Page 21 of Devil's Advocate
Her eyes found mine then, sharp and glimmering.“Even if the world says you shouldn’t.”
The words landed like a spark in a room full of gasoline.For a split second, I forgot how to breathe.Mama Jo didn’t break eye contact—she didn’t need to.Whatever she saw in me, I knew she recognized it.
Jimmy swallowed hard, his fork clinking against the plate.“That’s, uh… that’s romantic,” he said awkwardly.
She smiled with a glint in her eye I’d never seen before.“Romantic, sure.But love ain’t meant to be safe, sugar.It’s meant to shake you wide awake.Now let me get back to the kitchen.Packing up some food for Liza Moore, poor woman fell and broke her hip.”
We ate in silence after that, both pretending not to notice the current humming between us.Every brush of his sleeve, every quiet inhale—it all felt loaded.
When he finished, I reached for his plate without thinking.“I’ll take care of these.”
“You don’t have to,” he said quickly, half-standing.
“Sit,” I said, a little too sharp.My voice had gone rough again.“You’ve done enough.”
He froze, then eased back into his seat.His eyes dropped, lashes fluttering as he murmured, “Yes, sir.”
I took a deep, cleansing breath and tried not to imagine him naked underneath me saying those exact words.
I took the plates into the kitchen, needing the distance.
Mama Jo snatched the dishes right out of my hands before I could speak.
“Mm-mm.”She shook her head.“Don’t even try to act innocent.”
I blinked.“What?”
She gave me a sly, knowing look that could curdle milk.“You know damn well what.I can smell it on you.”
“Smell what?”
“That boy’s got your blood singin’ like a gospel choir,” she said, voice soft but cutting.“You keep lookin’ at him like he’s the last prayer you’ll ever say.”
I tried to laugh it off, but it came out strangled.“You’ve got quite the imagination, Mama Jo.”
“Mm-hmm.”She stacked the plates in the sink, her back to me.“Just don’t scare him off, sugar.He’s green as they come, but I seen that look before.He’s got a fire in him.Maybe he don’t know it yet—but he will.”
I swallowed hard, throat dry.“You think so?”
She turned, eyes narrowing with a knowing smile.“I know so.But the question is—what are you gonna do when he burns for you too?”
* * *
Jimmy’s old truck rattled down the narrow brick street like it might fall apart if we hit one more pothole.The afternoon light bled gold across the windshield, turning the air thick and honeyed.
“So,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.“Is this your only job?”
I leaned back, half-smiling.“When I’m not volunteering, I’m a writer.Mostly thrillers and mysteries.”
His eyebrows lifted.“Oh, wow, that’s—uh—interesting.”
“Yeah, it keeps me out of trouble.”
“Actually, I meant with the, um…” He cleared his throat, eyes flicking my way.“With the Temple.I didn’t think feeding the hungry was part of, you know, the Satanic Temple’s beliefs.”
Ah, that kind of question.
I pointed toward the next street.“Make a left up here.”
