Page 78 of Holy Hearts
Wiping the sweat off my face, I glance at myself in the mirror. I threw on an old T-shirt with the arms cut off, and I’m wearing a pair of gym shorts. For a second, I wonder what Sophie—and Julian—see when they look at me. I know I’m in good shape, and I’d have to be deaf not to hear what some of the older students whisper about me.
Priest Daddyis a new one, which is funny considering I’m a pastor, not a priest.
When I was up for the headmaster position at Saint Helena Academy, I assumed that my background as a Christian pastor might spark curiosity; and not in a good way. Luckily for me, the board liked my background in education and administration as a pastor. Plus, I was very clear about my commitment to upholding the school’s values. While I’m not Catholic, I’ve taken the time to deeply understand and respect Catholic teachings, ensuring I can uphold the school’s identity and traditions.
Today, though, I don’t feel very righteous.
What I did last night was certainly not veryholy.
Turning around, I go still when I see Julian laying on a nearby bench doing presses. My eyes scan the area for a spotter, and I don’t see one.
Fucking hell.
He should know it’s not safe to do bench presses with that much weight and no spotter. Then again, Julian has always been spontaneous and reckless, something I can now attribute to his ADHD. When we were young, he always had grand ideas, fixating on a certain hobby or interest. So it doesn’t surprise me that he’s on the bench by himself. Why ask someone to spot when he can get it done alone in half the time? Who cares if he smashes his skull in the process?
Grinding my jaw, I stalk over to him and help him reset while cursing under my breath.
“You reckless buffoon,” I grumble. “Ever heard of a spotter?”
Julian glares up at me. “I’m fine by myself. I’m not even lifting that heavy today. But if you want to volunteer, by all means…” His words trail off, and he arches a brow.
My jaw tics as I help him with his next rep. I attempt to keep my eyes on the nearby carpet, but he’s shirtless and that’s not helping things. I can’t help but let my gaze wander down to his toned abdomen to the sharp lines of his Adonis belt, cutting like sculpted marble into his hips, drawing my attention downward despite my better judgment.
“Enjoying the view?” Julian asks, his tone arrogant.
I help him place the barbell back on the rack, and then I force my gaze back up to Julian’s smug face, my throat tightening as if the weight he’s benching is pressing down on my chest instead. His lips twitch into a smirk, and his blue eyes twinkle with mischief that only stokes the fire simmering low in my stomach.
“You’re insufferable,” I mutter, stepping back and wiping my hands on my shorts like I can scrub away the strange, unwanted heat crawling up my neck.
Julian sits up, rolling his shoulders as if to flaunt the definition there. “Don’t be shy,” he teases, reaching for his water bottle. “You’re welcome to stare all you want. I don’t mind.” He winks, and it’s so blatantly cocky that my irritation boils over, mixing with an ache I can’t quite place.
“Why do you do that? Do you enjoy being an asshole?” My voice wavers, betraying me.
I need to leave—now.
As I pivot on my heel, Julian’s laughter follows me, low and maddeningly self-assured. “Running away already, Kai? Don’t tell me I’ve scared you off so easily. Especially after last night.”
My fists clench at my sides as I make my way toward the locker room, the air feeling heavier with every step. I slam through the door and lean against the cool tile wall, breathinghard like I just ran a marathon. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I press a hand to my chest, willing it to calm.
What the hell is wrong with me?
No—what the hell is wrong withhim?
Why is he always goading me? Does he think I’m going to somehow bend to his will? It’s infuriating he’d think I’d ever let him get under my skin like this.
But… he already has, hasn’t he?
The memory of Julian’s smirk flashes in my mind, and I groan, dragging a hand down my face. He’s just messing with me. That’s what he does—pushes buttons, crosses lines, gets under people’s skin. He’s always been that way, even as a self-assured teenager. But why does he get to me like this? Why did I let myself?—
I shake my head violently, as if I can dislodge the thought. It’s nothing. Just irritation. Annoyance.
Except the way my pulse spikes every time he looks at me says otherwise.
The locker room feels suffocating, and I head for the sink, splashing cold water on my face. I need to pull myself together. Julian’s just trying to get a reaction, and damn it, he’s succeeding. But I won’t give him the satisfaction.
I won’t.
Shoving off the sink, I walk to the showers and close the individual shower door behind me. Stripping my clothes off, I turn the shower on and stand under the hot water for several long seconds. The scalding water rushes down my back, but no matter how hot I make it, I can’t wash away the memory of his hands on me. My skin prickles at the thought, my pulse refusing to slow.
