Page 14 of Sinner (Priest 2)
I hate thinking about that day.
I shake off the memories and ring the bell at the window again, the first tendrils of impatience snaking through me. I glance at my watch. Yes, it’s definitely ten o’clock, and judging from the picture of the Virgin Mary hanging above the cheap plastic chairs, I’m definitely in the right place.
“Hello?” I call through the window. “Anyone there?”
I hear a laugh—muffled as if through a door—and a couple voices in ringing conversation, and the
voices sound like they’re coming closer, thank God.
“Hello?” I call again, hopefully. “I’m here to see Zenny?”
I hear a door open somewhere I can’t see, I hear footsteps on the linoleum, and suddenly, I’m suffused with huge amounts of confidence. Optimism.
Because this is baby Zenny, baby Zenny who likes Jurassic Park and brought me a book once just so I wouldn’t be bored. This is the same baby Zenny I had to push in the swings at the park and guard my popcorn from during family movie nights. This is my best friend’s little sister, and this is going to be so easy. She’ll see her old friend Sean and realize that this was all a misunderstanding, a simple mix-up, and then she’ll step aside and let me clean this up.
Like I said before, easy peasy.
The footsteps get closer and I take a step back from the window, already pinning my best big-brotherly smile on my face as Zenny comes into view.
Except.
Except.
Shit.
It’s not Zenny at all.
It’s Mary.
Chapter Five
"Mary?" I say, totally stunned.
She's in a white collared shirt and black jumper, a rosary hanging from her belt and a cross around her neck—as far away from the red dress she wore last night as she could possibly be—yet it’s still the same Mary. The same mesmerizing mouth, with its full upper lip pouting over the smaller bow of the lower one. The same tiny stud glinting from the side of her nose, the same eyes with their copper haloes around the pupils.
It’s her. It’s her, and immediately, I remember the feel of her in my arms, the tentative touch of her fingers on the nape of my neck, the silky give of that tempting mouth under my fingertip. My body responds in an instant, my cock giving a lazy jolt and thickening behind my zipper, my tongue running along the edge of my top teeth.
“Mary,” I say again, and my voice has changed, just enough to make her bite her lip, just enough to send that faint rosy hue to her cheeks.
She swallows, meeting my eyes. “Sean,” she whispers.
“This was the job you wouldn’t tell me about.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a nun.”
She lets out a breath. “Well, I’m a postulant. And this order is semi-apostolic, so sister is really more correct than nun. We usually use the word nun to refer to someone in a contemplative order.”
I blink at her for a minute, willing all the words she just said to make some kind of sense. But they keep floating around in my brain, totally divorced of context and meaning. “So…you’re not a nun?”
A quick, flickering smile. “I’m not a sister yet. I’ll be a postulant for another month before I enter the novitiate stage.”
“And then you’ll be a nun?” I ask.
“And then I’ll be a novice for two years.”
“And then?”
