Being raised religious was a toss of the dice in Carp.

Either your parents barely knew where the church even was, or you were in for life. You were the latter.

You'd been the gem of the church, a role model to the kids younger than you and a reason to chastise those older than you. Thus, you were, in simple terms, reminiscent of the Virgin Mary. Or... had been.

See, an issue had popped up recently. Reverend Mason's son had grown out of his boyish awkwardness, and never passed up the opportunity to tag along on his dad's visits to your house.

So while your parents sat downstairs with the other highly involved members of the congregation, it had become routine for you and Dodge to walk around the area that surrounded your house, chatting about whatever.

But what had also become routine was him grabbing your hand and leading you deeper into the tree line, finding his lips on yours within seconds of disappearing from the vantage of your living room window.

Yeah, you'd been surprised the first time (and he'd been a whole lot more nervous), but now you looked forward to Saturday planning meetings, and the subsequent seeing him church tomorrow.

Maybe the words his dad spoke about being chaste made your cheeks burn, and maybe the reverence jealous mothers held for you felt more misplaced as the weeks went on, but no one ever made you feel good the way Dodge did.

So you found yourself backed up against a tree trunk again, Dodge's hands resting on your waist. His thumbs played with the fabric covering your waist as his lips worked against yours, the sounds of nature enveloping you two.

Technically, you two were old enough to be sitting in on those meetings, but it was the end of winter break, meaning you hadn't seen Dodge all week. And both of you were feeling it.

"I tried to convince my dad to do a Wednesday service," he mumbled as his lips trailed down your jaw, "he wouldn't go for it."