by Mara Leigh
“Experiencing emotions and physiological reactions,” she continued, “it’s part of what makes you human. What matters is how you respond to those feelings. A vow of celibacy is a vow not to act on those feelings. You can’t promise not to feel them again.”
“But I committed a sin.”
Her eyes opened wide. “Did you have sexual intercourse with this man? Did he do anything that you didn’t—”
I drew back. “Of course not!”
“Then why are you so upset?”
“Lustful thoughts. Isn’t that a sin?”
Chewing her bottom lip, Sister Henry drew a long breath, clearly thinking, as she often did when I asked her hard questions. “Yes. As good Christians, we do our best to push such thoughts from our minds. But Faith… It worries me that you’ve had so little experience. I don’t think you should join the order without understanding the life you’re giving up.”
“That’s why I’m taking this year.” I straightened my back. “Working here at the mission.” The admissions staff at the convent had insisted I take some time, in spite of my arguments.
Sister Henry nodded, but I saw doubt in her eyes, so I went back to peeling potatoes, and she went back to chopping them into pieces for the stew. I didn’t recognize the tune she was humming, but if it was a hymn it was one I hadn’t heard.
She was right. I did lack life experience. Life experience that I’d never have—ever—given my chosen path. But that was what it meant to promise yourself to God.
“What does it feel like?” I asked softly.
“What, honey?”
“Acting on those feelings.”
“You mean sex?”
I forced through my mortification and shame. “Any of it.”
“You haven’t…” Sister Henry pointed her knife toward me then, as if realizing her mistake, dropped it onto the chopping block. “Have you ever even kissed a boy?”
I shook my head. My cheeks flared so hot I feared they might blister. Mother had made me proud of my lack of experience—she claimed my purity made me better able to serve God—but now, the way Sister Henry was looking at me, my lack of experience made me feel foolish, like a child.
She halved a potato. “Faith, never having been kissed… there’s nothing wrong with that, but…”
“But what?”
“It does make me wonder even more if you’re ready.” She chopped the potato into pieces.
“I am ready. I’m just curious…”
But was I ready? Truly ready to begin this life I’d chosen? Meeting Mac had awoken something inside me, something I’d never imagined was there. What would it feel like to kiss him? To have those large hands touch mine?
The wicked feelings returned between my legs—the heat and the aching, the wetness.
If I could feel that at mere thought of kissing a man, kissing Mac, what would happen if I did it? My breathing quickened.
“Faith…” She set her knife on the cutting board. “If you’re taking this year to be sure, then you need to really take the year.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you should live a little. Let yourself feel what it’s like to live in the world outside the order. Experience some of the normal things any twenty-two-year-old woman would.”
“Like what?” Fear mixed with excitement in my chest.
“Start with something small,” she said. “Maybe go on a date? How well do you know this man?”
“Not well, but he’s kind and generous. He’s been helping me with the children’s basketball matches.”
Sister Henry smiled. “So, sounds like you’ll be seeing him again, then?”
“Yes. But that’s about the children.”
“Why not go for a coffee? Extend your conversation. See for yourself how it feels to be with a man.”
All the air sucked from my lungs. “Premarital sex?”
“I’m not saying that. Or maybe I am.” She shook her head. “Not necessarily. Okay. Listen. I had a boyfriend when I was your age, and I loved him, or thought I did at the time. We had sex—often—and God didn’t send a thunderbolt to strike me down. I confessed my sins, I atoned, and then when I was sure of what I wanted, I chose this life.”
“I can’t believe what you’re saying.” My whole life, I’d assumed that romantic love, physical love, was not for me. I was promised to the Church. But Sister Henry had experienced both?
She took my hands. “I want to be clear, Faith. I am not telling you to have sex. All I’m saying is that I’ve never met a postulate who’s had so little idea of what she’s giving up. I don’t want to discourage your chosen path—I just think you should fully understand your choice.”
Was Sister Henry right? Should I at least experience a date before giving up on romantic love?
Scraping the skin of a particularly large potato, I made a vow. A vow to myself—I was going to go on a date.
The only thing left was for Mac to ask me.
Mac
Faith ran after the ball at the side of the court and bent to pick it up at the fence. I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her ass pressing back against those hideously ugly, navy things she called pants.
I’d ogled more than my fair share of female butts over the years—more than I cared to admit—but even though many of those asses had been naked or in short skirts, looking at Faith bent over, seeing even a hint of her form, made me feel unbelievably dirty. Filthy. Like a sex offender.
She straightened, and I looked the other way.
The kids were just about done. I sensed some tension between Jeremy and Marigold that would likely erupt in a fight if this game went on much longer.
“What time is it?” I asked no one in particular.
Madison ran to the small backpack she’d left at the side of the court and pulled out a phone—the only one of these kids who owned such a luxury. “Four forty-seven.”
“Crap,” Jeremy said.
“Language!” Faith scolded.
“My mom’s gonna kill me.” Jeremy raced for the exit, and a few of the other boys followed.
“Thanks, Sister!” Madison waved at Faith as she slung her backpack onto her shoulder. “Thanks, Mac!”
“Children! Be careful on your way home.” Faith held one ball awkwardly in front of her as she walked toward the second one that had been abandoned by one of the kids and was rolling toward the opposite end of the court, where a group of teenaged girls were playing.
She bent to pick it up, but dropped the other one. Trying to focus on the balls—not her ass—I headed over.
“Let me.” I picked up the first, tucked it under an arm, then using my foot, I flipped the other one up, catching it in my palm.
“Oh, my.” Faith shook her head. “How did you manage that?” Some stray hairs had escaped her tight bun, and they floated around her like feathers caught in the wind.
She seemed like something out of a children’s book, a fairy you could only find in an enchanted garden. I shook my head. Where the hell had that thought come from?
“Are you laughing at me?” She raised her chin, and her pale cheeks pinked.
“No, sorry.” I passed one of the balls to her. “Just had a funny thought.”
“One you can share?” Her smile just about wrecked me right there. If this girl weren’t off-limits…
“It was nothing.”
“It was a good match today, don’t you think?”
“Yup. Good game.”
“Thanks again for your help. I think the children enjoyed it.” She bounced the ball a few times using both hands.
“Can you do me another quick favor?” She tipped her head to the side.
“Sure.”
“Can you teach me how to throw the ball so it goes in the circle?”
“Teach you how to shoot a basket?” I asked.
“Yes. Shoot a basket.” Grinning, she shook her head, and the stray hairs danced around her face. “I’ll get the jargon down yet.”
“Can I ask you something?” I tucked the ball under my arm.
She looked up at me with way more expectation than was warranted. Like she was dying to answer whatever question I planned to ask.
“If you’ve never played basketball, how did you get roped into coaching?”
“Oh.” Her expression collapsed for an instant. Whatever she thought I was going to ask, that hadn’t been it. “Well, the Sister who used to supervise basketball was reassigned to another mission. I’d hoped to use the time slot to lead the children in Bible lessons, or some raucous hymn singing, or even arts and crafts, but Sister Henry thought they’d be better off exercising outside. Blowing off steam.”
She bounced the ball again, her expression shocked as the ball slapped up into her hands, like she hadn’t expected its return. “I’m so out of my depth.”
“Well, you can count on my help.”
“You’re so kind.” Looking directly into my eyes, she smiled again.
My cock stirred, which made me feel even dirtier. Going forward, clearly I needed to prepare myself before seeing Faith. Maybe get laid before coming. Or take a cold shower. Or wear an ice pack in my shorts.
I swallowed, hard. “Let’s try a basic shot, first.”
“Basic. That sounds good.”
I showed her how it was done, then rebounded my ball and returned it to her. “Your turn.”
She took the ball, raised it above her head, and tossed it toward the net—in the vague direction of the net. It missed by about ten feet in every dimension.
She frowned. “That didn’t go well.”
“It was your first time. And my first time teaching.”
“I’ve seen you helping the kids.” She frowned. “What did I do wrong?”
“Where do I start?”
Her chin lifted slightly. “How about the beginning?”
I tried to remember how I’d first learned to shoot, but I was pretty sure I’d just watched Keagan play with his friends and picked it up on my own.
I stepped closer to the net, and she followed. “Okay. First, stand with your feet about hip width apart, one foot slightly in front of the other.”
She shifted her feet to a near lunge.
“Not so far apart. More like this.” I showed her my stance.
“Is this better?”
“Relax your knees and ankles.”
She bent them, freezing in that position.
“Bounce a little. Loosen up.” I showed her what I meant and she imitated my movements, looking more athletic than she deserved to in that buttoned-up shirt, baggy pants, and what we boys used to call nun shoes. Guess that fit.
“Bend your right arm, rest the ball in your hand, and use the left to support it.” I moved behind her to adjust the position of the ball.
Her body stiffened when I touched the back of her hand.
“Sorry.” I backed off.
“No, it’s okay.” She bounced her knees again. “Teach me.”
“Okay.” Her hair smelled like lemons, and I resisted an urge to dip my nose lower to sample the scent of her neck. I adjusted the angle of her shooting arm, then dropped my hands down, catching myself before they landed on her hips.
Pulling my hands back, I coughed. “You should make sure your feet and body are pointing toward the target.”
“I thought it was called a hoop.”
“Actually, it’s called a basket. But ‘hoop’ works. Or ‘net.’” I backed away a few feet. “Okay. I think I’ve got three more tips. At least for a start.”
She nodded. “Three tips. Yes?”
“Use your legs. As you shoot, you want to straighten your knees and push off your feet, jumping just a little bit off the ground.”
“Tip two?”
“Look at the basket. Don’t stop looking at the basket.”
“And three? This ball is getting heavy.”
“Follow through with your arm.”
“Follow through?”
“Point toward the basket at the end.”
“Okay. Why didn’t you just say that?” She shook her head. “Can I go now?”
“Sure. Go for it.”
She took another shot, and this time the ball arched in the general direction of the net—too low and not far enough, but better. Way better. She was more coordinated and strong than she looked.
“Well, fiddlesticks,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Seems I’m not cut out for this basketball business.”
I retrieved the ball. “What are you talking about? No one gets the ball in the basket the first time. Try again.” I handed her the ball.
She took a shot, then another and another, and I picked up her rebounds, tossing the ball back to her gently at first, then more like a regular pass, and she caught every one and took less and less time lining up each shot.
Her seventeenth attempt went in.
“I did it!” She bounded toward me, the most perfect smile on her face.
On instinct, I moved toward her, catching her on one of the jumps and spinning her around.
Realizing what I’d done, I set her down and took a step back.
She brushed some stray hairs off her flushed face, and her smile shifted from shocked elation to something gentler, warmer, and genuinely happy. At least she wasn’t angry.
“Thank you,” she said. “I can’t believe I did it.”
I bounced the ball from one hand to the other. “You’re a natural. Keep practicing and the ball will start to go in more often than not.”
“Mac.” She looked down, as if suddenly nervous. “I want you to know. It’s okay if you ask me.”
“Ask you what?”
“I’m not a nun yet. I haven’t even started my discernment.”
I studied this woman, trying to figure out what she was trying to say. Faith was the oddest person I’d ever met. So shy and naive in some ways, but bold in others. She looked like a wisp of a human—someone the wind might blow away—and yet she’d learned to shoot a basket in less than ten minutes.
I’d always been good at reading people, figuring out what they wanted and how to exploit those desires to get what I wanted. But there was nothing I needed from her. Nothing to exploit. Unless… Was she hinting that she wanted something more from me than basketball coaching and help with the kids?
My cock stirred, and I shook my head to rid myself of that crazy notion.
She looked up, and I reached forward to brush away some hairs, soft and pale as corn silk, that had glued themselves across her damp face.
At my light touch, she inhaled, her neck stretching and her back undulating like the stem of a flower yielding to the breeze. Her eyes fluttered, and her almost translucent eyelashes brushed down, catching sunlight on their path.
Fuck, she was beautiful. Beautiful in the most natural way, and miles from the type of woman I normally went for. Like a different species.
“Sister Henry and I were talking this morning,” she said softly.
“About what?”
“About you.”
“Oh.” I grimaced. “Nothing too bad, I hope.” I expected the Downey brothers did not have the best reputations in the parish. Had her friend warned her to stay away from me?
“No, nothing bad. I was telling her how kind you were, helping me with the basketball matches.”
“Games.”
“Games?”
“Usually they’re called games. I think tennis has matches? Maybe soccer?”
“Oh, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, Sister Henry is worried about my lack of life experience, how little I know about the real world and what I’ll be giving up to become a nun.”
I nodded, not even allowing myself to guess where this was going.
“She suggested I try out a few things. Like an experiment. To better understand how the real world works.”
“I see…”
Her eyes opened wide, as if she’d just realized something. “Do you have a girlfriend—or a wife?”
>
A short, hard laugh burst out of my chest. “Sorry. No. I’m single. Why?”
Exhaling hard, she glanced up at me, expectantly. But I still had zero idea what she was getting at.
“You can ask me, if you like,” she said softly. “It’s okay. I want you to.”
“Ask you what?” My voice came out unexpectedly hoarse—all the blood in my body had rushed to my package. I adjusted my stance, hoping she couldn’t tell I was such a creep.
She laughed, like she was laughing at me, laughing at herself.
“What’s so funny?” I’d never felt so left-footed, so off-kilter. The only question I could think of was, Can I fuck you? Fuck you hard? Fuck you right now against the chain-link fence?
That was my package talking, but right now it had stolen my ability to think with any other part of my body. And given how sweet Faith was, not to mention what she had planned for her life, that thought was wrong, so goddamned wrong.
“I’m not sure how this works.” She straightened her shoulders. “I suppose I could do the asking.” Her head tipped to the side. “Or ask you to do the asking?”
“Sounds like that would work.” I’d never been so confused. “I could use a hint.”
“Mac, will you ask me out on a date?”
“What?” I swallowed so hard it hurt, then blinked in what felt like slow-mo. “Yes. Sure,” I stuttered. “Of course. Really?” She had to be kidding.
She nodded.
“Okay.” A date? Did people still go on dates? “How about Friday night? Seven? I’ll pick you up… where?”
She looked perplexed for a second, as if this was a detail she hadn’t thought through. “I’ll meet you at the door of the gymnasium.”
My mind was reeling, and I pinched my leg through the pocket of my shorts to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Maybe I was on some kind of prank video that would show up on YouTube? I glanced around but didn’t see any cameras. But cameras could be small…
“I guess that’s set, then,” she said brightly. “We’re going on a date. Thank you for asking.” She looked very pleased with herself. Or with me?
