Page 18 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
“But this is different.”
I stare at her momentarily and debate whether I want to get into what’s really bothering her. She bites her plump lip. I’ve never seen her so... the opposite of confident. Finally, I give in and ask, “Why is it different?”
She throws her hand toward the church in the distance. “They’re here. Judging. I can’t just skip into town and find a dick to sit on. I can’t even do my usual video chat with a toy, and babe, self-love isn’t cutting it.”
“Why do you care what they think?”
“I don’t. It’s just... the priest wants me to confess, and I can’t with him. He’s too...” Darkness clouds her eyes, and she shakes her head. “Never mind. Let’s run.”
This is about the new priest? A few days ago, she was flirting with him and flashing boob. Now she’s ashamed? This isn’t the Mercy I know. The Mercy I know can walk into a room of nuns and seduce one of them into lifting her skirt. The Mercy I know struts proudly around the abbey in lingerie, despite having cellulite on her wobbly bits. She makes those bits sexy. She can lure a devout married man into a private booth and then slice his carotid without blinking.
“Mercy.” I grab her shoulder as she steps forward. “I know I’m not the best conversationalist, but if you, ah... need a person to unload on... then... um... I guess what I’m trying to say is...”
Her manicured brows lift hopefully. “You’ll fuck me?”
“No!” I roll my eyes and start jogging. “Jesus Christ. I’m saying I’ll listen if you need to talk.”
“Aww, come on. Just a quickie to take the edge off.”
Her steps crunch over the gravel behind me. She knows I’m not into women, so she’s just testing my patience. After a few minutes, she blurts, “Can I fuck the Saint, then?”
“Nope.”
“What about the priest?”
“Nope.”
“What about the brooding one with pistols?”
I flatten my lips and speed up. She chases after me, saying, “He seems like he’s up for it.”
I run faster.
She pants behind me. “He’s got a big dick too.”
I don’t engage. Keep running. Keep filling my lungs with air until we’re burning through the scenery. Mercy doesn’t shut up. Heaving breaths and footsteps punctuate her every word.
“I know because I saw him lifting weights the other day, wearing a pair of those thin sweatpants that show everything in the crotch. I’m sure he was sporting a semi. You were there too... I think you were on the treadmill. But Jesus, Leila, I swear to God I saw the outline of his—”
I halt and spin so fast that she slams into me. I hold her at arm’s length and glare.
“Stay away from him,” I warn.
“Why?”
“He’s...” I swallow my immediate response and instead snarl. “He’s one of them. They’re not to be trusted. Just go into the city and find someone.”
Panting, chest heaving, her eyes go dark and sultry as she takes me in. “God, you’re fucking hot when you get angry and sweaty.”
It doesn’t escape me that she’s shifted into full antagonistic mode straight after I suggest she head into the city.
“I get it,” I say. “You need to get laid, but it won’t be with me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s really happening. Are you afraid of going into the city?”
“Oh, like you’re being honest about your feelings.”
“Fine.” I go to jog, but she grabs me by the shoulders and kisses me.
Full out, tongue shoved down my throat, cherry chapstick kiss. I’m so stunned that I freeze. Then I shove her off and glare. I want to smack her in the face. It’s never cool to do that uninvited. But that helpless, rudderless look is still swirling in her wild eyes, and I can only exhale, shaking my head.
