I didn’t understand pews. They weren’t comfortable, they weren’t comforting, and they certainly didn’t make coming to church inviting. In fact, sometimes I didn’t want to come to church specifically because of those pews. I allowed myself one glance back at that place—that tub where most people find solace from their sins in a public display of their newfound second chances. The place where people found hope. The place where I’d lost myself in Tate. I’d nearly lost my shirt as well. At this point, I was pretty sure I’d won the race of raunchiness against West. Maybe I should be the one to sit in the front pew from now on. One touch of her lips and I was gone—I’d forgotten who I was and who I was striving to be. The walls I’d so securely fashioned out of my own fear, she’d torn down while her fingers knotted in the hem of my shirt.
What do You think about Brazing (Forged In Fire #2)?
