Page 7 of Hotter 'N Hell

I wasn’t one to get intimidated—or so I had thought. I realized that I’d never truly gone anywhere alone. There had always been a group with me. Walking into a place by myself, where others would look at me, judge me, it made it difficult for me to open my car door and step out. Instead, I sat, parked, looking at the white building in front of me.

It seemed Gathe was right about the Mass thing. They had been doing something inside the sanctuary. People had been exiting the church since I’d arrived, then getting in their cars and leaving.

Except for the seven or eight I’d seen walk from the church to the building I was currently staring at. They hadn’t appeared nervous at all. Church was supposed to be a welcoming place, wasn’t it? Where everyone accepted you? But what if they saw through me? I was the daughter of the former head of a knownMafia family. I’d never prayed before. Not even when Crosby had been lying there, dying in front of me.

Gripping the steering wheel, I wasn’t sure I could do this—get out. Netflix and Takis were calling to me. They were safe without condemnation. I thought I preferred that option.

The side door to the church opened, and I swung my gaze over to see the one person I knew here. Well, I’d met. I didn’t really know Father Jude. He wasn’t in jeans and boots tonight. He had on a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved black button-up shirt with a white collar, which seemed ridiculous on him.

A priest with a square chin, chiseled jaw—which was clean-shaven tonight, I noticed—bright, piercing eyes the color of the needles on a lush pine tree; and thick, wavy dark brown hair that was styled perfectly seemed like a waste to me. Yep, that was one big fat shame. A man who looked like that, living a life of celibacy? I mean, I thought he did. Wasn’t that a priest thing? Or was that a rabbi? Whatever. He was religious. And for someone like me, he was off-limits. Once he found out just who my father was, he’d not be so friendly and welcoming.

Fuck it. I was going in. If for no other reason than to look at the hot priest for my dirty thoughts later tonight. Hopefully, my dad was right, and there was no God to strike me down for getting off to a priest.

Opening my car door, I stepped out of my car and flicked my hair back over my shoulder before walking toward the building. I wasn’t looking at him, but I could see Father Jude in my peripheral vision, so I knew the moment he spotted me. He stopped briefly.

Licking my lips, I turned my head slightly and flicked my gaze in his direction, then let a smile spread across my face. His expression faltered for a moment. His smile seemed uncertain. I was making him nervous. A grown man, eight years older than me. That was the most entertainment I’d had in, well…no, I wasnot thinking about that. It was before, and before was a time I did not dwell on.

His smile was back and firmly in place on that attractive face of his.

“You came,” he said as we both reached the door.

“I did.” I glanced down at my sundress. It was the most modest piece of clothing I owned. It wasn’t long, but it did hit mid-thigh, and although I couldn’t wear a bra with it, the black fabric hid my nipples. “I hope this is appropriate.”

When my eyes lifted to his face again, he was still looking above the neck, like the priest he was. “Absolutely. No dress code here.” He opened the door, then waved a hand for me to enter.

Two eight-foot tables covered in red-and-white checked tablecloths sat in the middle of the gym floor. Each with a vase of fresh-cut flowers in the center. And folding chairs on either side. Two men and an older lady sat at a table, chatting, while another man and woman sat across from each other at the opposite table. Two younger women over by a display of drinks leaned in close to each other, as if in deep discussion.

The warmth coming from the priest behind me was a momentary distraction as he walked around me, his shoulder brushing mine since I had stopped, making it difficult for him to follow me inside.

“Excuse me,” he said. His face looked slightly warm, as if our shoulders touching had been something to apologize for.

“Father Jude,” the older man called out, holding up a hand in greeting.

Every other set of eyes present swung to Jude, as if he were a magnet and all their eyeballs were made of metal.

He nodded his head, then glanced back at me, but before he could say anything, a woman who looked to be in her later twenties was in front of him, holding a plate of what I thought were tiny weenies with bread around them.

“Father Jude,” she cooed, batting her lashes at him. “I made my pigs in a blanket for an appetizer. I know how much you love them.” Her Southern drawl had to be exaggerated, or she had been raised by Scarlett O’Hara.

Jude picked one up, thanking her, although he looked a little tense. As if he was uncomfortable.

Did the sexy priest have good Catholic women chasing him?

Well, I’ll be damned. Color me shocked.

“Sibby, I’d like to introduce you to a new face tonight. This is Saylor Rice. Saylor, this is Sibby Hughey.”

Sibby flung her long brown braid over her shoulder as she pasted on a fake smile. While the white blouse she was wearing was modestly buttoned up, it was two sizes too small, and the navy skirt hit her knees, but the slit up the side was showing some serious leg.

“It’s just wonderful to have you here,” she gushed. “Whereabouts are you from?” Although she was talking to me, her eyes kept cutting to Father Jude to see if he was looking at her or me.

“Madison,” I replied, starting to get entertained by her desperate attempts for his attention.

“Oh, well, that’s lovely.”

Sure it is, Sibby. You look absolutely thrilled.

I wasn’t as talented at the faking it as she was, but I flashed her a tight smile, then looked out at the others. Although a few had gone back to their conversations, they were still looking this way, attempting to not make it obvious.

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