Read Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK for Free Online

before church. What was the point?
    “He talks about you, you know.”
    I stopped and slowly turned to meet her gaze, my heart pounding in my chest. “Who?” But we both knew I knew exactly who she meant.
    She blew out a puff of smoke. “He says you’re cute.” She smirked, and this time I knew without a doubt it was an insult. Lemon drops versus gummi bears.
    I was too sweet.
    My chest heated under my sweater, and I abruptly kept walking without reply, hearing only her haughty laughter trailing in my wake. The birds’ treetop melody once again pierced the morning as I hurried up the street toward the church.
    This time they sounded downright angry.

    I wasn’t supposed to be that bored at church. But the beauty of it was I’d learned to hide it over the years. Everywhere else you looked, teenagers popped their gum, scribbled notes on their bulletin about where they wanted to eat lunch (actually, the deacons did that sometimes, too), and whispered as if the pulpit wasn’t ten yards away. I guess that’s why they didn’t sit by me anymore. I’d had a bunch of church friends in elementary school, then once we all became teenagers and realized there were actual consequences for our choices, I was unofficially shunned. I guess they thought I’d tattle on their gossiping during the hymns and flirting during the sermons. Ridiculous, as Dad could easily see all that for himself. Though maybe part of me wanted to join them some mornings, just for the entertainment value.
    Don’t get me wrong, my dad wasn’t a bad preacher. He was good, as far as that went. He had the composition down right, the presentation. But lately he lacked passion. I tried to pinpoint a point in time, tried to figure out exactly when his zeal had dissipated, but I couldn’t be sure.
    I couldn’t even be sure I’d ever felt it for myself in the first place.
    Across the aisle, tall, dark-haired Mr. Keegan shifted positions, tugging his almost-too-short pant leg down over his black dress socks and nearly knocking his Bible from his lap. I quickly looked away before he caught me staring. Mr. Keegan had been in the congregation for at least five years, yet I’d never spoken more than two words to him until I met Wes and realized they were father and son. Actually, we spoke the same two words, followed by a polite nod.
Good morning
. That’s about it. It was sort of awkward looking him in the eye, knowing how I felt about his son.
    And knowing what would happen if anyone else knew.
    I tuned back in as Dad wrapped up his extended sermon on David, running for his life from his numerous enemies. Once a king in a palace, now hiding away in a cave in the wilderness. Funny how things change.
    In front of me, Mrs. Vanderford shifted positions, temporarily blocking my view of Dad with her big, dark hair.
    And funny how they don’t.
    The organ played a closing chorus to the invitation down the aisle, and I gathered my Bible and purse, eager to beat the crowd out the front doors and get home. This time I’d take the longer route a block over to avoid Poodle Girl’s house. Not that she’d likely be in the driveway again—I didn’t exactly peg her for the outdoorsy type—but I wasn’t ready for round two. Not while still reeling from round one. I still couldn’t figure out why her words had affected me so badly. Was she lying about Wes talking about me? Playing the exchange back over in my mind, I could almost detect a hint of jealousy in her voice. Or was that just wishful thinking?
    In my distraction, I nearly mowed over a man making his way down the aisle in front of me. “Whoops, sorry.” I patted the person’s shoulder in apology before realizing it was Mr. Keegan.
    He smiled down at me. “No problem.”
    I averted my gaze, certain my feelings were welling in my eyes. Could he tell I’d just been daydreaming about his son? Would he care?
    Heaven knew my father would.
    “Excuse me.” I tried to ease around him, but Mr. Keegan stepped to