You just wanted to provoke him.

That was it. A little joke. One of those phrases thrown into the air, accompanied by a debauched smile and an eyebrow raise.

“I only go out with you, if you go to the sermon on Sunday morning.”

You said thinking he was going to laugh. Or ignore it. Or reply with some of those poison-laden responses that he was a master at shooting.

But no.

He just smiled. That smile. From the corner. Lazy. Arrogant. Obscene.

And walked away.

You thought he had forgotten. That was all. A lost conversation in a school corridor.

But there he was.

Sunday.

Nine in the morning.

Sitting on the wooden bench of the church where you spent your whole life.

Black T-shirt, denim jacket, legs apart, arm thrown on the back of the bench as if it were on the throne itself.

And you freaking out in silence.

His heart was beating so loud that he could barely pay attention to his father’s sermon. He talked about temptation - because of course he was - and you squirmed on the bench as if the world had heard your provocation.

You looked from the corner. Nate wouldn’t take his eyes off you. Not even for a second.

He was having fun.

Every time his father said the word “purity”, Nate gave a little smile. Every time he spoke of “sin”, he arched an eyebrow.

And when the word “redemption” was said, he simply ran his tongue over his lips, still looking directly at you.

You wanted to disappear. Or advance down that corridor and slap him. Or kiss him.

It was all very confusing.

After the service, while the ladies of the church said goodbye to their father and the faithful left little by little, you saw him leaning against the side door frame, arms crossed, bored expression - as if he were waiting.

You snorted and went to him.

“You came,” was all he could say.

He shrugged.

“You sent it.”

“I was joking.”

“Not me.”

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain some composure, but his proximity was a minefield.

“Why are you doing this, Nate?”

“Because you are the pastor’s daughter,” he said, leaning just enough for no one else to listen. “And because I know that when you look at me, you don’t think of absolutely anything sacred.”

You swallowed hard.

He smiled. That damn little curve at the corner of the mouth.

“So, what’s coming now?” He whispered, his eyes fixed on his lips.

You blinked, your stomach on fire, your heart stumbling.

“Hell, probably.”

“Great,” he said, moving away with that slow, satisfied walk. “I like heat.”

You should have run away. I should have told him to disappear, that that wouldn’t happen.

But instead, you said:

“Wait for me outside.”