Page 24

Tori: How come?

Panicked, I lie.

Me: Picked up an extra shift at work.

Expecting hesitant typing, I stare at the screen, but to my surprise, she buys it—surprisingly, just as Dad did.

Tori: That stinks, but it’s money. Same. I’m sad I’m missing the harvest but duty calls.

Me: Yep.

I close my phone just as I get a waft of Araceli’s perfume.

That fucking smell could bring me to my knees alone.

“All set?” I ask as Araceli returns.

She holds a short receipt in her hand. “It really is our lucky night.” She hands me my mask, ripping the tag off hers.

She walks past me, and I follow behind her to the parking lot as we head to my car.

“Why’s that?”

Stretching the mask over her face, she puts the wig on, it’s a mixture of colors draping over her shoulders.

I furrow my brow, waiting for her to continue.

“Apparently the masks we got weren’t updated in inventory and the girl didn’t feel like making up a price, so she just gave them to me. I only had to pay for the wig. That’s the cheapest I’ve ever gotten out of there.”

“She gave them to you for free?” I ask, pressing the unlock button on the key fob.

“Free.” She slips into the car, and I follow on the driver's side. “And she even gave us these.”

My stomach drops. Church boy, as she likes to call me, or not. I know drugs when I see them. It doesn’t matter if they are disguised as cutesy squares with pumpkins and snakes on them.

“You showed her your tits, didn’t you?” I ask because this wouldn’t be the first time she’s done it. She’s shown her tits for much less.

“Yep, except hers were better,” she winks.

I doubt it, I think to myself, looking at how Araceli’s tits practically spill out of her tight corset top.

“I’m not doing that. Knock yourself out.”

A playful scoff sounds from Araceli as she taps my leg. “Well, if you change your mind… I’ll give you the wittle baby pumpkins,” she mocks with a pout.

Her comment about the wig rings in my mind.“It’s me and you. The saint and the sinner.”It plays on repeat. Mocking me. Motivating me to stop playing the role I’ve been forced to play my entire life of the good pastor’s son. Well, good enough. Unlike my dad, the full commitment to holiness has always felt cumbersome, too cumbersome. I’m ready to sin with her, like she hoped I would when she was grinding her wet, bare pussy on my fucking leg last night. My heart races. Adrenaline and lust, a lethal combination, moving my arms for me like an out of body experience. I snatch the drugs from her, leaving the pumpkin ones for her and opting for the snakes.

She stares at me, unsure of what to say, but she doesn’t have to say that she’s impressed. It’s there in her dark eyes and it practically wisps around us in the air. I can feel it as my cock jolts and throbs from the rush that comes from her—the sinner’s—approval.

“Good boy,” she coos, playful and condescending, adding to the surge of warmth flooding my length. “But let’s wait until we get there to do those.” Araceli takes the sheet back.

“Whatever.” I shrug her off, disappointed.

Engine revved, I’m about to get into first gear to get out of here when she taps my leg again.

“Here.” She offers me an already lit joint, but all I can smell is cinnamon.

“No, I’m good.”