Page 115 of Divine Temptations

Rebecca lifted her chin, a saccharine smile in place. “Yes. Surely this can’t be what God intended.”

For a beat, silence. Then, Dr. Scheinbaum’s laugh—sharp, incredulous. “My dear, if God did not intend desire, then why on earth did God make us this way? Do you think libido was a cosmic accident? That the Creator tripped and spilled yearning into the human design?”

Rebecca’s cheeks flushed pink, but she held her posture, prim and stubborn.

“Consider this instead,” Dr. Scheinbaum continued, her voice cutting clean through the air. “If God made us to hunger, wouldn’t it be a sin not to eat? If God made us to love, to crave, to reach for one another, then wouldn’t it be the greater sin tosuppress it? At the very least”—her lips curved in a dry smile—“I suspect God, he or she or they, would be amused watching us flail in denial.”

The class broke into laughter, except for Rebecca, who squirmed in her seat as though her halo braid had tightened into a noose.

Dr. Scheinbaum snapped the Bible closed. “Enough. I’ve had my daily ration of human absurdity. Pair off with your partners, drag yourselves to the library, and pretend to work on your projects. Perhaps when you return tomorrow, you’ll have grown a collective brain cell.”

The room erupted into noise: chairs scraping, backpacks zipping, conversations bubbling. Rebecca practically flew out of her chair, racing to get out of the room.

I stood, slung my bag over my shoulder, and walked straight up to Henry’s table. He was still packing his notes, fumbling like his hands didn’t quite know how to function.

I leaned down just enough to catch his profile, my voice low, steady. “Let’s go to the library.”

He couldn’t meet my gaze. His hands froze for a moment, then he shoved the last of his notes into his bag. Without a word, he stood and followed me out of the room.

The walk to the library was all silence.

Henry’s shoulder brushed mine once in the crowded hallway, and he immediately edged away, clutching the strap of his bag like it was some kind of shield. I bit my tongue to keep from saying something—anything—that might spook him further. Every instinct in me screamed to tease him, to call him out, to dig at whatever it was that made him blush that way. But I couldn’t. Not yet. He was a skittish animal, and I wasn’t about to send him bolting down the hall again.

We passed Rebecca in the corridor, her halo braid bobbing as she clutched her Bible to her chest like it was armor. Her lipspinched into disapproval the moment she saw me. We’d never spoken a single word to each other. Perhaps she sensed that I thought she was a stuck up pious prig?

I smirked, leaning close enough for Henry to hear. “Bet she dreams in black-and-white. Poor girl probably faints if she sees an exposed ankle.”

Henry’s eyes flicked to me, just for a second, but he said nothing. Not a word.

The silence between us stretched all the way into the library. When we stepped inside, it was packed. Every table was crammed with students, laptops glowing, the air thick with whispered study sessions and the shuffle of books.

“Well, this is useless,” I muttered. Then I jerked my chin toward the back. “Private study rooms. Bet there’s one open.”

We weaved through the maze of tables and shelves, all the way to the rear. And there it was: a single empty study room, glass walls, a tiny table wedged in the middle, with two chairs pressed close together.

“This’ll work.” I reached for the door.

Henry froze. “Wait—uh—we might need something from the stacks, or—” He gestured vaguely, his words tangling. “Maybe we should just—”

“This is it,” I cut him off, sharper than I meant to, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Come on. Let’s get to work.”

I pulled the door open and walked in without giving him a chance to object further. After a beat, he followed, shoulders tight, like he was heading into confession.

The space was cramped, barely enough for two people. Henry sank into his chair, fumbling with his notebook, trying to act busy. His face was pale, but his ears—God, his ears—were scarlet.

I shut the door. The click echoed in the tiny room, and Henry’s head snapped up. For a heartbeat, he looked terrified, like he thought I’d locked us into something dangerous.

I crossed the narrow space and dropped into the chair beside him instead of the one opposite. Close enough that our arms touched when I set my elbow on the table. He stiffened, staring at his notebook like he could will words to appear on the page.

The tension in my chest coiled tight, heat spreading low and insistent. I’d never been this close to him before, never had the chance to breathe him in, and now it was overwhelming: soap and paper and something subtle and clean, like linen warmed by the sun. I wanted to bury my face in his neck just to see if it smelled the same there.

My attraction to him was no longer some abstract thought—it was fire, roaring to life in my veins. He was beautiful in his restraint, in the way his hands trembled slightly as he opened his notebook, in the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting for composure.

I reached out before I could stop myself. My hand landed on his, stilling his pen. His skin was hot under mine.

Henry froze.

“You saw me at the club last night,” I said softly, my voice low enough to make him lift his eyes, just barely. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t?”