what that means, exactly.”
“I manage the schedule for events, classes, weekly groups, stuff like that.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is. And I’m in school. So try not to mix things up too much.”
“What makes you think I’m here to rock the boat?” he said, still not looking offended. No matter how much I poke him, I have yet to get a rise out of Preacher, I grumbled to myself.
“You’re not Reverend Paul,” I said flatly.
I almost expected him to laugh. I knew I was being childish. I was acting like a kid who refused to give a new step-parent a chance. But I didn’t like him, dammit.
“No, I’m definitely not Paul. He’s a far better man. Hell, he’s the best man I’ve ever known.”
He looked at me.
“If you would help me not fuck this up for him, I would be extremely grateful.”
My mouth opened, not expecting him to say that.
It was the curse word that caught me off guard, I told myself. Not his vehemence. Not his commitment to helping.
I stared at him agape and managed to nod. Then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the parsonage.
Well, damn. We were off to a spectacular start.
Chapter Five
Preacher
I headed right for the tequila. I’d had a case of my favorite delivered that afternoon. Top shelf. I’d decided long ago to stick to the good stuff. If I was going to wreck my liver, I was going to do it in style. It was a good thing, too.
So the hot little missy didn’t like me much? That was okay. I didn’t like myself all that much, either.
At least I knew she was a smart cookie. The kind of cookie you savored, not one you popped in your mouth and swallowed without tasting. The kind of cookie you dipped in milk.
Damn, I thought with a grimace, the girl has me hard every time I’m around her.
Even when she’s being a pain in the ass.
Especially when she was being a pain in the ass.
I downed another shot and put on some music, thinking a long, cold shower was in order. I leaned back on the couch and tried to figure out what the fuck my job was, other than giving a sermon every Sunday.
Thankfully, services didn’t start until ten thirty. I was relieved Paul wasn’t the sort who did early morning services. I was a night owl by nature. I would do what needed to be done, but it would be a lot less painful this way.
I heard a soft noise and turned, seeing a sheet of paper slide under my door.
Probably a delivery menu, I thought. Then I froze, the bottle halfway to my lips. I heard voices outside, then cursing as they started to move further away.
Cynthia had just slipped a note under my door.
I had already decided to avoid her as much as possible. I was probably kidding myself. Even though she had taken an instant dislike to me, I doubted I could stay away. And with Paul asking her to keep me inline, neither of us really had a choice about it.
I stood and walked to the door, bending to pick up the single sheet of paper.
Don’t get so excited, you dirty dog. It’s not a note asking you to eat her pussy for hours.
That would be nice, though, I thought, smacking my lips with a smile. Really fucking nice.
I frowned down at the paper, turning it sideways. It was a chart. No . . . a schedule. She’d written a note across the bottom with her email address. I groaned. She wanted to fucking email with me? That was how she was going to keep me at arm’s length?
Something caught hold of me then. Usually, I fucked with my brothers for my own amusement. Now I had a better reason. I might be already getting under Miss Thing’s skin, but I wanted under her skirt. And if I drove her crazy in the meantime, even better.