Authors: Sally Bradley
“How will you get home?” Tracy asked him.
“I’ll spend the night at Mom and Dad’s. Take the train in tomorrow.”
The street was almost bare of cars, and the Fosters’ driveway was empty except for Dillan, his friend Cam, and another guy who talked while dribbling a basketball.
Dillan looked up. “Thought you ladies were leaving.”
“Tracy’s got a flat. You mind letting Miska ride home with you?”
Dillan deadpanned a look of irritation. “As long as she doesn’t jump on my back again.”
Miska smirked.
He smirked back.
“Can’t promise that, Dill.” Garrett grinned at her. “Too bad about Mark stinking up Wrigley, huh?”
Tracy smacked his ribs. “Garrett.”
Miska checked an invisible watch on her wrist. “I can’t believe you made it this late into the evening before your first comment.”
Garrett laughed. “I’m so mature. It shocks me too. Pass along my condolences, will you?”
“Right.”
He laughed again, heading for the garage.
After telling Tracy good-bye, Miska fell into step beside Dillan. “Where’s your car?”
“Right here.” He held up a key fob, and a gray Chevy Trailblazer beeped, the lights coming on.
She opened her door and slid inside.
He started the engine and waited while she buckled her seatbelt, then met her eyes. “So. How do I get to your place?”
“Very funny.”
He chuckled and shifted into drive.
She settled into her seat and watched dark homes slide past. They made small talk until he turned south onto a highway. “I don’t think Tracy took this route.”
He checked traffic to his left. “Tracy lives farther south. She probably took I-90.”
“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t pay attention.”
“What if something happened to your ride? How would you get home?”
“You mean like right now?”
“Ah.” A smile tweaked his lips. “She’s quick.”
“You get around Chicago much?”
“More than I’d like. We’ve had church members in Chicago hospitals so I know my way around.”
“Ever do a funeral?’
“Twice.”
“That had to be awful.”
“They’re not the reason I became a pastor.”
“Did you know the people who passed?”
“My grandfather and a man from our church.”
“Oh.” He seemed so calm about it. She watched streetlights flash across his face. “You did your grandpa’s funeral?”
“It wasn’t easy. But he was a Christian, so I knew where he was.”
“You mean heaven.”
He nodded.
Silence settled between them. It felt comforting, natural, and for a moment she pretended that she and Dillan were a couple, that they were heading back to their place.
But that was crazy. He was a pastor, of all things. He made a living off telling people that they couldn’t sleep together.
“So what made you—” she began as he started to say something. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“You go.”
“What made you become a pastor?”
“My pastor got me thinking about it. When I was in high school, he talked to some of us about going into the ministry.”
“Going into—” The phrasing sounded foreign. “You mean being a pastor.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“I’ll catch up on the lingo. Continue.”
He smiled at the road. “He helped us teach a Sunday School class, small stuff like that, kind of ease our way into things. As time went on and I prayed about it, I realized being a pastor was what I should do.”
The guy prayed about everything. “Did you
want
to be a pastor?”
“Definitely.” He shot her a look. “I love what I do. I spend hours each day studying the Bible, what God says, how it applies to us. Then I get to share it with people and watch it change their lives. It’s pretty cool, frankly.”
“Really?”
He looked her way again, eyebrows up. Laughter escaped him. “Yeah, Miska, really. I love my job. You couldn’t pay me to do anything else.”
“Huh.”
“You don’t think much of pastors.”
“It’s not that.” Had she ever known a pastor before? “I guess I thought—” No, she couldn’t tell him what she’d always believed about men in a church. That they weren’t men, weren’t masculine, were out of touch.
“What made you want to work with books?” he asked.
“I like to read. Getting paid to read is a pretty good gig.”
“Exactly. I get paid to study the Bible. A pretty good gig.”
Hmm. Okay.
Her phone chimed. Miska pulled it out of her purse and read the text. “Looks like Garrett fixed the tire.”
“That’s good.”
“How come Tracy ended up with Garrett and not you?”
“That’s a weird question.”
“Let me guess. He met her first.”
“He probably did.”
She waited for more, but he said nothing. “You’re taking the easy way out. Why’d she go for him?”
“You sound like you don’t like Garrett.”
She shrugged. “You just seem more like Tracy’s type.”
“Seriously?” He sent her a pained expression. “Why?”
“Now you sound like you don’t like Tracy.”
“Tracy’s fine. She’s just not my type.”
“And your type is…”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Not going there.”
“Come on, Dillan.”
“Why would you think Tracy’s my type?”
“I don’t know. Opposites attract, I guess. She’s talkative, you’re not. Garrett’s just as talkative as Tracy. I wonder how those two will get a word in edgewise.”
“They’ll be fine.”
Probably. “How about you tell me your type, and I tell you mine.”
“I would assume I know your type.”
“Meaning what?”
His eyebrows rose like it was obvious. “Mark?”
“What do you know about him?”
“Plays baseball—”
“Yes, definitely. Has to play baseball.”
“He’s tall—”
“Absolutely. Has to be a giant.”
“He’s blond.”
“You do realize you’re only describing him.”
“What? Isn’t that your type?”
“That’s not who he
is
, Dillan. That’s the surface. It’s what he’s like that matters.”
Dillan snorted. “You want me to tell you what he’s like? I can do that. He’s rude, unfaithful, arrogant—”
“Hey now—”
“Selfish, self-centered. That’s your type?”
“He is not self-centered. I did what you suggested, and it worked.”
Dillan’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What I suggested?”
“Yes. Told him no sex to see if he split.”
“You—oh.”
He took in the news, the tiniest bit of irritation flying over his face.
“Don’t you want to know how it went?”
“I don’t want to talk about Mark.”
“You brought him up.”
“Then let’s change the topic.”
“Okay. What should we talk about?”
His jaw tightened. “You know what bugs me about him?”
“Mark? I thought we weren’t talking about him.”
“Changed my mind. You know what gets me?” He shook his head. “The arrogant way he views everything and everyone. If he were married to my sister and treated her like… I’d be all over the jerk.”
She drew back. Jerk?
“Relationships aren’t sacred to him. When I marry, I’m not throwing it away for nothing. I’d do everything I could to make it work. To make it great.”
“That’s easy to say now.”
“Yep. And it’s easy for Mark to say what you want to hear too.”
“So you don’t like my boyfriend.”
He pursed his lips. “I don’t know. Can you call a married man your boyfriend?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Hey, you said you liked it when I was honest. You see him, what, every time his team comes to Chicago?”
“No,” she snapped. “More than that.”
“Not much more, I bet. How often do you see him when baseball’s over?”
His question surprised her. She opened her mouth. Closed it.
“I think he’s taking advantage of a beautiful woman who shouldn’t be taking crumbs—” He clamped his mouth shut. His jaw twitched, and he clenched the steering wheel.
A beautiful woman.
There was no way he meant to say that. But to know how he viewed her…
A beautiful woman. Taking crumbs.
Was she taking crumbs? When she could do better?
He glared at the road like it had yelled at him.
“Dillan.”
He grunted.
“What you said—”
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, thank you.” She pressed her hands into her lap. Why couldn’t Dillan, who’d have no trouble going out in public for breakfast, be right for her? “Don’t let it make things awkward.”
The hum of tires throbbed between them.
“Hey. Say something.”
He stared out the windshield a few seconds longer. “So. How ’bout them Bears?”
She laughed. “Really? That’s what you came up with?”
“You said say something. You weren’t specific.”
“The Bears aren’t even practicing yet. Are they?”
“Mini-camp is a week and a half away.”
“What about the Blackhawks? They’re in the Stanley Cup Finals.”
“Not much of a hockey fan.”
“Not enough to jump on the bandwagon?”
He glanced in his side mirror. “Nope.”
“Just so happens I get to go to the first game Wednesday.”
“Mmm.”
“A friend has tickets.”
He grunted again.
Miska looked at him. He was staring at his rearview mirror.
She swiveled in her seat in time to see blue and red lights flash behind them.
Dillan groaned. “Great.”
“How fast were you going?”
“Too fast.” He slowed and pulled onto the shoulder. His jaw clenched.
He had to be frustrated. Or embarrassed. “It’s no big deal, Dillan. Everyone gets pulled over.”
“Yeah, well.” His fingers tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel. “This will be my second ticket.”
“Ever?”
He sighed and looked at his rearview mirror again. “This year.”
“This year?” The laugh burst out of her. “It’s not even June.”
His scowl softened. “It’s almost June.”
“I’d hate to see your insurance bill. Need anything from your glove box?”
“Oh yeah. You’d think I’d have that down.”
She opened the compartment. A receipt for his last oil change sat on top of his insurance card and registration. She handed him the papers.
“Thanks.”
The cop closed his door and walked up the side of the SUV. Maybe she could flirt with him and get Dillan out of trouble.
The man stopped just behind Dillan’s door. “You know how fast you were going?”
“No, sir.”
“Sixty-seven in a fifty-five. You have anything to drink tonight?”
“No.”
It was Memorial Day. Of course there’d be cops all over. She ducked her head until she could see the man’s face.
He caught her movement and shifted to look at her.
“Officer, it’s my fault.” She flashed him a smile. “He was answering some questions for me, and I guess I distracted him.”
The cop ignored her. “I need your license, proof of insurance, and registration.”
Dillan handed him the papers.
“Where you headed?”
“The Loop.”
“Coming from?”
“Uh, church activity.”
The cop looked up from the license. “Church stuff?”
“Yeah. I’m a pastor.”
He was so getting a ticket. She leaned forward again. “Yes, he’s my pastor, and he was answering some questions for me.”
Dillan narrowed his eyes at her.
“Sit tight. I’ll be back.”
The cop walked back to his vehicle. He’d barely looked at her—and Dillan had told him his job. “You’re so getting a ticket.”
“It’s just money.” He stuck a finger inside his cast and scratched. “And I’m loaded.”
“You are?”
“I was. Not after this.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“Completely.”
“Don’t be. Ask me when I got my last ticket.”
“When was your last ticket?”
She shrugged. “Never.”
“Oh, nice one.” She laughed while he shook his head. “Here I thought you were trying to make me feel better.”
“No, just trying to make you laugh.”
His smile said he was mildly amused. “I’m laughing on the inside.”
“You should let it out. It’s good for you.”
He studied her, his mouth curving a little more.
She watched him back, watched his amusement fade into awareness. His eyes, so dark in the night, slid across her face, down her cheek and mouth, and back up to her eyes. She swallowed. This moment, right here, was where some other guy might lean across the inches separating them and kiss her. But not Dillan, even though he kept hold of her gaze.
What was he thinking? And why did she think about kissing him after the past few days with Mark?
The thump of a car door ended the moment. The cop returned and handed Dillan his information. “Make sure you obey the signs. Slow down, and have a safe night.”
“Thank you.” Dillan sorted through the cards and paper. “Huh.” He handed her his insurance card and registration. “Would you put that back?”
“Sure. He didn’t give you a ticket?”
He slid his license into his wallet. “Nope.”
“Seriously?”
He set his wallet in the cup-holder between them. “Seriously.”
She picked it up and flipped the soft leather open. “Does this mean you’re still loaded?”
“Guess so. Good to be me, huh?”
“Or me. I’m the one with your wallet.”
“Good point.” He shifted into drive and eased onto the highway.
Miska pulled his license out. His serious face stared back at her. Six nine, two hundred fifteen pounds. “You are not two-fifteen.”
“You planning on impersonating me?”
“Right. People think I’m over two hundred pounds all the time.”
“At least you’re aware of it.”
She flicked his cast.
He chuckled and let it fade into a sigh. “So.”
She slid his license back and closed the wallet. “So what?”
“Why’d you tell him I’m your pastor?”
“Because you are.”
His glance questioned her.
“You’re the only pastor I know. And we were having a serious discussion.”
“Were we? I can’t remember.”
She settled back in her seat and watched the glittering skyline approach. “You were telling me how beautiful I am.”
He didn’t say a word.