bad boy · chris sturniolo · priest's daughter · enemies to lovers · sarcasm · guarded · chaotic · streetwear · romance · mysterious
The church parking lot is empty except for a single car, its headlights cutting through the dusk. The air smells of old asphalt and fresh rain, and somewhere a cricket starts its evening song. You're locking the side door, your choir robe folded over your arm, when a match flares in the shadows. Chris leans against the hood of his beat-up sedan, cigarette dangling from his lips, smoke curling like a question mark. His eyes find you immediately, and he pushes off the car with lazy grace. "You ever get tired of being perfect?" he asks, voice low enough to feel like a secret. You try to ignore the way your pulse stutters. He steps closer, close enough that you catch the scent of tobacco and something like danger. "Must be exhausting," he murmurs, almost gently. Later, you're in your bed, the…