“Sore. Happy,” he said, flashing back to last night and the incredible ways she gave him both pleasure and pain and then more pleasure.
“Both are perfectly normal. Unlike the three of us.” Nora tossed her bare leg over his calf. She too wore only boxer shorts and a T-shirt that read University of Kentucky. Weird. He thought she’d gone to NYU.
“Normal never got me laid.” Griffin sat back in the chair and kicked his shoes off. He put his feet on the bed and crossed his legs at the ankles. Griffin had really big feet, Michael noticed.
“Speaking of getting laid,” Nora began as she sat up and looked at them both.
“Great way to start any conversation,” Griffin said.
“Søren called,” she continued.
“A horrible way to start any conversation.”
Nora reached out and swatted the bottom of Griffin’s feet. He flinched and pouted at her.
“What’s up with Father S?” Michael rolled up and pulled his T-shirt on. He caught Griffin watching his every move.
“That reporter bitch came by the church last night and interrogated him,” Nora began. “She asked him point-blank if he and I were sleeping together.”
“Shit.” Michael pulled a pillow to his stomach in nervousness. “That’s bad.”
“She’s smart and she’s hot on our trail. We need to get her off our trail.”
“Suggestions?” Griffin asked.
“We need a diversion. Let her see me with you. Make her think we’re together.”
“I like it. Could work.” Griffin shrugged. “Just don’t drag me to a Broadway premiere,” he said with such disgust Michael laughed.
Nora looked at Michael and smiled. Nora looked at Griffin and smiled. Griffin looked at Michael, and Michael looked at Griffin. Neither of them smiled.
“Let’s go to Sin Tax.”
Griffin whistled, sounding both dubious and impressed.
“I don’t know, Nora. We’re in Kingsley’s circle. Will they let us in?”
“Of course they’ll let us in. Well, they’ll let me in, and I’ll bring you with me.” Nora breathed on her fingernails and playfully buffed them on her T-shirt. “I have a friend there.”
“Wait, what’s Sin Tax?” Michael asked, utterly lost in Griffin and Nora’s shorthand yet again.
“It’s the one BDSM club in the city that Kingsley doesn’t have his fingers in,” Nora explained. “It’s more public than King’s clubs. Sin Tax is where celebs go if they want to look dark and cool. The famous people who go to Kingsley’s clubs actually are dark and cool.”
“Like us.” Griffin winked at him. “So we go, get some attention, get some pics taken, show up on Page Six, reporter thinks you and I are together. That’s the plan?”
“That’s the plan.”
“What about Bruised over here?” Griffin glanced at Michael with a grin.
“Oh, don’t worry about Michael,” Nora said as she crawled out of bed and headed to the door. “We’re taking him with us.”
“And Søren will be okay with us going out in public together?” Griffin called out after her.
Nora called back in a voice dangerous with feigned innocence.
“Who?”
13
Wednesday evening at five, he’d said. Mary Queen Junior High, two blocks from Sacred Heart. If Suzanne showed up she would see Father Stearns without his collar on. And although she knew this was a really bad idea, Suzanne couldn’t stop herself from going.
Parking in the main lot, she wandered around the outside of the school. He hadn’t given her any specific information, no doubt wanting her imagination to do all the work. As she neared the rear of the school—all too similar to the Catholic schools of her youth, with its careworn exterior and chipped Mary statues everywhere—Suzanne heard shouting followed by clapping.
Okay. She’d been right. This was a really bad idea. Out on the soccer field, two dozen teenagers and twentysomethings and one tall blond man in his forties played a hard-core game of soccer. Although older than the other players by a couple decades, Father Stearns wasn’t only keeping up, he seemed to be wiping the floor with them. He wore a fitted black T-shirt that showed off his miraculously toned biceps and broad chest and black track pants that no doubt hid equally toned hips and legs.
She stood at the edge of the field and watched the game. No, not the game. She watched only Father Stearns—his blond hair like a halo in the evening sun, his eyes hidden behind black wraparound sunglasses, the slightest hint of sweat staining the shirt around his neck and lower back.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. She’d seen naked men less visually arresting than this one soccer-playing priest.
“None of that,” came a voice from a few feet away from her. A young man with sun-streaked hair sat on the sidelines with an ice pack on his thigh. “Don’t even think about it.”
Blushing, Suzanne sat next to the young man and put on her own sunglasses.
“Think about what?” she asked.
“Him. Father S. My priest. I’m Harrison, by the way. And you’re…”
“Suzanne.”
“Suzanne, lovely to meet you. You’re that reporter chick, right? He warned us you might be stopping by.”
“That’s me. Just working on a story.”
“For Playgirl?”
“Both are perfectly normal. Unlike the three of us.” Nora tossed her bare leg over his calf. She too wore only boxer shorts and a T-shirt that read University of Kentucky. Weird. He thought she’d gone to NYU.
“Normal never got me laid.” Griffin sat back in the chair and kicked his shoes off. He put his feet on the bed and crossed his legs at the ankles. Griffin had really big feet, Michael noticed.
“Speaking of getting laid,” Nora began as she sat up and looked at them both.
“Great way to start any conversation,” Griffin said.
“Søren called,” she continued.
“A horrible way to start any conversation.”
Nora reached out and swatted the bottom of Griffin’s feet. He flinched and pouted at her.
“What’s up with Father S?” Michael rolled up and pulled his T-shirt on. He caught Griffin watching his every move.
“That reporter bitch came by the church last night and interrogated him,” Nora began. “She asked him point-blank if he and I were sleeping together.”
“Shit.” Michael pulled a pillow to his stomach in nervousness. “That’s bad.”
“She’s smart and she’s hot on our trail. We need to get her off our trail.”
“Suggestions?” Griffin asked.
“We need a diversion. Let her see me with you. Make her think we’re together.”
“I like it. Could work.” Griffin shrugged. “Just don’t drag me to a Broadway premiere,” he said with such disgust Michael laughed.
Nora looked at Michael and smiled. Nora looked at Griffin and smiled. Griffin looked at Michael, and Michael looked at Griffin. Neither of them smiled.
“Let’s go to Sin Tax.”
Griffin whistled, sounding both dubious and impressed.
“I don’t know, Nora. We’re in Kingsley’s circle. Will they let us in?”
“Of course they’ll let us in. Well, they’ll let me in, and I’ll bring you with me.” Nora breathed on her fingernails and playfully buffed them on her T-shirt. “I have a friend there.”
“Wait, what’s Sin Tax?” Michael asked, utterly lost in Griffin and Nora’s shorthand yet again.
“It’s the one BDSM club in the city that Kingsley doesn’t have his fingers in,” Nora explained. “It’s more public than King’s clubs. Sin Tax is where celebs go if they want to look dark and cool. The famous people who go to Kingsley’s clubs actually are dark and cool.”
“Like us.” Griffin winked at him. “So we go, get some attention, get some pics taken, show up on Page Six, reporter thinks you and I are together. That’s the plan?”
“That’s the plan.”
“What about Bruised over here?” Griffin glanced at Michael with a grin.
“Oh, don’t worry about Michael,” Nora said as she crawled out of bed and headed to the door. “We’re taking him with us.”
“And Søren will be okay with us going out in public together?” Griffin called out after her.
Nora called back in a voice dangerous with feigned innocence.
“Who?”
13
Wednesday evening at five, he’d said. Mary Queen Junior High, two blocks from Sacred Heart. If Suzanne showed up she would see Father Stearns without his collar on. And although she knew this was a really bad idea, Suzanne couldn’t stop herself from going.
Parking in the main lot, she wandered around the outside of the school. He hadn’t given her any specific information, no doubt wanting her imagination to do all the work. As she neared the rear of the school—all too similar to the Catholic schools of her youth, with its careworn exterior and chipped Mary statues everywhere—Suzanne heard shouting followed by clapping.
Okay. She’d been right. This was a really bad idea. Out on the soccer field, two dozen teenagers and twentysomethings and one tall blond man in his forties played a hard-core game of soccer. Although older than the other players by a couple decades, Father Stearns wasn’t only keeping up, he seemed to be wiping the floor with them. He wore a fitted black T-shirt that showed off his miraculously toned biceps and broad chest and black track pants that no doubt hid equally toned hips and legs.
She stood at the edge of the field and watched the game. No, not the game. She watched only Father Stearns—his blond hair like a halo in the evening sun, his eyes hidden behind black wraparound sunglasses, the slightest hint of sweat staining the shirt around his neck and lower back.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. She’d seen naked men less visually arresting than this one soccer-playing priest.
“None of that,” came a voice from a few feet away from her. A young man with sun-streaked hair sat on the sidelines with an ice pack on his thigh. “Don’t even think about it.”
Blushing, Suzanne sat next to the young man and put on her own sunglasses.
“Think about what?” she asked.
“Him. Father S. My priest. I’m Harrison, by the way. And you’re…”
“Suzanne.”
“Suzanne, lovely to meet you. You’re that reporter chick, right? He warned us you might be stopping by.”
“That’s me. Just working on a story.”
“For Playgirl?”
