Page 7 of The Love of Priest

He nodded his head before his tongue swiped over his lips. "Priest." He extended his hand to Britain.Britain waded her eyes down to his hand. It was massive compared to hers. The veins that made a clear presence on the back of his hand, along with those on his arm, were an immediate turn on for Britain. He was a full package physically.

"Britain." She placed her hand into his, introducing herself.

"Britain like the place? Why your parents couldn't just name you Paris or London?" he questioned.

Britain giggled before retorting with a jab of her own. "Priest like a church? Why couldn't your parents just name you Pryce or Preston?"

Side eyeing her, Priest tried his best not to crack a laugh, but he failed miserably."What you do for a living?" Priest questioned Britain, causing her to tilt her head to the side. The question was invasive, especially this soon in conversation. His expression made her feel like he was reading or trying to study her.

Britain chuckled. "Pay my own bills." Her lethal tongue slashed him.

"Alright, I deserved that." Priest took no offense to Britain’s cheeky response. He was sure if someone approached him the same way, he would have been just as harsh or even a little harsher than she was. "I ain't mean no disrespect, but you look like you do something for an audience. You aren't shy," he explained, letting her in on what he perceived from staring at her for so long.

"Is that a nice way of saying I look like a stripper?" Britain jested as she rested her chin onto her fist.

Priest shook his head with another chuckle. "I see you gone find a problem with everything I say. I'm just gonna lay-up. It was nice meeting you, Britain." He downed the rest of his drink before sitting the glass down onto the bar. Although Jadey and Kaymen covered all the costs of the bar, Priest still found it necessary to tip the bartender. The crisp blue-faced one-hundred-dollar bill was placed flatly on the bar while he stuffed the rest of his cash into the inner pocket of his suit.

Britain watched him intently, wondering whether he would put up the chase for her. Priest wasn’t. He told her he was gonna lay-up, and that was exactly what he did. He tipped his head at her, saluting her goodbye, and began wading away from the bar. Everything about him screamed put together, success, debonair. The way he spoke, the way he laughed, the way he strode away. He carried himself like he was aware that all eyes were on him and that he had to live up to his status. He was doing it well.

"I'm a journalist and photographer," Britain called after him once she realized he was really leaving things where they were. Priest stopped in his tracks. From the way his shoulders shook slightly, Britain could tell he was chuckling at her quick and last-minute attempt to further conversation.

Turning on the heels of his white and black Alexander McQueen sneakers he paired perfectly with his suit, he faced Britain. A small smirk engraved itself on his face.

"I do this piece called “Humans of New York” forTheTimes," she further explained her career.

"The Times,huh?" His hands slid into his pockets as he eyed her.Britain nodded her head in confirmation.The New York Timeswas everywhere. He had to know what it was. Trying not to assume he had no idea whatThe Timeswas, Britain strayed away from trying to explain it to him. He seemed like a smart man; he could figure it out.

"Explain “Humans of New York.”" Although Britain wasn't appreciative of the fact that he wasn't asking her, that he was more so telling, she agreed.He had yet to make his way back to his spot at the bar. They were holding conversation a few feet away from each other now.

"It's organic. I let people tell their own stories about their lives. I just transcribe them, take a picture. It’s an easy and enjoyable job, and it came from a very bright idea I had in my dorm room." She shrugged her shoulders in a reminiscent manner.

Priest nodded his head, intrigued by her work. "I'll check it out when I have a chance." He smiled lightly. "Pleasure meeting you, Britain."

Britain was stunned. She had just given him what he asked for, and he was still willing to leave it at that.What's with this guy?

He turned on his heels, preparing to wade off toward the other side of the reception where he had come from before he came to fetch a drink.

"What's your story?" Britain asked him before he could get too far.Priest gazed over his shoulder to face her once more. That same smirk spread across his face, causing a slew of questions to once again stop at the tip of her tongue.

"You work forThe Times.You should know my story from one front page to the next." A chuckled eased out of him. "Priest Justice," he stated before finally trekking off away from her.Britain made no attempts to call after him anymore. Her eyes seared into his frame.

He had a story, and she wanted to hear it.

ChapterFour

Priest’s eyesscanned the front page ofThe New York Times. A smug expression was smeared on his face at the leading headline.

PRIEST JUSTICE BACK FOR MORE!

"They're running out of headlines. Look at this shit." Priest tossed the newspaper in front of J'Ru so he could look for himself.

J'Ru read the headline with a chuckle. "I mean, you weren't really giving them much to work with." He shrugged.

"I just need this shit to be over with already," Priest sighed as he lit his blunt. He and J'Ru were currently sitting at a small, secluded table in the back of a well-established Italian restaurant they had both opened called La Lealtà. The name generated from a characteristic both J'Ru and Priest took pride in loyalty. At the moment, the restaurant was full of patrons enjoying the fine cuisine derived from the culture of Italy made by head chef, Sofia Serron.

J'Ru let out a breath before slightly leaning back into his seat. "I did that digging on that situation you had me check out for you."

"Word?" Priest raised a brow. "What you got?"

---