Jane Doe(42)

“It’s November,” he mutters. “Why are you even wearing that dress?”

“I wore it for you. I thought it was pretty. That’s all.”

He nods and seems to simmer down. “At least it’s not showing half your ass.”

I slide a little closer. “We were toasting to you, you know.”

“Who?”

“Me and Rhonda.” That startles him. He frowns in the direction she went. “We were toasting the Hepsworth men.”

He presses his lips together in a tight line and glares out at the room. Not what I expected.

“Was she part of the church? Is that how they met?”

“Yeah. She started working in the church office when she graduated from community college.” Aw. A traditional May-December boss-and-secretary romance. How sweet and old-fashioned. Steven raises his bottle to his lips, but it’s empty.

“Let me get you another beer, sweetie,” I murmur. I take his empty and trot off to the kitchen to get my man a beverage. The birthday cake is sitting on the island. I count thirty-five candles. Steven is thirty-two. That means his father married a twenty-three-year-old when Steven was twenty, and she took a position of authority in the house. Steven obviously thinks she’s some sort of grasping bitch, and she thinks he’s an asshole. No reason they can’t both be right.

I was going to spend the night at Steven’s tonight, but I’ve screwed that up. Damn it. I want to move this relationship along, but he’s already gotten the pleasure of degrading me about my looks and behavior. I can’t be too easy a target or I’ll be boring. It’s a tightrope of misogyny.

Sex and humiliation are motivators for him, but his father’s approval is the biggest one, and I can use that too. I find the pastor near a huge fireplace, and the fire is roaring. It’s a cool night, but there are too many people packed in here, and he’s sweating.

“Pastor Hepsworth, I was just getting Steven a beer. Would you like something to drink?”

His eyes slide over my shoulders, noting the change in wardrobe, but he doesn’t leer. In fact, he offers a kind smile as he swipes a hand over his brow. “What a lovely offer, my dear. I’d love a whiskey soda.”

“I’ll be right back!”

I veer in Steven’s direction to deliver the beer and a beaming smile. “I promised your dad a drink, so give me one second, baby.”

He blinks. “My dad?”

Hurrying away, I find the makeshift bar at the corner of the dining room and ask for a whiskey soda, heavy on the whiskey. While I wait, I spy Steven making his way over to his father, though he has to stop every few feet to greet various guests.

He’s all charm again, playing the very important deacon of United in Christ Church. I make it back to the pastor before Steven arrives.

“I mixed it for you myself,” I say with a wink.

“Thank you, my dear.” He sips and his eyebrows rise, but he drinks it quickly, still sweating from the fire.

“Can I ask you something about your work?” I ask with wide eyes.

“Of course.”

“Do you work on your sermons all week? Or do you wait for them to come to you?”

He puffs up his chest a little and launches into a miniature sermon about being a vessel for the Lord’s word. I hang on every word, letting him know how important he is. I nod and blink up at him with big eyes. He concentrates on each phrase. The words mean something to him. He’s not a fraud—not in that way, anyway.

“My gosh, it’s all just so intimidating,” I breathe.

“Nonsense.”

“You’re so important. The work you do.”

“If you open your heart to God, he flows through you. I am only a vessel, my dear. Are you coming to tomorrow’s service?”

“I’ll have to try to find a ride.” I bite my lip and clasp my hands together. The motion pushes my breasts up, and his eyes stray there and he smiles a little before he looks away. “But I love the way you speak, so I’ll try my best to come.”

He pats my arm. “I’m sure Steven will bring you again.”

“I hope so, sir. Another drink?” I wrap my hands around the glass and his fingers and ease the tumbler free.

“You don’t have to . . . ,” he starts, but he lets me take the drink away. I order the same again, and by the time I’ve returned, Steven is waiting with his father.

The pastor lights up when he spies me walking toward them. “Steven, I hope you’re planning on bringing Miss Jane to church tomorrow.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if—”

“You can’t deny the word to one so eager to hear it.”

“Very true,” Steven agrees.

I smile shyly as I hand over the drink. “Pastor, you’re so kind to me. But I’m not sure if Steven has time to—”

“Of course I do.” Steven slides his arm around me and tucks me against his side. “Of course I do.”

His father winks and takes another drink. I snuggle closer to his son. “Now I feel like I have two guardian angels watching over me.”

“You’ve got a nice girl here, Steven.”

“She’s a sweetheart,” he says, his voice gruff with pride at the praise.

I keep my fat slut mouth shut and smile up at him as if all is forgiven. This is his weakness, this love for his father, and I will find a way to crack it wide-open.