Page 69 of Bad Habit
“I’m not sure.”
She sighed. “I can relate to that.”
“Really?” I glanced over. “You seem so sure of what you want.”
“Not anymore.” Her head shook, and her hair lifted into a sunlit cloud around her, a halo.
Guilt flooded through me. “Look, Faith, this whole sin thing. It was just an experiment, right? You’re not going to turn away from your calling.”
“I’m not sure I ever had one.”
Elation flashed for an instant, then twisted with dread. She might not become a nun?
She’d hinted at that last night, too. The idea that this thing between us, the chemistry, the attraction, could ever develop into something real, something lasting…
I was shocked at how excited and hopeful that made me. But guilt weighed down my hope.
Even if I could pull off a lasting relationship—with her, or with anyone—I’d be responsible for taking her away from the Church. If I weren’t already going to Hell, that would clinch it. And even if Hell didn’t exist, it still made me a shitty person.
You’d think I’d be used to that feeling.
“I haven’t been totally honest with you.” The words were out of my mouth before I decided to say them.
“About what?” Her fingers drifted lower, and I gritted my teeth to keep from moaning.
“I’ve done things that… I’ve done things that aren’t exactly legal.”
“What kinds of things?” She looked up into my eyes. “None of us is without sin.”
“I’ve done more sinning than most, Sister.”
“I’m not a sister.”
“I know.”
She pushed up onto her elbow and lifted her sunglasses up to sit on her head. I lifted mine too, nothing between us, my truth in all its raw ugliness exposed.
“If you want to confess your transgressions, you can. I won’t judge you.” Her fingers slid over my chest. “But you don’t have to. I know what kind of man you are.”
I nodded.
“Have you ever hurt anyone?” she asked softly. “Killedanyone?”
“No.” I shook my head vigorously, and her body relaxed against mine.
“Are you a drug dealer?”
“No. Never. We never go near anything like that.”
“Then what?”
My hand slid up and down her back, wanting more than anything to pull her into a kiss—one that would stop this conversation. “Our family business. Shit.” I shook my head. “Most of the stuff we sell is hot.”
“Hot?”
“Stolen.” The word burned coming out.
“Oh.” She frowned, and the quiet seemed endless. “But you don’t feel good about it. Not anymore.”
