by K. Webster
I love what I was called to do.
I’m fulfilled in a way drugs, sex, or sinful ways could never do.
When I’m doing God’s work, I know I’m making a difference. I’m guiding those to him and making the world a better place.
I spoke with Miss Greenwood’s mother, Stephanie, several weeks ago over the phone. Apparently, her daughter had gotten mixed up with the guidance counselor at her school at the beginning of the school year. He went to prison for sleeping with several of his underage students—many of which were non-consensual. Sadly, for Miss Greenwood, he’d knocked her up. She’d carried the baby for a month or two before she lost it. The poor girl seemed to spiral out from there and even got herself involved with an abusive drug dealer at her school. Once she hit rock bottom, Stephanie wanted to help her get her daughter’s life back together.
In comes me.
While being a church pastor wasn’t exactly what I set out to do in this life, it’s what fulfills me for now. I like helping people in need. I love guiding them back to the right path. Once, I was out of control too and nearly ruined my life. Had I not had the law, family, and friends trying to set me straight, who knows, I could have ended up dead. Like my brother.
God has a plan.
And his plan for me is this.
A soft knock on my door jolts me from my inner thoughts and I close the folder. I place my Bible on top of it before clearing my throat. “Come in.”
The door creaks open and a leggy blonde steps inside my office. For a moment, my eyes are glued to her honey-colored legs that extend from beneath a pair of skimpy white cotton shorts. She wears a pair of white Chucks and an ankle bracelet shimmers as it reflects the sun shining in behind me. When I find the sense to stop looking at her legs, I jerk my gaze up past her narrow hips and waist but linger on the swell of her breasts that are barely encased in a bright yellow camisole. I can see her nipples beneath the fabric for crying out loud. Long blonde waves hang down in front of her bare shoulders. My gaze pauses at her glossy pink lips that wear a small smirk.
Dammit.
I clear my throat again and meet her smug blue-eyed gaze. A golden eyebrow is arched in question.
“Hey, Preach.”
I shake away my stupor and clench my jaw. Standing before me is seventeen-year-old Lacy Greenwood. Her mother said she was troubled. She’s trouble all right. But what has me all flustered is how easily—in one simple moment—I forgot who I was. A pastor. Instead, I roamed her body like a man does a woman when interested in her.
And that’s just plain stupid.
I’m just a guy and sometimes I’m not immune to an attractive woman.
Now that I’m aware that she’s indeed pretty, I can put that behind me and move on.
“Pastor Easton McAvoy,” I reply with a gentle smile. “Please, Miss Greenwood, take a seat.” My voice is husky and I don’t stand to greet her because then my inappropriate erection would be on full display. I’m irritated that I don’t have more self-control.
I say a quick prayer for strength. God has helped me through tougher moments in life, surely he’ll get me through this one. I certainly owe it to him to be on my best behavior too. When I was at rock bottom and alone, it was the love and forgiveness of Christ that pulled me through.
She saunters over to the chair and gracefully sits down. Her eyes take in my rugged appearance as heat flashes in her eyes.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
Dane and Rick would be warning me right about now:
God is going to strike you down right here because your cock is hungry for this girl.
I rub the back of my neck and clear my throat. Again. “Your mother tells me you’ve had quite a year.”
Her smug grin quivers right off her face. Heartache flashes in her pretty blues and she looks down at her lap. “Yep.”
I sit up in my chair and shake away the lust that’s attempting to prevent me from doing my job. My mind is still trapped in the past. That’s my reasoning as to why I’m failing at finding my focus. I need to get back to the present. Where I’m a Godly man. A leader of the church. Someone who vowed to both God and the church that I would take a harder path than most to lead people to Jesus. “That’s what I’m here for. To talk about it.”
She swallows and shrugs her shoulders without meeting my gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it but my mother is making me come here.”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my desk and try to meet her stare. “Lacy,” I rumble, my tone commanding. “Look at me.”
Her blue eyes lift and for a moment, I’m given a window into her soul. She truly is broken. The girl is strong on the outside but she’s dying on the inside.
“Everything is going to get better. I promise.” I give her a supportive smile. “Now tell me where it all started. Was it with Mr. Polk?”
Her golden brows furrow together and the tip of her nose turns pink. “I thought he loved me.”
I feel sympathy for her. She’s just a kid and some old prick took advantage of her. He was supposed to guide and counsel her. Instead, he preyed upon her. “Go on.”
She swallows and lets out a heavy sigh. “He didn’t though. Apparently he slept with lots of girls. I fell for it. I fell for all his stupid words and soft kisses. We had sex.” She watches me to gauge my reaction. Of course she won’t find one. After being in prison for eight years of my life starting when I was just eighteen, it takes a lot more than a little sex talk to get me rattled. Once she realizes I’m not flipping out, she continues. “I had sex with him and then I turned up pregnant.” A strangled sound escapes her. “It…I…” Tears leak down her pink cheeks and slip down to her jaw. I want to swipe them from her porcelain skin—which alarms me—but instead, I nudge the box of tissues her way.
“I heard he went to prison,” I tell her. “And where did that leave you?”
She yanks a tissue from the box and dabs at her skin. Her bloodshot blue eyes find mine, imploring me to understand whatever is going on inside her head. “I was alone and pregnant. But I was happy.”
“No shame in that. Babies are a blessing from God.”
Her nostrils flare as she glares at me. “I must have been really bad because he stole his blessing back. He stole Mikey from me.”
Reading her passages from The Bible to help her get past her grief isn’t what she needs right now. I know better than that. Having helped many other convicted felons while they dealt with their demons, I know people need to be listened to and not preached at. Tom taught me that. When I was wallowing in self-pity, he listened and then he gave his advice. Eventually, he became a vital person in my life. A second father. A best friend and mentor. In due time, I can show her the verses that will help mend her heart just as he did with me.
“God doesn’t work that way,” I tell her quietly. “After your loss, what happened?”
She sniffles and shrugs. “I was broken and devastated. My happiness had been destroyed. I wanted to forget. Met up with a guy named Nolan Jenkins. I learned quickly which pills helped you forget. However, he presented new problems. Nolan was abusive.” Shame flickers in her eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. I fell out of one bad situation into the next. I’m terrible at picking out the right guys. All my friends around me seem to hook up with these wonderful, adoring men. And I get what’s leftover.”
I regard her with a frown. “Perhaps you should focus on your own happiness for a while. Happiness that doesn’t revolve around finding a guy. What do you like to do for fun, Lacy?”
Her blue eyes gaze past me to the window. She’s lost. So damn lost. “I don’t know.”
Pulling out a sticky note, I scribble down my phone number and a scripture: He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. (Isaiah 40:29).
“Think about what makes you happy. Text them to me no matter how small or seemingly unimportant. I’ll compile a list for you next session we have. You’re going to get stronger and get through these difficult times, I
promise. The list will help you find some direction. Will you come into the sanctuary and pray with me?”
She nods and stands. I follow suit and round my desk. Her eyes skim over my dress shirt before she tears her gaze away. I lead the way past Lucinda’s empty desk and down the foyer hallway. Inside the sanctuary, the wood has recently been polished by Bobby and the smell of lemony pine is strong. Striding down the aisle, I take us straight for the pulpit. I motion for her to sit down on the steps and I sit beside her.
“Take a moment with your head bowed to acknowledge your loss and then we’ll pray.” My voice is soft and reassuring.
She bows her head and her blonde hair curtains around her face. I take the stolen moment to stare at her. Golden strands shimmer in her silky hair. The urge to run my fingers through her gorgeous mane is overwhelming but I grit my teeth and refrain.
“Let’s join hands and say a prayer,” I murmur, my voice low and gravelly.
She offers her tiny hands to me. Mine swallow hers. I grip her gently and begin praying. While I pray for peace and strength and love for this poor girl, I find myself silently praying for me too.
Self-control.
Patience.
Strength.
My mind is traveling down paths that don’t have any business inside a church. I’ll need to get a handle on my masculine desires because this girl needs actual help. She’s been taken advantage of once before—by someone who was supposed to do the very thing I’m tasked with doing.
But I’m stronger than him.
I will not be seduced by the pouty-lipped vixen.
I’m going to help her, come hell or high water.
“Amen,” I repeat as I reopen my eyes.
His greenish blue eyes are narrowed. Our hands are still conjoined and neither of us makes any moves to pull away. I’m still stunned that the church counselor my mother set me up to meet with was so hot. After me falling for Sean Polk, I’m surprised she allowed this. You’d have to be blind to not think Easton McAvoy was attractive.
A strong, chiseled jaw that wears a bit of brown scruff with hints of red mixed in. Full lips that beg to be kissed. Strong nose with a few freckles sprinkled over it like toppings on a delicious sundae. But the best part of him is his hair. It’s cropped short on the sides and longer on top. It’s a dark brown but when the sun hits it, I see a hint of auburn shining through.
After a squeeze to my hands, he releases them and rises. I stand up next to this giant preacher. I’d heard rumors about him. That he did almost a decade in the penitentiary. I’m not sure for what. His eyes seem kind but the man has a body of a beast. My throat heats as I follow him up the aisle. His dark jeans hug his tight ass and his shoulders are broad. He’s more muscular than lean but not in a meathead kind of way. In the way that would suggest he could toss you over his shoulder and spank your ass if you misbehaved kind of way.
Once we’re in the foyer, his eyes travel my way. I don’t miss how his gaze skims over my body. Hell, most men can’t help but stare. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. With Sean, I’d loved the attention. He was older and said dirty things. I liked him a lot. Then, I thought I loved him. In my teenage brain, I was sure he’d kick his girlfriend to the curb and marry me. That we’d raise our baby together. But everything blew up and I was alone. When I lost Mikey, I was more than alone.
“Hey,” Easton murmurs, his voice a low growl. “You okay?”
I blink away the tears and nod. “I’ll be okay.”
He stares at me for a beat longer as though he doesn’t believe me but then stalks toward his office where I left my purse. I fold the sticky note with his number and slip it into my purse. He’s gathering his things when my phone buzzes.
Mom: Hey, sweetie. Your Aunt Kimmie showed up with the boys. They’ve brought out the water balloons and are making a huge mess. Can you ask Pastor McAvoy to run you home?
Irritation bubbles in my chest. Aunt Kimmie and her boys are obnoxious. They always show up when Aunt Kimmie needs money. After eating everything in the house and letting her six-year-old twins destroy everything they come in contact with, they leave at least a thousand dollars richer. Mom just can’t tell her sister no ever. And nine times out of ten, Mom abandons me to deal with them. Just like now.
“Uh,” I start but then my eyes dart over to Easton as he picks up his helmet. “Never mind.”
His brows furrow together as he studies me. “Lying in the house of God is a sin.”
My neck and cheeks blaze bright red. “W-What?”
He flashes me a panty melting grin. “I’m teasing, Lacy. What’s up?”
“It’s nothing. Same time next week?”
His gaze is soft as he regards me but eventually nods. “Don’t forget to start your list.”
I give him a forced smile and rush from his office. As soon as I step outside, I wish I’d worn a little more clothes. Old habits. Once the school skank, always the school skank. Holding my head high, I start the long journey by foot home. The skies are darkening in the direction I’m headed which only makes me more frustrated with Mom and Aunt Kimmie. I make it a good half mile when I hear the rumble of an engine. The sound is chased off by cracking thunder ahead of me. When the first raindrop hits my head, I groan.
I’m thankful I wore my Chucks and start running. The rain is now splattering me faster and harder. I’ve hardly made it very far when the sound of an engine roars behind me. One peek over my shoulder tells me that Easton McAvoy is coming to save the day on a loud motorcycle. I’d seen the helmet on his desk but seeing it on his head as he powers through the rain with the bike between his thighs is quite a sight. A sight that makes my heart skip in my chest.
“Get on,” he barks as he pulls off his helmet. The rain soaks his handsome face and his shirt now molds to his sculpted body. His blue-green eyes are imploring me to take the helmet. As much as this feels like a bad idea, I can’t help the tiny thrill that shoots through me as I push his helmet on over my head. It smells like him. A masculine mix of cologne and peppermint. The water pings off the helmet but I’m thankful for a reprieve.
“Careful for the exhaust pipe. It’ll burn your leg,” he warns as I straddle the bike behind him. I wrap my arms around his solid middle and have to swallow down the excitement surging through me. My core that’s pressed right up against his ass throbs. He gives my knee a little pat. “Hold on tight.”
I squeeze him and let out a yelp when he gasses the bike. He doesn’t go very fast on account of the rain but the drops ping painfully against my flesh anyway. I’m shivering and miserable, so much so, that I realize I haven’t told him where I live. He turns down a street into a modest neighborhood and drives to the end. We come to stop at a house that sits mostly by itself. He pulls the bike under a covered carport and kills the engine.
“It’s not safe to ride in the rain. I figured you could hang out here until it passes and then I’ll drive you home,” he says, his voice husky. Lightning cracks and I shriek. “Come on, honey, let’s get you inside.”
He climbs off and then offers me his hand. I’m warmed by the fact that he helps me off the bike before removing the helmet. His gaze roams down my front before he stalks over to the door that goes into the house. He murmurs prayers under his breath but I hear them. Lord, give me strength. I follow him inside and I’m immediately impressed with his small home. For one, it smells good. I thought guys had gross houses. Sean’s house smelled like sweaty socks. Easton’s house smells like oranges and cinnamon.
“Are you cooking something?” I ask as I shiver. My teeth clatter together.
He stares at me intently. Anguish flickers in his gaze and I immediately somehow feel responsible for the look. It’s as though he’s struggling. Guilt nags at me because as much as I want him to like me, I don’t want him to feel as though it pains him. “My mom brings me this wax stuff that you melt and it makes your house smell good. Don’t ask me how it works. Every couple of weeks she comes and switches it out for me.”
I laugh but then my teeth start chattering again.
“Come on,” he says, the pain in his eyes fading away as compassion floods in. “I’ve got something for you to wear.” This time, it’s me who stares for too long. His eyes are beautiful. Unlike Sean who had evil intentions in his gaze, Easton’s eyes are gentle and good. He feels safe. Like the type of person who knows exactly the right things to say and just when you need a hug, he’d be the first to give it. Despite his rough exterior, love for his church and God are worn proudly upon his shoulders and in his kind gaze. It’s evident he takes pride in what he does. “This way.”
Following him through his house toward his bedroom feels naughty. A thousand dirty images flit through my mind. Images where the preacher pleasures the girl with his mouth. I bite on my lip to suppress the moan that rumbles in my chest. He strides over to a dresser and pulls out a white undershirt, a pair of white socks, and a grey pair of sweatpants.
“There’s a bathroom in the hall you can change in. Leave your clothes in there and I’ll toss them in the dryer.” He flashes me a warm smile. “You like coffee? I’m afraid I don’t have much else to offer you.”
I don’t tell him I hate coffee. When I was fourteen, I got it in my head that I would drink some of Mom’s black coffee. It was nasty and I vowed never to drink it again. I simply nod and fumble along until I’m in the bathroom. One glance in the mirror and I’m mortified. My hair is a frizzy soaked mess. The mascara I’d put on is smeared beneath my eyes and my lips are slightly purple from the cold. I look terrible. Of course he looked good enough to eat in his rain-soaked dress shirt that molded to his carved from stone body.