Priest Read Free

maybe it’s not a slice, but a layer, like a ring of a tree. And wherever I go and whatever I do, it’s there. And it didn’t fit into my old life in Newport, and then it didn’t fit into my new life in Kansas City, and now I realize it doesn’t fit anywhere, so what does that mean? Does that mean that I don’t fit in anywhere? That I’m destined to be alone and detestable because I carry this demon on my back?
    The funny thing is that I feel like there’s this other life, this shadow life I’ve been offered, where that demon can run free and I can let that ring, that layer, consume me. But the price is the rest of me. It’s like the universe—or God—is saying that I can have it my way, but at the cost of my self-respect and my independence and this vision of the person I want to be. But then what’s the cost of this way? I run away to a small town and spend my days working a job I don’t care about and then spend my nights alone? I have my self-respect, I have good deeds, but let me tell you, Father, good deeds don’t warm your bed at night, and I’m filled with this awful kind of despair because I can’t have both and I want both.
    I want a good life, and I want passion and romance. But I was raised to see one as a waste and the other as distasteful, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop feeling like “Poppy Danforth” has become synonymous with waste and distaste, even though I’ve done everything I possibly can to escape that feeling…
     
    “Maybe we should continue this next week.”
    She’d been quiet for a long time after her last sentence, her breathing shaky. I didn’t need to see inside her booth to know that she was barely holding it together, and if we were in a modern reconciliation room, I would have been able to take her hand or touch her shoulder or something . But here, I could extend no comfort other than my words, and I sensed that she was past absorbing words right now.
    “Oh. Okay. Did I—did I take up too much time? I’m sorry, I’m not really used to the rules.”
    “Not at all,” I said softly. “But I think it’s good to start small, don’t you?”
    “Yes,” she murmured. I could hear her gathering her things and opening the door as she spoke. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. So…there’s no penance or anything that I should do? When I Googled confession last week, it said that sometimes there is penance, like saying a Hail Mary or something.”
    Debating with myself, I also stepped out of the booth, thinking it would be easier to explain penance and contrition to her face rather than through that stupid screen, and then I froze.
    Her voice was sexy. Her laugh was even sexier. But neither held a candle to her .
    She had long dark hair, almost black, and pale, pale skin, highlighted by the bright red lipstick she wore. Her face was delicate, fine cheekbones and large eyes, the kind of face that peered out of fashion magazine covers. But it was her mouth that drew me in, lush lips that were slightly parted, letting me see that her two front teeth were ever so slightly larger than the rest, an imperfection that for some reason made her all the sexier.
    And before I could stop myself, I thought, I want my dick in that mouth.
    I want that mouth crying my name.
    I want—
    I looked toward the front of the church, toward the crucifix.
    Help me , I prayed silently. Is this some sort of test?
    “Father Bell?” she prompted.
    I drew in a breath and sent another quick prayer that she wouldn’t notice that I was transfixed by her mouth…or that the flat-fronted wool slacks I wore were suddenly growing a little too tight.
    “There’s no need for penance right now. In fact, I think coming back here to talk is a small act of contrition in and of itself, don’t you?”
    A small smile quirked her mouth, and I wanted to kiss that smile until she was pressing herself against me and begging me to take her.
    Holy shit, Tyler. What the fuck?
    I said a mental Hail Mary of