Page 64 of Hunt for You

Or something else?

I licked my lips and his eyes dropped again, but he yanked them manfully back up to meet mine with an intensity that made my breath shorter.

Then it struck me that I was sitting next to a fuckingPriestand my heart was thrilling when he looked at my lips and… dear God, what was wrong with me?

But before I could make an excuse to leave, there was a sudden crash of tinny music and Sam muttered something and pulled his phone out of his pocket, answering it before he put it to his ear.

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?”

Sam listened for a second, then blinked, muttered an apology to me and got up from the table, wandering into the kitchen and asking a couple quick questions before saying, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I had a memorial today and… it just might take an hour. Just… hold on.” Then he hung up the phone with a frown and turned towards me, rubbing his face.

“I’m really sorry, Bridget. But I have to—”

“I have to get home anyway, don’t worry about it,” I said quickly, pushing out of my seat, wishing I could slap myself for the way I’d been sitting there gawking at him like he was dessert. He was a fuckingMan of God.

That thought didn’t help me want to corrupt him less.

I really was broken inside.

Ugh.

“Thank you for the coffee and the talk,” I said without really meeting his penetrating gaze as I got into the kitchen where he was standing.

But to my surprise, he put himself in front of me, blocking my passage when I was about to step past him.

“I want to finish this conversation another time, if you’re willing?” he asked quietly, watching me intently. “I think Richard would want me to try, at least?”

I wasn’t used to someone who held bald eye-contact like that. Except Gerald. But I was pretty sure piercing gazes were a psychiatrist’s bread and butter.

Maybe that was a thing for priests too.

Pastors. Whatever.

He didn’t wait for me to respond, but pulled open a drawer and pulled out a little notepad and pen, scrawling something on it, then ripping it off and holding it out to me. “My number,” he said. “I think I’m going to be here a few weeks, but I don't know. Even when I’m at the Prison, I’m within driving distancethough. How about we have coffee next week—we can talk about Richard. Or… whatever you need.”

I folded my arms. “Father Sam… are you asking me out?”

“I amnotyour father.” He raised an eyebrow like a warning, but his lips slipped up on one side. “And no.” Then he waved the paper a little bit, urging me to take it. I didn’t break eye-contact, but when I took the little piece of paper from his fingers, his smile got wider. He stepped back to give me space, opening an arm towards the door. I took the cue and walked past him to the door, opening it.

“Notyet,”he added quietly as I stepped over the threshold .

My breath caught and I hesitated, midstep. But I didn’t turn around. Didn’t let him know I’d heard him. And as I got moving again and trotted across the carpark to my car, I caught myself smiling a little bit.

23.Give Me Your Word

~ BRIDGET ~

FROM: Asshole (Jeremy Haines)

TO: Bridget

SUBJECT: No more bullshit or I’m pulling the plug

--

Shit.Shit.IknewI shouldn’t have checked my email.

I usually ran headlong into trouble, rather than away from it. But seeing those words from Jeremy sent my already screaming body into full-on rage-panic.