Saint (Priest, #3)

by Sierra Simone

As we make our way through the brewery tour and the bottling room, I keep glancing over at Elijah, feeling like I missed something crucial in all the years I’ve been around him. I’d never known him to camp or care about baking; he liked weird, experimental fiction, not cozy mysteries; and as far as the wholesomeness went, well… The wholesomeness was new too. Does Elijah play any what if games with Jamie? Jamie, who is good and earnest and who drinks from his reusable water bottle during the tour like a responsible adult and probably never forgets to wear sunscreen, even in the winter? Does Jamie ever trap Elijah against a kitchen counter and daisy-chain bites around his collarbone? Does Elijah ever text him during the day with instructions for later that night? I don’t know what’s worse: Elijah sharing those kinds of games with Jamie—or them having sweet, vanilla sex with lots of eye contact and cuddling and eight hours of sleep after. Because if they are having sweet, vanilla sex, then maybe that’s what Elijah really wanted all along. Maybe I was some wild oats to sow, or worse—maybe I corrupted him.