by Melinda Minx
Anything but Deacon Shepherd, Anna’s asshole brother, pacing around in my kitchen in the apartment that I’m about to get evicted from, saying, “I need you to marry me,” while towering a full foot above me.
I finally stop laughing. “Is this like...some kind of double fake-out, Deacon? You tell me it’s not a prank, make me believe it, and then—”
“It’s not,” he says, putting his hands on my shoulders.
I’m taken aback by how good his touch feels. I don’t think he’s ever touched me, unless accidental contact while handing me a pair of keys counts. His hands feel big, protective, and warm. I suddenly realize my nipples are hard again as his blue eyes lock with mine and his masculine scent starts to overwhelm me.
“I’m very, very serious,” he says. “Elsie is my world, and I’ll do anything to protect her. To keep her close by my side. I’m her father!”
I gulp. “I don’t understand. At all.”
He goes into this long story about a judge and his lawyer. He seems one hundred percent convinced that he needs a wife, or he’ll lose his daughter. I can tell by his face and the tone of his voice that he’s not lying to me, but I still don’t know that I actually believe what he’s telling me is true. He thinks it’s true, but what kind of judge would be swayed by a sham marriage?
“So, Rita,” he says. “Just do this for me, for Anna, and you’ve got a place to stay as long as you need it…”
“I can’t marry you,” I say, shaking my head.
He lets go of me.
“Why not?”
“I don’t love—I don’t...I don’t even like you, Deacon.”
“That’s not the point—”
“It is! That’s why people get married. They at least like each other. This isn’t the Middle Ages! We’re not turnip farmers who need to have kids to work the farm.”
“What about Elsie?” he asks, “Don’t you at least care about Elsie?”
I bite my lip. “Deacon, it’s not that I don’t care...it’s just that...I can’t. I’m sorry you’re in this situation, but it’s not my fault. You can’t guilt me into this.”
“Fine,” he says, snatching his jacket off the chair. “I’ll get out of your way then. I’ll lose my daughter, and you’ll be out on the street.”
“Uh,” I say, “Anna’s invitation still stands, so—”
“No,” he says, pointing at me. “Either you become my wife, or there is no invitation.”
“That’s cold, Deacon,” I say. “I can stay out of your way—”
“You’re cold, Rita!” he snaps. “I have to find another woman with a stick up her ass who will agree to be my wife, and I can’t have you wandering around the house with your nipples pointing out while I get my new fake wife in there. How will that look to the judge?”
My nipples...this asshole. “You said you weren’t looking!”
“They were pointing way out there,” he says. “I tried not to, but—”
“Get out!”
I start to shove him. I open the door and glare at him. “Out!”
I try to slam the door on him, but he holds it open. He’s too strong for me.
“Rita,” he says. “Just let me know if you change your mind. I can get you a nice looking ring and everything, the whole shebang. It will need to look real for Judge Lawson.”
“Out!”
He lets go of the door, and I slam it shut.
“God!” I huff. “I hate that man.”
Marry Deacon Shepherd? As if that would ever happen. I wouldn’t pretend to marry him if we were on the same team in charades, and the word was “wedding.”
And he had the nerve to revoke Anna’s invitation? Does he want me to be out on the street? No, he doesn’t want that, but he’s never really going to think of anyone but himself. And his daughter...I guess. Being this ruthless and insensitive to my feelings for the sake of protecting his daughter is at least sort of commendable...I guess.
Stacy’s parents, I only met them a few times. I remember they were always pushing Deacon and Stacy to get Elsie into modelling. “She has such nice little cheekbones and such a winning smile,” they’d say. Stacy and Deacon steadfastly refused, not wanting to parade their daughter around so that her parents could live through her.
If I agreed to Deacon’s insane request, I could only justify doing it for Elsie’s sake. I wouldn’t be doing it for him, I’d be doing it for her.
But no, I’m not going to do it. Maybe I can find someone in my Bible study group who would be interested. He said he wanted a wholesome wife. It’s a bit precarious, because what kind of good Christian woman is going to want to take the sanctity of holy matrimony so lightly?
Jessica. Yeah, Jessica definitely would risk damnation for a guy as hot as Deacon.
7
Deacon
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say, looking down at my fucking khakis.
“When was the last time you stepped foot in a church?” Anna asks, laughing at me.
“Stacy’s funeral,” I say. “So Rita and her friends read the Bible for fun?”
Anna rolls her eyes at me. “I don’t think it’s totally for fun, Deacon. They want to get in touch with their spiritual sides, build their relationships with God, that kind of thing. It wouldn’t kill you.”
“These khakis might kill me,” I say, frowning down at them.
Elsie comes in from the living room and looks at me with a serious expression, her eyes widening. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Huh?” I ask. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetie.”
“You look so funny, though.”
Anna laughs and pats Elsie on the back. “He’s dressed up for church.”
“We don’t go to church,” Elsie says. “You said it’s boring, Dad, even when I wanted to go.”
I sigh. “I’m saving you from how boring it is, sweetie, but Dad’s gotta go there. He’s got a mission.”
“That sounds fun,” Elsie says, pouting. “Can I go?”
“Uh,” I mumble. “This is grown-up Bible study, not Sunday school. You can stay home and watch TV, play with Aunt Anna, have fun!”
She scoffs. “Fine!”
Anna rolls her eyes at me. Her eyes must be tired and dizzy from rolling around so much. “It wouldn’t kill you to let her go to church, if she wants.”
“It would,” I say, “because then I’d have to go there all the time. Church didn’t save Stacy, so Elsie and I don’t need it, alright? I’m going to this thing to find myself a wife.”
“Just like going to the market,” Anna says.
“Hey,” I snap. “It’s not my fault Rita left me high and dry.”
“I’m honestly surprised she’s even helping you out by taking you to the Bible study group with her. Slamming the door in your face was what I expected her to do. You should be grateful she’s helping you at all, Deacon.”
I’ve got my dumb polo shirt tucked into my dumb khakis, though my tattoo-sleeved forearms are still completely visible. It’s cold out, but I have to at least have some element of my appearance that isn’t completely dorky-looking.
I get on my bike—fucking khakis on a bike—and head over to Rita’s place.
She told me that I could just meet her at church, but I was afraid I’d arrive early and get stuck by myself talking to all the Bible people. Without Rita covering for me, I don’t think I could sell the idea that I was just there for Bible study and didn’t have an ulterior motive.
I knock on her door, and she opens up after a few moments.
She’s wearing a long black skirt that goes all the way down to her ankles, and a pink blouse. Her hair is in a ponytail pulled up at the side. She looks straight out of the 1950s. Damn, why couldn’t I get this one as my wife? Judge Lawson would go bonkers for this Brady Bunch shit.
Rita smiles, and I feel weirded out, because I suddenly look at her—just for a moment—as if she was actually a woman and not just my sister’s geeky friend. Her dimples appear when she smiles,
and her eyes light up a bit. Her smile suddenly does weird things to me, so I look away so I don’t have to deal with it.
When I finally look back at her face, she’s awkwardly crossed her arms and is frowning. That’s better.
“So,” I say. “You got an extra Bible for me?”
“You sure it’s not going to burn your skin?” she asks.
“Vampire thing again?” I ask.
She nods.
“It’s daylight,” I say, pointing. “So I’m not a vampire. Hey, does the Bible actually talk about vampires?”
She looks at me like I’m an idiot.
“I’ll take that as a no,” I say. “You’ll have to cover me, you know? I don’t know shit about—”
She glares at me. “You can’t say words like that in church, Deacon. Try to say as little as possible, maybe? Just sit there and look handsome.”
I raise my eyebrows. “So I look handsome?”
Her face burns red, and she shoves past me. “Let’s go.”
We get in her car, and she turns on the ignition. It huffs and churns, but it doesn’t start.
“Shit!” she shouts. “I mean shoot! Crap! Darn it!”
“You just dropped the s-bomb!” I say, pretending to be outraged.
She collapses against the steering wheel, letting it dig into her forehead. Without looking up at me, she says in a defeated voice, “Do you know what’s worse than having no job? Having no job and no car. Now even if I get a job, I probably won’t be able to get there.”
“I’ll get one of my mechanic friends to take a look at it,” I say. “He’ll do it for free.”
She looks at me, her eyes lighting up. “For real?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I ink up a lot of mechanics. I’ll just give him a free tattoo or whatever.”
“Normally I would not take charity from you, Deacon, but since you screwed me over so bad by revoking Anna’s invitation, it’s the least you could do for me.”
“Sure,” I say. “But we’ll have to take my bike to get to Bible study.”
She starts shaking her head. “No way, I’m not riding that...that…”
Her face turns red.
I get out of the car, open her door for her, and reach out a hand to her. “Come on, Rita, we’re gonna be late. I can’t afford to lose even one day of progress. I need a wife, and I need her now. We have to go.”
I take her by the hand and manage to drag her out of the car. She’s wearing a hoodie, which isn’t really warm enough to protect her on a bike in this weather.
“You can wear my jacket,” I say, taking it off and offering it to her. “And my helmet.”
Before she can really object, I’m convincing her to slip on the jacket, and then I shove the helmet into her hands.
“Deacon,” she says. “I can just get a cab—”
“It will take too long,” I say. “And there’s nothing wrong with the bike. Let’s just get going.”
I help her get the helmet strapped on, then I help her onto the bike. I notice the curves of her hips and the tightness of her ass as the skirt tightens against her body when she gets onto the saddle. Shit, why am I noticing Rita’s ass? I rub my eyes, as if that will help.
Once she’s situated on the bike, I jump on in front of her. I feel her inner thighs pressing against my ass, and—out of nowhere—my dick starts getting hard.
What the hell? Has wanting to convince her to pretend to be my wife somehow tricked my body into thinking she’s hot? I’ve never even looked at her like that once in my life. I think about it, just a little, and I realize she’s not actually bad looking. I just always ignored her.
“What do I do with my arms?” she asks.
“Just grab hold of me,” I say.
“Uh...where?” she asks.
“Wherever it is comfortable,” I say.
She grabs my shoulders. “I’m worried I’ll lose my grip and fall.”
“Then grab my waist, Rita, shit—I mean hell—I mean...gosh golly gee, whatever makes you feel safe.”
Her arms slide down my back, and then she grabs hold of my sides, her fingers moving around to my abs. Damn, her hands feel warm on my hard six-pack, and her thighs are pressing even tighter against me.
I think of seeing her pebbled nipples the other night, and how big her tits are. “You can get closer, it’s more secure.”
She slides forward, and I feel the big soft warmth of her breasts squishing against my back.
I smirk, not that she can even see it.
I start up the bike, then I shout over the roar of the engine. “I’ll go slow, since it’s your first time.” Heh, that sounds dirty, I think to myself.
When I accelerate, she squeezes me even tighter, and her breasts and thighs press even deeper into me. Damn.
It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the church, and when I pull into the parking lot, I see a number of people stop walking and look up at us on the bike. They’re all wearing skirts and khakis. Well, I guess I’ll fit in because I’m wearing khakis, too.
I help Rita take off the helmet, and she slips off and hands my jacket back to me.
The people gawking at us start to go inside the building, though some linger in the parking lot.
When we get closer to them, they approach us, all smiles.
There’s a guy with a crewcut straight from the 50s and two women. Both of the women look okay. They’re dressed pretty similarly to Rita, but one is wearing a shorter skirt, and she’s gone full rebel by unbuttoning one of the buttons of her polo shirt.
“Rita,” the hotter one says. “This must be your friend you told me about.”
She bites her lip and locks eyes with me. I give her a bit of a smile,
“This is Deacon,” Rita says. “Deacon, this is Jessica, Lindsay, and Mark.”
Mark reaches out to shake my hand. He’s got a good grip.
I shake Lindsay's hand more gently. When Jessica takes my hand, she holds it for several moments longer than she needs to.
“So,” I say. “Let’s go study some Bibles.”
Rita elbows me. “The Bible.”
Mark smiles at me. “Today we’re going to be discussing what the Bible says about marriage!”
I nearly choke. I look at Rita, and her eyes are wide.
“Yeah?” I say, trying not to sound terrified. “You married, Mark?”
“Not yet,” he says. “It’s not a decision to be taken lightly. I’ve gotta find the right girl, one that the Lord has chosen for me.”
Jessica is staring me down now, her eyes hungry. She gets a wicked smile on her face when I make eye contact with her.
Those eyes. Jessica looks like the kind of girl I’d pick up at a bar, pound the hell out of, and then never talk to again. The only difference is she’s dressed up like Rita, but underneath...she doesn’t strike me as particularly wholesome.
When we get inside, I take one of the extra Bibles set out on the table. “Darn it,” I say, looking around to make sure everyone hears me. “I forgot my Bible at home. It’s a shame, too, all those annotations and notes I have in it, I won’t be able to reference them…”
Rita scowls at me.
When I sit down, she whispers into my ear. “Deacon, don’t lay it on so thick. No one here is a total idiot.”
I like how her voice sounds in my ear. Her warm breath tickles my ear, and I imagine she’s saying something dirty to me instead of scolding me.
Jessica takes an empty chair, squeezing it in between Rita and me, and sits down. Her knee presses against my thigh. “I’ll study with you today, Deacon. I forgot my Bible, too.”
I look at the big stack of extra ones on the table, but I don’t say anything. I need to give Jessica a chance, she’s pretty much my only real prospect at this point. She’s the one Rita mentioned as being potentially down with marrying me.
“Hey everyone,” a woman with frizzy hair and glasses says, standing up. She clears her throat. “I’m a little nervous because today is the first tim
e I’ll be leading Bible study. I, uh, see some new faces, so let’s all introduce ourselves.”
We go around in a circle introducing ourselves, though I suspect I’m the only new face. When it gets to me, I try to say pretty much whatever the other people said, remembering Rita’s advice not to lay it on too thick.
“I’m Deacon. Deacon Shepherd. I, uh, haven’t been to church in a while. Rita is a friend of mine, and she thought it would do me some good to come here. So here I am.”
“That’s great,” the frizzy haired woman—Irena—says. “It’s never too late to come back to church.”
I grin and sit down.
“So,” Irena says. “We’re going to be talking about marriage today. Everyone in this study group is pretty young, but who among us is married?”
A few people raise their hands, all of them couples who are clearly together.
“So those of you who are already married,” Irena says, “will be able to give us some nice nuggets of wisdom. Let’s open up to Corinthians 7, verse 8.”
Everyone opens their Bible and starts looking for wherever the hell Corinthians is.
I look at Jessica, and she smiles, but doesn’t help me find the right page.
“Uhh,” I mumble. “Matthew, Mark, Luke…”
“John,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say. “So Corinthian is…”
“Corinthians,” she corrects.
She reaches over toward the Bible in my hands, and her leg really presses into mine. I can see down her shirt—I notice another button went undone at some point between meeting her outside and now. She starts flipping around the book until she lands in Corinthians.
“There were some numbers, too,” I say.
She giggles. “I know. 7:8...”
“Right.”
“Deacon,” Irena says. “Since you’re new, let’s get the ice broken for you. Would you like to read?”
“Sure,” I say.
Jessica points to where I’m supposed to read.
I clear my throat. “Now to the unmarried and the widows I say: It is good for them to stay unmarried, as I do. But if they cannot control themselves, they should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with passion.”