Page 4 of Bad Habit
She spun but couldn’t spot the culprit, and I was no rat. As she turned back toward me, I could tell I’d climbed another notch on her hostile-to-friendly meter.Progress.
“I’m sure Mr. Downey is busy,” she said.
“It’s no trouble, Sister. Really.” I grinned. “I’ll go grab my shirt.”
* * *
Faith
No matter what I said or did, the man would not go away.
After the basketball match, the children had scattered to the wind, leaving me fully exposed to this devil who stuck to me like the leeches from Emma Lake.
I did not like how the children’s parents allowed them to run wild in the streets of this dangerous city, but at least the poor lambs were safe for the hours they attended the mission’s church youth programs, and I was eternally grateful that the sisters and I could provide this small bit of shelter for their young souls.
Right now, I was the one needing shelter.
I had never been so uncomfortable in my entire life. In the three months since I’d moved to San Francisco, I’d been in more anxiety-inducing situations than I’d even imagined in the twenty-two years prior, but this moment was the absolute worst. Mostly because it wasn’t just about him—it was about me.
The man’s presence had lit a fire under my skin and sent demons to dance in my belly. It was as if the actual flames of hell were licking my body and possessing my tummy.
It was bad enough that this man, Mac, had barreled onto our court uninvited, but he’d done so while naked!
Mostly naked—with a naked chest and back and arms that were bigger and sweatier and more solidly formed than the marble sculpture of Zeus I’d seen at the art museum. And still exposed were similarly sculpted legs, sweaty below his shorts. At least his shorts weresomewhatmodest, only hinting at the form they concealed. Small mercies.
But even there, the Devil had tested me, forcing my gaze toward the man’s posterior as he bent to pick up the ball from the basketball field or crouched down to talk to the children. As we walked along the sidewalk, my mind was still filled with images of what mysteries might lie under those shorts.
Wicked, wicked, wicked.Everything about this man screamed wicked, designed for sin, and worse, he mademefeel wicked.
“You’re new to the city, I take it.” His voice drew me from my lustful thoughts, but relit the heat flaming my skin.
“Excuse me?” My voice was rough, as if my throat and mouth had formed their first words after a yearlong vow of silence. I’d taken such a vow at thirteen.
“Where are you from?” He tossed the basketball between his huge hands as we walked the final block toward the St. Ignatius gymnasium. At least there I’d find sanctuary.
“Did you hear me, Sister? Where’d you grow up?” He was refusing to take my non-responses as evidence that I did not want to converse.
Why was he bothering me? Why would he want my personal information? Since moving to the big city, I’d been duped a few times, and I would not let it happen again.
I remembered a news story Sister Agatha had shown me. “Are you trying to steal my identity?”
He laughed. “Steal your identity?”
I stopped at the gymnasium door and took a deep breath to prepare to confront him. “I may seem naive, but I know what you’re doing.”
He leaned against the stuccoed wall of the church and looked down at me with a smile that was full of the Devil—objectively full of the Devil—there was no other way to describe it.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” he said playfully. “What am I doing?”
The word “bite” sent a shiver racing through me. “Identity theft. You’re trying to find out my information so you can pretend to be me.”
“Me, pretend to be you.” He nodded, still smiling. “I’m not sure how that would work.”
I bit my lower lip. He was right. Even if my identity were worth stealing, which it very much wasn’t, how could this man pretend to be me?
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry if I made you nervous back there. I should have introduced myself properly. Cormac Downey. People call me Mac. I’ve been a parishioner at St. Iggy’s since I was born.” He extended his hand.
Not wanting to be rude, I shook it and looked directly into his eyes for the first time. They were warm, kind—and deep green. And I had to admit that the man had done nothing overtly improper.
