Page 2 of The Priest

“Well, you best be ready for Sunday, or you’re gonna cause riots around town.” Debby waves a gnarled, wrinkled finger in my direction.

Looking over to see her running circles through her hair, with that white-toothed brimming smile, my answer is set in stone. How can I run when the woman of my dreams is sitting two tables over?

The older man stands and makes his way to the end of the counter. She eases back in her chair, and her eyes turn to me. Two giant blue marbles twinkle with warm delight. Her joyful smile twists into a naughty grin, and she raises two fingers to wave.

“Oh, I’ll be ready. Don’t you worry about that,” I say with the tactical precision of a trained liar.

What’s with these people waving at me?

Still, I return a dumbfounded, half-assed wave while I drink in her body. Undressing her layers, piece by piece, in my mind until I’ve sculpted a near-perfect image of her pale, naked body in front of me.

The things I will do to you, pretty girl, would make God blush.

And I can’t wait.

2

VALERIE

Iknew he was different from the moment I saw him. His long, dusty coat and the worn leather fedora atop his head made him stand out like a sore thumb in our little town of Aurora. And from the second I saw Father Reed Murphy, my mind hasn’t let go of him.

Throughout his first service, all I could do was think about the strong hands he waved around while he spoke, latching onto me, digging into my hips, and pulling me into his exquisite frame. Calloused fingertips tickle my smooth, soft skin while the thick piece of meat dangling between his legs grows rock hard and ready to sin.

“It was a good service, but Father Murphy seems to have a different way of doing things. I’m not sure I fully understand it myself,” Bob Hoskins says while he shakes my dad’s hand.

They’re catching up and exchanging notes, gossiping about our new priest like two schoolgirls. It’s cute, if not a tad monotonous. I’ve dealt with it all before. Every newcomer in town catches Mayor Bob’s attention, and he puts my father on the case todo some digging. It makes sense with my dad being Chief of Police, but a prying eye on every new face might send the wrong message to folks wanting a place to settle down.

“Have you seen the state of him? He’s new age. Might be a convert,” Dad replies. “No man with that many scars has been a child of the cloth all his life. But maybe it’s a good thing. We get to see a different side of our faith. See the good Lord’s plan in action.”

Dad’s hardly one to talk. He’s big, mean, and littered with scars and bullet wounds from his years in the military. Still, he holds himself and his faith in high regard, regardless of outward appearance. I’m not surprised he’s giving the new priest a chance, even though Father Murphy looks more like someone who belongs behind Dad’s bars.

“We’re a small, isolated town. We don’t need a different side to faith. We need stability,” Bob says callously, sliding into the driver’s seat of his muscle car. “But maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t cast the first stone or however it goes.”

Father Murphy isn’t anything like our previous priest. He’s tall, handsome, and chiseled from marble. Maybe that’s what this town needs. Someone who’s seen the darker side of life in order to guide us—them—to the light.

As much as I want to count myself among the flock of blind followers, I can’t. It took one look at Reed Murphy to know my faith lies elsewhere. Still in God, but in a different pocket of His holy love.

“I’ll see you tonight for the game?” Dad changes the subject, and Bob nods his head. “I’ll invite Murphy over, too. Give us achance to get to know the guy better without having to dip into his history.”

“Sounds swell. I’ll bring chips and dip.” Bob turns his head to the deep blue sky while he ponders what to say next. “A couple of steaks for the barbecue.”

“Now we’re talking. I’ll see you then, Bobby boy. Drive safe, y’hear?” Dad pats the roof of Bob’s car and turns toward me. “Ready to get out of here?”

“No, not yet. I want to go in and speak with Father Murphy,” I say.

Dad raises a brow. “About what?”

Bob’s engine roars to life, nearly drowning out Dad’s words. He revs a few more times before he takes off down the road.

“It’s private.” My response is enough for him to yield. I’ve done it a few times before, breaking away after church to speak with our previous priest in the confessional.

“Ah, of course.” He smiles and wraps a hand around my shoulders, walking me back up the stairs towards the church door. He’d never pry when it came to a conversation between me and God. He understands it’s none of his business as long as I’m not getting myself into actual trouble. “I’ll wait out here.”

“Of course,” I say, slipping through the door into the quiet church.

Father Murphy sits on a pew, his head fixed toward the ceiling. He’s sprawled out lazily on the firm wooden seat, hands folded over one another on his belly, and his massive physique testing the limits of his all-black vestments. If I had the time and Dad wasn’t waiting, I’d love to stand here and observe him.

Watch, like a fly on the wall, as he goes about his business. Drink in those shimmering hazel eyes and stand in awe at the sheer monumental size of him. He shifts in his seat and grabs something at his side. It’s the church’s golden holy communion chalice, and he brings it to his lips for a long glug before wiping away the remnants of red wine that spill down his cheek.

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