Except… she’s not looking at me.
“Andrea Sinclair! Use a napkin!” Susan barks.
It’s a gong, rattling my brain.
Sinclair.
The girl in the window.
The Pastor’s daughter.
Staring directly at my stepbrother.
Who returns her stare with a predatory grin.
Six
ANDREA
I’m not a morning person.Never have been. Yet here I am at the ass crack of dawn performing my opening act as Pastor Sinclair's Holy Daughter for the congregational youth who gaze at me with misplaced admiration. If only they knew they were idolizing a puppet fighting fruitlessly against invisible strings.
So color me surprised that this shitty situation pulled an Uno Reverse at the check-in table ten minutes ago.
I’d only ever watched the boy next door from my window. Up close, he towered over me and everyone else in the vicinity, his presence stoic and reserved. When his stony glare landed on me, recognition and warmth oozed from his milky brown eyes.
Then a laugh— low and breathy— from beside him stole my attention.
Delicate, angelic beauty clashing with deviant darkness. Icy and molten. Sharp angles but smooth planes. Feminine yet masculine. An utterlycaptivatingcompilation of dualities wrapped in a blonde male package.
Susan’s nagging voice yanked me back to earth. “Andrea Sinclair!Use a napkin!”She demanded, shoving welcome kits at me. “And give thembadges and shirts!”
Of course, they’dbothbeen assigned to me.
Again, that airy chuckle. Too humiliated at being bossed around by the Queen of Karens, I thrust the kits at them and retreated into the main hall for Counselor Orientation. Dictator Susan forced us to run through the new chants and dances before breakfast since check-in took longer than expected (maybe because she's an incompetent twat) while Kevin, neurotic as ever, squawked about sticking to the schedule.
Over and over, my attention wandered to the two guys hovering on the outskirts, making it nearly impossible to guide the groggy cluster of counselors through arm and hand movements synchronized to ridiculous rhymes about Jesus, love and peace. As soon as Orientation ended, the tide of Team Leads swept me into an annoyingly long question session, which would’ve gone on until tomorrow if my stomach hadn't growled loud enough to interrupt someone mid-sentence. By then, breakfast was almost gone.
A girl can’t survive this level of bullshit on ONE donut hole.
Chasing the remains of a stale cream cheese bagel with lukewarm watery coffee, I survey the space for the hundredth time. Most have split into their typical cliques at the round tables, while a few overly enthusiastic girls practice dances in front of the stage. Everyone is accounted for except…
There.
The new guys huddle in the hall leading to the restrooms, heads bent in a heated conversation. Boy-Next-Door scowls, arms crossed tightly over his chest, while Blondie’s hands fly around like an angry Italian. Whatever he’s ranting about makes Boy-Next-Door shake his head and storm off down the corridor with Blondie stomping after him.
I toss the half-full styrofoam cup in the trash, my legs moving before my brain catches up. Like it or not, they’re part of my team, and I’m not in the mood to handle seven small children on my own while these idiots argue like an old married couple.
When I reach the hall, I overhear the faucet running in themen's restroom, but my eyes snag on a strip of daylight cutting across the carpet from the emergency exit… which is propped open by the cross typically hanging above it.
Horror strikes me like a mallet. But it's followed by a sick wave of hilarity. Clearly, I’m not the only farce here. Biting my lip, I push the metal bar?—
Humidity woven with cigarette smoke smacks me in the face as I squint against the blinding morning sun. Though even the burning ball of fire in the sky can’t compete with the brightness radiating off the blonde sitting on the curb.
Even with his back to me, he glows like an angel.
Lucifer was an angel once…
"You just gonna stand there and stare?"
