Page 6 of Bad Habit
He got closer and so I pushed the ball toward him, trying to mimic what he had done. After striking the floor, it bounced off to the side, but he lunged and grabbed it, his body moving so naturally, his muscles flexing as if they’d been designed for just this purpose. And for some reason, that started the flames licking inside me again.
Holding the ball under one arm, he tipped his head to the side, almost sheepish. “Yeah, I don’t go to church much.”
“How come?” Maybethiswas God’s test for me. To save this man’s soul.
He shrugged as he stepped forward, so close now I could smell his scent, something musky and vanilla under a hint of mint. Whatever he smelled of, it was delicious. I wanted to lick it.
My cheeks burned as I shook my head and took a step back.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry and my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth.
“I got out of the habit,” he said.
“What habit?” My mind was swirling. Had we been talking about something?
“Going to Mass.” He laughed. “It’s been a while. I don’t think the father would have enough time on his hands to hear my confession.”
I knew I should be shocked at this, but his self-deprecating chuckle was endearing. Growing up, I’d confessed my sins daily to Mother, and I was still getting used to the idea of confessing to a priest, a relative stranger.
“Can we still be friends?” he asked.
“Friends?” Something stirred my stomach.
“Yeah. Even if I don’t go to church every Sunday?”
I nodded. “Of course. I mean, there are ways to practice your faith without attending a physical church.” I bit my bottom lip and glanced around the gymnasium. I wasn’t sure church doctrine would agree. I still had much to learn.
“Gotta admit,” he said, “my faith’s not that strong anymore, either. Don’t want to lie. Especially not to you, Sister.”
“As long as we’re confessing…” I grinned. “You don’t need to call me Sister. I’m not a nun.”
“You’re not?”
His eyebrows rose slightly, and he moved a fraction of an inch closer. “A novice, then? Is that what it’s called?”
“No. Not even a postulate, yet.”
“Yet.” He nodded, a strange look on his face.
“Yes. I’mgoingto be a nun, it’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I haven’t officially entered my discernment.”
“Discernment?”
“A time for learning.”And for testing your calling.I left that part out. My calling was strong and didn’t need to be tested, regardless of what they’d said when I’d applied to the convent.
“Why do the kids call you Sister?” he asked.
“I corrected them at first, but Sister Henry says it’s not a bad lie and it helps them respect me.” She shook her head lightly. “I’ll be working at the mission for a year, serving with the sisters.” Serving and learning about the Catholic Church, a church I grew up thinking I already knew—but I’d been wrong.
“Great. How did you end up in the Bay Area?”
“When Mother died—”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He took a step forward, reaching toward me.
My body tensed, but I didn’t step back. Still, I was grateful when he didn’t come any closer—or actually touch me.
