“Uh. The only time I’ve ever even set foot in a church was because they had a sign advertising peach cobbler out front,” I said flatly. “You’re really barkin’ up the wrong tree here.” “Then perhaps the deal was made without your knowledge,” he said, clearly irritated. “Bullshit. My dad left when I was a kid and the only saint my mom prays to is Jose Cuervo. Neither of them sold my soul to an angel.” “And yet, here you are.” “Here I am,” I muttered. “And I can’t do the impossible, no matter how much of a temper tantrum you throw, so here we stand.
