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“What?” I mumble sleepily.
“We’re making headlines.”
I feel the bright light of his phone screen on my face, so I peel my eyes open and stare at a news article, an old photo of Truett and Adam together, front and center.
“What does it say?”
He pulls it away from my face as he reads.
“Prominent Austin-based preacher, Truett Goode, faces scrutiny from followers due to his oldest son’s risqué behavior on the amateur porn app, FanVids. The famous preacher and author has lost more than twenty thousand social media followers and is being publicly criticized for his silence on the matter. Loyal followers are still awaiting a statement from the preacher and his family. No word yet from thirty-seven-year-old son, Adam Goode. The longer Truett Goode withholds his public condemnation of his son’s actions, the more he risks losing.
“The Goode family patriarch is worth more than forty million dollars and has a seven-figure publishing deal with Good Shepherd Press on the line.”
When he stops reading, I sit up and stare at him with confusion. “They didn’t even mention me.”
He smiles and kisses my head. “Then they’re definitely missing the best part. But Peaches, this is huge. Truett is losing status as we speak. All while he sits on the deed for a sex club. He has to be sweating.”
This piques my interest. “Brett can’t possibly pay him back the loan he took out. What do you think your dad will do with that deed?”
My mind is turning with ideas and it feels like there’s an opportunity there. If I were to make the same bargain with Truett that I did at the gala two months ago, would he take it this time?
“I don’t know,” Adam says with a dark smile creeping across his face. He looks so proud of himself. And I sort of love that.
So I touch his arm. “This is good news. It means it’s working.”
He’s staring down at the article as he nods. “Yeah, it is.”
Something about this bothers me, though, because if we’ve accomplished what we set out to do, does that mean we’re done? What more could we do? We set out to do this for three months, and it’s already been two. Even if we aren’tfakedating anymore, I still don’t know what we are and if that deadline still exists.
“We should celebrate,” I chirp excitedly. I hop onto my knees and Roscoe takes this as a sign that we shouldallget excited, so he starts hopping on Adam’s lap and barking at us both. We laugh when he gets so worked up he starts gnawing on Adam’s hand.
“What did you have in mind?” he asks.
I jump off the bed and find my underwear littered somewhere on the floor. “Well, last time, we went to your church…”
“Yeah…” he replies, sounding uneasy.
When I give him a salty look, his brow furrows. “I think it’s time we take it tomyturf.”
“I know you’re not suggesting that we go to the sex club owned by the guy I put in the hospital.”
“Listen,” I say carefully, “I know all the back entrances in that place. I could smuggle you in so easily.”
“Sage, no.” He barks with the tone of a father disciplining his petulant child.
“Why not?” I whine, crawling on the bed and sitting on my knees to face him. I still haven’t put on my top, so I’m hoping my bare tits will help sell the plan. “There’s so much I want to show you.”
“Like…”
I press my lips to his. “So much, Church Boy.”
With a pained-sounding moan, he kisses me back.
“Can you be more specific?” He climbs up to his knees so we’re facing each other, and I can feel just how aroused he is by this idea. Grabbing my hips, he grinds himself against me.
“You could tie me up,” I mumble between kisses. “Make me your little fuck toy.”
His mouth freezes before he pulls away. “Jesus, Sage.”
