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Deacon
With Brook out of the house, I roamed through the hall with the certainty I wouldn’t run into her. My last encounter with her had started off hard and cold. While my body had been hot for her, turning up the heat that night had required more discipline than I was prepared for. My body wanted her, but my head didn’t know what to make of her.
Passing by her room, I smelled the faint scent of the perfume she always wore. Light, floral and fresh, it was always understated.
And that was all it took for me to want her again.
My phone buzzed, indicating a text. I turned away from her door and flicked my phone on.
A text from Rector.
Deacon. How are things at the house? Just wanted to let you know that I will be returning to the fraternity soon. Being away is driving me crazy and I’m eager to see how things are going over there.
Cool, I answered back. Can’t wait to talk to you.
I also want to talk to you about who’s sabotaging the House of Saints. I think I have a pretty good idea. They’re targeting the Saints and I want to put a stop to it.
I’m with you on that one, I wrote back. Who’s on your list of suspects?
Come by the lake house. We’ll discuss it there.
I hesitated. I had so much to do, and I was in no mood for the long drive out to the lake. Before I could respond, he sent another text.
I expect to see you here within the hour.
Good old Rector. Always playing boss.
Sure thing, I wrote. I’ll be there.
I turned to head back to my room to change. Going to the lake house was a laid back, easy affair. In the past we’d often hung out on the back patio, gone fishing on the lake, or gone swimming... either in the warm pool on a cool day, or in the cool lake on a heated and suffocating day.
Not really in the mood for a swim, I opted for a pair of lightweight gray shorts and a cool, breathable hot pink t-shirt. Paired with sports sandals, I looked every bit the part of the preppy dude set to sail on a yacht.
It was a beautiful day for a drive and my sporty little red vintage Porsche seemed to enjoy the ride just as much as I did. The moment we left the city and hit the country lanes, it seemed to purr its satisfaction. It hugged every curve, practically hungering for more.
Pushing my foot down on the accelerator a little more, I gave it what it wanted. Speed.
When we arrived at a long straight stretch with the countryside completely open and visible in front of me, I stepped down on the gas a little more, giving my little Porsche a thrill. It roared its appreciation.
All too soon I was at the long drive that led to the sprawling lake front home that Rector’s father called his little country cottage.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I said into the intercom at the gate.
Just seconds later, the gate opened, and I drove down the lane, admiring the immaculate grounds.
I pulled my Porsche up behind Rector’s Jaguar. A deep blue BMW, a silver-gray Audi and a bright red super-sized pickup truck also lined the drive.
With an amused grin on my lips, I got out of my Porsche and walked up to the front door. Before I could ring the bell, the door opened, and Rector stood there.
“Hey, no butler to open the door, old boy?” I said.
“You know how I like to live lowkey when I’m out here.”
