Page 43 of Deacon

My stomach flutters—all full of butterflies again.

He’sjealous.

That’s almost…flattering. If only he knew the underwhelming circumstances of losing my virginity. But he doesn’t push it, and I’m grateful. He puts two plates down, and we eat in silence. Finally, he leans back, his knees spread.

“I’m gonna ask you another question, sweetheart,” he says.

There’s a serious note to his voice. I nod, bracing myself.

“You go to church and shit,” he says slowly. “But...last night, that was a little more than I was expecting from you.”

I blink, not speaking.

“I’ve never been religious, but I thought there were some rules about fucking,” he says.

It’s a reasonable question. I think hard.

“I’m not really that kind of religious,” I say finally. “I’m just doing my best. I’ve always figured, if God made me, he knows me better than anybody and gets why I do what I do. You know, as long as I’m not hurting anybody.”

For a second, I expect him to laugh. Instead, Deacon nods thoughtfully. “Makes sense to me.”

“I started going to church to get away from the house,” I said. “Aiden thought it was a waste of time, but Bittern stepped in. I went on my own. I could cut through the woods and get there pretty easily, be back home to make lunch.”

He looks at me like he wants to say something. A muscle in his jaw flickers. Then, he reaches out and puts his hand on my knee under the table. With the other hand, he drains his coffee and sets the mug aside.

I stare down at my lap. I’ve never been touched like this—casual intimacy. My heart thuds, speeding up. Maybe this is all too fast.

“I think I’d better go home,” I say.

He leans back and flicks open the curtain. “It’s letting up.”

I go to get my things before he changes his mind. It’s clear he doesn’t want me to go, but I’m risking making Aiden angry if I’m not there to make Sunday dinner. I put my dry clothes on, although I can’t find my panties, and get my boots in the hall.

When I step onto the porch, Deacon is by his enormous truck with wheels higher than my waist. There are boards poking out of the bed, a bandana tied around one. He has a rack on the roof with a tire and some random tools strapped to it.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says.

My stomach swoops. I go, and he lifts me up and deposits me inside, waiting for me to scramble to the passenger side before he swings in. He turns the key and leans back, glancing over his shoulder as he guides the truck around and heads toward the road.

My heart thumps in the back of my throat. I slept with this man. I just went home with him because he asked. I let him take my clothes off and fuck me like it wasn’t anything at all.

I don’t know why I did that, the same way I just caved with Braxton. Maybe because, deep inside, I was hoping I’d find something different. It terrifies me that, last night, I did.

I glance sideways. He reaches out and lays his hand on my knee, like I’m somebody that means something to him. His eyes are still on the road. He just holds me and drives, knees spread and body relaxed in the seat.

I clear my throat.

“Can I ask you something too?” I say.

The corner of his mouth jerks up.

“I like that little drawl you’ve got there,” he says. “And yeah, go ahead.”

Heat creeps over my cheeks, but I stay the course.

“How old are you?” I force out.

His jaw works. “Probably a little too old to be fucking you, sweetheart.”

---