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Good. Because there was a lot of it.”
    He chuckled and scrubbed a hand over his face, disheveling some of his hair in the process. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
    I turned on to my side and propped myself up on one elbow. “So I thought guys in your line of work weren’t supposed to . . . you know . . .”
    “Be gay?” He grinned. “Or have sex?”
    “Well, both.” I rested my free hand on his chest. “Or have gay sex, for that matter.”
    He put his hand over mine. “That’s up for debate. But I also wear mixed fibers and have a slight addiction to steamed mussels, so . . .”
    “So you’re a rebellious minister, then.”
    He laughed, running his hand up and down my arm. “Not quite. I just think some of what’s in the Bible is meant to be taken literally, and some of it’s a parable. And a lot has been misinterpreted. I can’t say I know any better than the next guy which is which, but I try.”
    “Wow. I guess I just never put ministers and casual sex in the same sentence.”
    “It’s not usually how I do things.” Mirroring me, he turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “But I’m not feeling terribly guilty about it.”
    I grinned. “Neither am I, but then, I’m an atheist. No conscience and all of that.”
    Darren laughed again. “Uh-huh. I’m sure.” He put a hand on my chest and drew ticklish circles with his middle finger. “I’m not a priest. We’re allowed. The minister at my last church had seven kids, so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t celibate either.”
    “Married, though, right?”
    “He can legally get married. I can’t.” Darren shrugged. “And for the record, seven months after his twentieth wedding anniversary, his oldest daughter turned twenty.” His eyes narrowed, and that lopsided grin made my pulse go wild. “So, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only man of the cloth who’s rather enamored of—” He trailed a fingertip down the center of my chest, drawing a few soft curses out of me. “—temptations of the flesh.”
    “Is that right?”
    “Yep.”
    I mirrored his gesture, drawing a finger down his chest, but I kept going. “So how much temptation—” I followed the thin line of dark hair below his navel, grinning when he gasped. “—can your flesh handle tonight?”
    Darren bit his lip. “I can take whatever you’ve got.”
    “Hmm.” I kissed him. “Challenge accepted.”

Daylight was a bitch. My head wasn’t pounding, fortunately, but I could have done with a few more hours of blissfully enjoying all the aches and pains from last night without the hefty dose of unfamiliar guilt that accompanied the rising sun. Apparently all it took was a few sunbeams to crack open the What the fuck did I just do? and the This could get awkward .
    But it was just a one-night stand. What the hell? This kind of thing never bothered me. Okay, so he was my neighbor, which meant it would be impossible to avoid each other even if we wanted to, so sleeping with him was about as smart as fucking a roommate. So the awkwardness wasn’t terribly surprising, but the guilt was . . . new.
    Whatever the reason, that guilty, unsettled feeling had burrowed its way under my skin, and I braced for that moment when Darren and I made morning-after eye contact for the first time.
    As I rolled over and we looked at each other, naked and disheveled in the morning light, all that guilt came crashing down in full force. If fucking up was tequila, this was the hangover, pounding home the realization that last night? Yeah. I done fucked up.
    It took two, though.
    And judging by the upward flick of his eyebrows and the oh shit in his tired eyes, I wasn’t the only one who’d be wallowing in regret all damned day.
    He pushed himself up on to his elbows, then sat all the way up, each motion subtly increasing the distance between us. “Um. We . . .” His fingers tapped rapidly on the sheet covering his knee. “Do you, um, want some coffee?”
    “Sure.