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Oana blushes again and snickers behind her hand. She’s so clearly not ready to fuck. I don’t know much about Tumbling Rock’s fundies beyond how they’re uptight and rude to people who aren’t them.
Oana might be a wild child at heart, but the rest of her is all fundie. That’s why she keeps turning red when she thinks of fucking.
I hold out my hand. “I love the burgers here. I remember you saying something about bacon from our time in the woods.”
“I hate it,” she replies, and I frown at how I was wrong. “My mother overcooks all meat. It never has any good flavor.”
“Well, maybe you could be a rebel tonight and order the bacon burger. Do you like spice?”
“We don’t eat foods that might upset our stomachs. That’s God’s way of telling us we’ve gone too far.”
Studying her, I get up the courage to ask, “Is that a real thing you believe?”
“It’s a real rule that I’ve never had any choice but to believe.”
“Well, you rebelled hard today,” I say and kiss her knuckles. “You pissed off a lot of people and rode away with a tatted motherfucker you barely know. That’s some wild chick shit. I bet if you wanted, you could stomach a barbecue bacon burger. If you don’t like it, well, we’ll go ahead and order you something else. But you might find you’ve got a taste for spicy.”
Oana studies me before smiling and breathing faster. “You were like this in the woods,” she says as if she’d talked herself into distrusting her memories. “You made my sinning ways feel right.”
“Because the sinning you want to do is normal,” I explain as we walk inside the restaurant. “Rock music, tattoos, and good food shouldn’t send anyone to their eternal damnation.”
Falling silent until we’re seated, Oana asks, “Do you believe in hell?”
I’m nervous about being too honest. Oana’s known only one kind of life with a single way of thinking.For fuck’s sake, she’s worried about eating spicy food!I can’t imagine what she’ll think about my views about heaven and hell.
“Do you still like that ‘Cherry Bomb’ song?” I ask rather than answering her question.
Oana’s smile lights up the room. “You remember.”
“I was really wasted. I felt fine but also floating. My memories are all jumbled up,” I explain, knowing she’s never been drunk. “But I never forgot you.”
The look Oana gives me is all I need to know I’m riding toward my happily ever after. Logic is overrated when the alternative is this beauty smiling at me like I’m a damn revelation.
OANA, AKA A FAN OF PROPERLY COOKED BACON
I’m torn between mysinning nature and the reality of my situation. I have no experience with actual freedom or winning against my family. At Cracker Barrel, I’d been desperate enough to forget about the consequences. Now that I’m free, I’m unsure what price I’ll need to pay.
