Page 40 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

The heat tightens my cheeks.

I hope I don’t have to sit here for much longer. Else I won’t be reeking of suds anymore.

Gabriel returns with a soda can. I take it with a nod as I purse my lips. Of course the provost won’t give me alcohol. What the hell am I thinking?

I crack open the can and take a sip. “It’s hot in here.”

“We’ll move in a moment.”

I glance at him from under my lashes. He sounds like his mind is miles away. I guess someone like him spends a lot of time thinking about God, even though he probably has Him on speed dial.

I look down at the can, and do my best to shove away the unpleasant thoughts trying to infiltrate my mind.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind, but I took some more initiative today.”

“Hmm?” Gabriel says, his eyes still locked on the flames.

“You know my roommate, Jasper?”

Gabriel’s head snaps to the side. His vague smile is frozen on his face, but there’s no mirth in his eyes. “What about him?”

My tongue tangles.

What the hell?

“Oh, he…I mean…I was tutoring him. English. We had our first lesson today.”

Gabriel’s eyes flicker over my face. Why do I get the feeling he’s trying to catch me out in a lie? I take another sip of soda. “That’s…that’s okay, right? You said?—”

“Oh, of course, child.” His smile thaws and even spreads a little wider. “I just hadn’t expected you to begin so soon.”

“Should I stop?”

“Not at all.” Gabriel turns back to the fire. “That boy could use a positive influence in his life. You’ll do him a world of good.”

Just what the hell did Jasper do? I’ve got to get it out of him. Maybe Perry knows.

There’s a faint knock from the hallway. I’m not surprised Father Gabriel didn’t hear the first two—the sound is so muffled it could be lost in the crackle of a burning log.

“That would be our supper,” Gabriel says, sounding downright cheery at the concept. He stands and extends an arm as he calls out, “Come!”

I know I shouldn’t stare. I know it’s wrong to even have a single thought about Gabriel’s body. But it’s impossible not to.

For one, I hadn’t expected him to be so well built. His biceps strain against his shirt sleeves, and his forearms are corded with muscles. Now his hands look proportional—his meaty palms and thick fingers a testament to a strong, fit man.

I hurry over to the table, desperate to keep my curiosity in check. Gabriel follows. I hesitate about which of the two seats to take until Gabriel pulls one out for me.

Why does this feel like a date? Then again I wouldn’t know what a date was if it hit me on the head.

I thump into the seat, and drag it under the table. With my hands on my lap and my head down, I feel like I’m waiting for him to start a sermon.

Instead of cracking open a bible, Gabriel takes his seat opposite me and lays his serviette over his lap.

The antechamber’s door opens. I turn on automatic.

When I see who’s standing in the doorway, my blood runs cold.

Chapter 14

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