Revelations (31 page)

Before you ask, yes, they were there. His other apostles. Not exactly my idea, if you know what I mean. I still can’t exactly say there’s any love lost there, but I promised Jesus I’d do my best to get along. I know he talked to them himself, explained the situation, and begged them to make an effort to get along with me, for his sake. Good thing they love and respect him. Even Peter. No, that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven them. I’m not the saint my husband is.

Husband. What an enchanting word. I like being a husband, and having Jesus for my husband, very much.

Mmmm mmmm mmmmm, I can’t begin to tell you how beautiful he looks at this moment, not to mention very delicious, his dark hair flowing in the tropic breezes that caress this most marvelous beach. His golden skin is growing more golden beneath the blessed rays of old Sol. He’s wearing only a pair of cut-off jeans shorts (I cut them for him myself, and I think I did a damn fine job, and they’re damn short, and what a lovely view I have). I, on the other hand, am loaded up with 200 SPF suntan lotion, and I’ve still managed to burn. Go figure. But that’s okay. Gives me an excuse to have him slather me with more of that fine lotion. Yes, it’s just an excuse for him to touch me. Do I care? Not a bit.

Once we finish with our honeymoon—and I’m thinking that might take at least another five years or more, who knows—we’ll decide where we want to live, and buy a house of our very own. That’s something we’ve never done before. Which isn’t to say we won’t keep on doing what we do. I mean seriously, I can’t imagine Jesus not preaching the word, or us not helping him to do it. It’s just going to be different now. For one thing, I’m so not putting up with any of their lip, I swear it.

“Don’t laugh at me, I heard you snicker.” I glance over at him. I know he knows what I’m thinking.

“Would I do that, Jude?” His face is the epitome of innocence.

“You would, and you did,” I maintain, failing completely to fall for that faux innocent act. I’ve seen it too many times before. “It’s either they behave or I’m selling their sorry asses to a circus, someplace they can’t bother us. Preferably in outer Mongolia.” I grumble a bit, because yeah, I still have hard feelings going on.

These are the same guys who’ve killed me off more than a few times over the years, and who never have a kind word to spare for me. For Jesus, yes, plenty of them. But it’s killing them to even listen to any of my ideas or suggestions.

Bastards. “And quit calling me Jude.”

That only produces another throaty chuckle from him. How he loves to get my goat, and rile me up. And how I so let him do it.

He leans in to me. Our chairs are as close together as two chairs can get without becoming one. He runs one finger seductively along my chest. “But you know how much I love to call you that, my sweet Jude…” Oh God, he doesn’t fight fairly. He already has me trembling at his touch, and I’m losing the point of what it is we’re discussing. Not fighting, never fighting. Not us. His mouth is dangerously near to mine, and his lips mere centimeters away. I can feel the warmth of his breath, and any minute now, he’s going to kiss me, I can feel it…

Up until the moment when he pulls away from me, jumping up from his chair, a decidedly mischievous expression on his handsome face, as he challenges me,

“Last one in cooks dinner!” And before my eyes, he strips off what little he’s wearing, sprinting toward the water.

Oh that is just so not fair. “Goddammit, Jesus!” I cry, leaping up after him, trying not to entangle myself in my chair. I yank my own shorts off, toss them aside, and chase after him, just as a rumble can be heard overhead, even though there isn’t a cloud in the sky.

He doesn’t run very far into the surf, and I catch him easily, pinioning him in my arms, before casting a defiant eye heavenward. “Yeah, I said it,” before turning my attention back to my husband.

“What if I told you not to take my father’s name in vain?” he teases me.

My only response is to pull him into my arms, tangling my fingers in his dark tresses, and I proceed to kiss him like I’ll never let him go.

And believe me, I never will.

About the Author

Julie Lynn Hayes was reading at the age of two and writing by the age of nine and always wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Two marriages, five children, and more than forty years later, that is still her dream. She blames her younger daughters for introducing her to yaoi and the world of M/M love, a world which has captured her imagination and her heart and fueled her writing in ways she'd never dreamed of before. She especially loves stories of two men finding true love and happiness in one another's arms and is a great believer in the happily ever after. She lives in St. Louis with her daughter Sarah and two cats, loves books and movies, and hopes to be a world traveler some day. While working a temporary day job, she continues to write her books and stories and reviews, which she posts in various places on the internet. Her family thinks she is a bit off, but she doesn't mind. Marching to the beat of one's own drummer is a good thing, after all. Her published works can be found at, Muse it Up Publishing, Dreamspinner Press, Silver Publishing and No Boundaries Publishing.

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