Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Since what Pastor Jordan and I did was different, it seems that different rules apply.
What if he regrets the whole thing?
Is that why we’re having this meeting? Does Pastor Jordan need to tell me what a monumental mistake he made? And Pastor Jason is there as a chaperone? Oh god, no. I’ll be devastated if Jordan believes it was nothing but an error. Maybe I shouldn’t even think about it.
But I know I’m going to because it’s going to be the only thing circling in my brain until Sunday morning. Lord give me the strength to get by until then.
I never got around to telling Jessie about my secret, but fortunately, she also stopped asking me about it. Plus, I feel like the window to talk about it has passed. It feels weird hiding something like this from my best friend, but I don’t know what else to do.
Maybe after this meeting with the pastors, I’ll have a better handle on what’s going on and then Jessie and I can talk.
Plus, I have all this homework to do. Who knew college was mostly about homework? It seems even worse than high school sometimes, with the heavy credit load I’m taking. It’s okay though. I’m just going to preoccupy myself with homework until Saturday night comes around, and then I’ll sort through all of my clothes and figure out what to wear. I don’t even know if I have anything cute. I mean, I might have a few things here and there, but I’ll need to take a gander through my closet. And will I wear makeup? What shoes? Accessories?
Goodness, my head is spinning, and yet my body warms at the thought of seeing Jordan again. What will he say? What will I say? Somehow, I know instinctively that our tryst isn’t over yet.
6
Mira
It’s Sunday morning and I’m so hyped and jittery that I bounce out of bed. Normally, Sundays aren’t like this. Usually, I roll off the mattress and splash some water on my face before heading out to church.
But today is different. The meeting was all I could think about the entire week, and as a result, I’m not sure if I learned a single thing these last few days. My professor would start talking about Descartes or derivatives, but images of my encounter with Pastor Jordan would flash through my brain, and I’d get distracted and flushed again.
But now I’m standing in front of my mirror, debating what to wear. Usually, I just put on a t-shirt and darker wash pair of jeans, something simple and comfortable, but today, I need to up my game. I have a few dresses lying on my bed to choose from. There’s a black one that I often wore to services back home, but it always felt a little matronly. My mom’s goal with that one was to shroud me in as much fabric as possible.
There’s also a gorgeous floral dress that has white flowers on a deep purple background. It cinches at my waist, emphasizing my hourglass figure, and makes my legs look longer. There’s nothing risqué or anything, but it’s perfect for church. Jessie and I bought it during one of our shopping trips, and I’m glad I made the purchase now.
I pull on the dress, zipping along the side. It fits me so perfectly, almost like it was made for my curves. Clothes have never made me feel good, but in this dress, I feel shapely and beautiful.
I give myself a once over in the mirror, smoothing the fabric down over my body. It’s appropriate for services: it doesn’t reveal too much, but it hugs my curves perfectly and gives me a nice silhouette.
For the first time ever, I feel kind of sexy.
“This is it,” I whisper to myself. “This. Is. It.”
The next step is my hair and makeup. I’ve never really gotten myself ready like this for Sunday. Usually, I do a simple bun and go barefaced, but again, today is different.
Sure, it’s a little weird stressing about my appearance when I’m meeting with my pastors, but then again, they are handsome men, and I want to look my best. Is that wrong? Is there any way this could be considered a sin?
That sounds like an existential conversation for another time
I open my drawer and get out my curling iron. It’s going to take some time to get the perfect hairstyle.
After about twenty minutes, I remember why I don’t do this every week. It literally takes forever. I salute the men and women who manage a full face of makeup and an intricate hairstyle every day because my arms literally ache from curling my hair.
But despite my annoyance, I get it done, pinning my hair up where I need to, so it looks like a braided halo.
It’s a little on the nose in terms of metaphor, but I don’t mind being obvious. Hopefully, they think of me as a gorgeous, angelic being.