“The only thing sweet about you is the fragrance of yourlies.”He leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat of him.“I.Don’t.Trust.You.”
Oh,sweet buttery biscotti,he smells divine.
If only I could freeze time, lean in, and nuzzle against that desert-tan skin, right beneath that sharp jawline, breathe him in like a bad idea I won’t regret.Instead, all I can do is focus onnotgetting bowled over by the sheer headiness of him.
“Poetic.I never would’ve pegged you for the purple prose type.”I offer my half-eaten treat.“Cookie?”
I’m being facetious.A preemptive defense mechanism.Anything to stop myself from blurting something insane like, “You smell so good I want to eat your face.”So I’m half expecting him to slap it out of my hand.Maybe even snap my wrist for good measure.
Anythingexcept what he does…
Lean in closer and eat the entire offering right from my fingers.The brush of his warm tongue against my skin sending a sharp, electrifying thrill through me.
And while I’m still standing there, soft in the knees, pulse unsteady, he backs up and slams the door in my face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Stefano
THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT HEReyes.
Big, bright,strikingemerald-green.
I’ve seen them before.Sure of it.Staring into them feels like standing on the edge of an icy mountain, gazing up at the aurora borealis.
For shit’s sake.I shake it off and refocus on the chessboard in front of me.
Vale waits patiently across the table, arms relaxed, confidence unwavering.Knowing he’ll remain undefeated no matter how long I stare at the board.
We’ve been playing since I was a boy, and I’ve yet to beat him.Not even once.The bastard has never even thrown me a pity win.He may be a priest, but he’s no sucker.
Most would’ve given up a long time ago.But somewhere along the way, my weekly Sunday matches with him became a kind of meditation.A time to review the choices made that week, reset, and, if necessary, rethink.Sitting at this table, losing to the best, helps me win where it matters.
Vale takes a slow drink of his iced tea.“Rumor has it your organization is cracking from the inside.”
I scoff.“You hear that inside the confession booth?”
He chuckles.“From within my echoing church walls.Where I hearmostrumors.”
“Mhm.What else is a church for if not useless gossip.”I reach for a piece, reconsider, and pull back.“I run a tight ship, Uncle.Always have.There are no slits in my sails.”
Vale drums his fingers against the table’s edge.“Have you given any thought to turning your life over to Christ?Or will you just continue to be lukewarm?”
He asks me this every week, like it’s a mandatory closing line.The altar calls at the end of every sermon.
“As long as his rules are the same?No.”I lean back.“Your Christ wants me poor and pathetic now so I can be rich later.Whatever that means.Why can’t I be rich nowandrich later?If you ask me, he’s an egotistical sadist.”
Vale snorts.“And yet, you never miss mass.”
“Because I’m still afraid of Mamma.If I stop going, I’ve no doubt that when I inevitably die and wake up in hell, she’ll find a way out of heaven to track me down and paddle my ass.”
Vale throws his head back in laughter.“Oh, how I miss your mamma.She was a riot.”
I miss her, too.
I make my move, and Vale tuts, as though he knew that’s the move I’d make.Five seconds later, he’s taken my bishop.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter.
