Page 3 of Give It a Day
Blood, blood, blood.Our family business’ metaphoric ship stays afloat in a sea of blood.
God, it’d be so good to have some of that tasty church wine while I’m here. I could drown my sorrows with it. And the church wouldn’t charge me, right? ‘Cause then, I could drinkbarrels. The church would share, right? Not like I ever cracked open a bible, let alone ever held or seen one, except for now, since I spot one open on the polished marble altar. The holy book is parted in the middle, surely for aesthetic purposes, which I kinda vibe with.
Yet I frown at the misery eating up inside me while my parents continue to ignore me. But they sure take their sweet time to politely greet and make small talk with the dashing dude’s parents.
Speaking of, the six-foot supermodel dude in the suit has been watching me. Well, more like eyefucking me.
Two can play that game. I stare right back at him and drink him down like the tall drink of water he is.
I don’t have shit to distract me in this boring house of god. And it’s kinda dusty in here, even though it’s a glamorous place of worship.
And in contrast to this place’s symbolic holiness, I’m usually either dealing with the most violent thing you can think of, or trying to forget the violent thing by drinking my kidneys to the point of near-ruin, and then, to top it all off, having someone fuck my brains out. So for now, pretty boy will do as a distraction.
I make it very obvious that I’m checking him out, but I imagine his elevator eyes are much more powerful than mine, especially with those striking gray eyes of his.
Taking my time, I take in all of his beautiful features—his silky hair, his smooth skin, his stormy eyes, his high cheekbones, his broad shoulders, that fitted suit of his…
The urge to bite my bottom lip grows with every passing second, butI’m not pulling that shit in front of him.
Then he sorta tilts his head back, studying me with eyes getting heavy-lidded, jutting his jaw out just a tiny bit as he sticks his tongue out a little, enough to lick his soft-looking lips. Then his hooded eyes give me a shimmer of mischief.Damn, that’s hot.
Clenching my jaw, I silently admit defeat in our little game.
He has outdone me with his well-crafted look of lust. Jesus, someone could cut the tension with a knife.
If I wasn’t so distracted by Mr. Dashing Dude with Fuck-Me Eyes, maybe I would’ve noticed sooner that someone came up from behind me, clearing their throat.
I silently startle at the sudden appearance of a…priest? I take a quick glance over my shoulder, and he’s dressed like one and looks creepy. So that checks out.
But not wanting to cause a scene, I look around, confused. I’m here wearing a band shirt and leather tights because I came from a club, a bar, and then went straight into a stranger’s sexy arms in his cheap motel of choice. I hurried from that gross motel bed to get here. My outfit is most definitelynotchurch appropriate, but everyone else is pretty…formal.
Formal clothes. Hot man in a suit. Church. Altar. Creepy priest.Fuck, it’s getting really difficult to stay in denial of what’s about to happen…
When I turn away from the priest and look down at my shirt, tights, and heels, I glance up to find Mr. Fuck-Me Eyes quirking his brow at me, as if pointing out my unconventional church outfit.Rub it in, why don’t you, pretty boy?
I glare at him under my lashes to say exactly that without making a scene. In response, the corner of his mouth twitches slightly, either amused or impressed—it’s hard to tell with his otherwise stoic vibe, like he’s gracing us with his mere presence and that he has better things to do than be here, but somehow, there’s a bit of interest in his piercinggaze, which is wonderfully directed at me.
Keep staring, pretty boy.
He leans slightly toward his mother and whispers something, earning a disapproving look from her. What the hell did he tell his mom?
Mama’s boy.
As fun as it is to mentally criticize Pretty Boy, I’m getting nowhere, clearly distracted and losing grasp of my denial. Fine, fuck it, let’s try one tactic.
Fawn and fake it. I put on a cute, confused smile to sell the look that I’m this lost little lamb. “I don’t mean to be rude, but is there some sort of mistake?”
I look over at the priest, then at my parents. Fidgeting with my fingers for full effect, I frown, feigning innocence.
“I have no idea why I’m here.” But I do. I do know. I just don’t want to believe it. I’ve done everything right so my parents don’t sink, and they reward me with this insane idea?
Before my mind wanders, Mr. Fuck-Me Eyes straightens up slowly, taking his sweet time to fix up his cufflinks and make his way closer toward me. His dark eyes meet mine, and there’s a hint of something dangerous in them this time, the foggy look of interest clearing up to show a stormy look like lightning bottled up. He stops close enough that I can feel his presence without him actually touching me. That’s scarily impressive. I’ll have to learn that trick.
His pretty lips part and he says sternly, “No mistake, little bird.”
“Little bird…?” I make a displeased face at him. Way to go on staying in your cute, scared character, Kaye. Then, I glance over at my parents.
My mom is scarily picturesque, beaming while linking arms with my dad, who looks like he doesn’t care to even be here, bored and blasé. Typical of them, really, but right now, I’m no longer in that deep denial surrounding the situation I’m in. This is seriously not looking good for me.
