Suzanne laughed a little as Harrison adjusted his ice pack.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Strained a groin muscle.”
“Poor you. Rough game?”
“Wasn’t during the game.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.
“You’re flirting. And I’m ten years older than you.”
“He’s twenty years older than you and that’s not stopping you from throwing the bedroom eyes at him. Best priest on the planet, and I have to tell my own damn girlfriend to stop drooling all over him.”
Suzanne caught Father Stearns looking in her direction during a pause in the play. She gave him a quick wave, which he returned before heading down the pitch with remarkable grace and speed. The ball careened toward the goal and he intercepted it with a hard kick that sent the ball halfway down the field.
“Best priest on the planet? That’s high praise.” Suzanne wished she’d brought her notebook with her. A flirtatious teenage boy could be a wellspring of information. Reluctantly she pulled her eyes away from Father Stearns and cast them on Harrison. She remembered guys like him from high school—cocky, gregarious, always the center of attention.
“It’s true. He speaks like twenty languages, has two or three PhDs…and kicks ass on our church league team. So don’t go after him because you’re pretty enough to tempt even him.”
Suzanne shook her head.
“A teenage boy defending the unsullied virtue of his Catholic priest—interesting,” she noted. “Do all the kids like Father Stearns?”
“Yeah, of course. He’s really laid-back.”
Suzanne’s eyes widened. Father Stearns, the couple of times she’d talked to him, seemed intimidating and rigid.
“Laid-back?”
“Doesn’t lecture, doesn’t bitch at us for swearing, treats us like people. It’s nice. Blake over there—” Harrison pointed to Father Stearns’s goalkeeper “—goes to St. Mark’s. His dad’s a deacon there. Hates it. They’ve been through three priests in three years. One went to rehab for booze. The other got transferred for ‘reasons,’” Harrison said, putting the word reasons in scare quotes. “And the new guy is sixty going on one hundred and sixty. Father Stearns rocks. So if you put the moves on him, you and I will have words.”
“Have words? That’s cute.”
“I’m cute. And I’m not a priest.”
Suzanne turned back to the game for a second. Father Stearns and his goalie seemed to be plotting. The goalie had a water bottle in his hand. He took a swig before pouring some into Father Stearns’s hands. He took the water and swept it through his hair, slicking it back. At that moment Suzanne realized she’d never been so attracted to someone in her entire life. Need pooled in her stomach like a simmering fire. Priest or not, enemy or not, asterisk or not…she wanted him.
Adam, she whispered to herself. Remember Adam.
“So no rehab trips for Father Stearns? No weirdness?”
“Only weird thing is what’s he doing here with us in the suburbs? He should be pope.”
Suzanne leaned back on her elbows and crossed her legs at the ankles. She wished she’d worn shorts or a skirt, something to show off her legs to Harrison.
“Maybe he’s got a reason for sticking around here.” She looked at Harrison out of the corner of her eye.
“Like what?”
Suzanne shrugged. “I don’t know—Nora Sutherlin?”
Harrison clamped his hand to his chest.
“God, Nora. Be still my heart. Be still my groin.”
“That hot, is she?”
Harrison turned wide eyes at her and slowly nodded.
“You’re a fan?” Suzanne asked.
Again he nodded.
“Father Stearns also a fan?”
Harrison rolled his eyes.
“He’s male and straight. I’d worry if he wasn’t a fan.”
Suzanne pulled a dandelion from the grass and caressed her bottom lip with it. Flirting with a teenager to get answers? How low could she go?
“Think they’re together?”
Harrison shook his head. “No way. Why would he still be a priest getting paid peanuts, putting up with us losers, if he had her waiting for him at home? Besides,” Harrison said, dropping his voice to a whisper. Out on the pitch, Father Stearns blocked yet another attempt at a goal. The teenagers on the team looked tired and thirsty. He’d barely broken a sweat.
“Besides what?”
“I think Nora has a thing for younger men.”
Suzanne raised her eyebrow at him.
“Got any evidence? Or just wishful thinking?” God, now she sounded like Father Stearns.
“Now I’m not one to tell tales out of school,” Harrison began. “But there’s this guy at church—Suicide Mike.”
Suzanne’s hands went cold at the mention of suicide. But she kept her face neutral.
“Suicide Mike?”
“I know. It’s horrible. I never call him that,” he said although he just had. “Michael Dimir.”
“The boy who tried to commit suicide in the sanctuary?”
“The same,” he said, nodding. “Here’s the thing about Suic…about Michael. Michael, he’s glass, breakable. Kid is scared of his own shadow. Barely talks. You say hi to him and it takes a year off his life.”
Suzanne’s stomach dropped in sympathy. Withdrawn? Anxious? Constantly on the alert? Michael sounded like a classic abuse victim to her. But where had the abuse come from? Home? Or church?
“You okay?” she asked.
“Strained a groin muscle.”
“Poor you. Rough game?”
“Wasn’t during the game.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.
“You’re flirting. And I’m ten years older than you.”
“He’s twenty years older than you and that’s not stopping you from throwing the bedroom eyes at him. Best priest on the planet, and I have to tell my own damn girlfriend to stop drooling all over him.”
Suzanne caught Father Stearns looking in her direction during a pause in the play. She gave him a quick wave, which he returned before heading down the pitch with remarkable grace and speed. The ball careened toward the goal and he intercepted it with a hard kick that sent the ball halfway down the field.
“Best priest on the planet? That’s high praise.” Suzanne wished she’d brought her notebook with her. A flirtatious teenage boy could be a wellspring of information. Reluctantly she pulled her eyes away from Father Stearns and cast them on Harrison. She remembered guys like him from high school—cocky, gregarious, always the center of attention.
“It’s true. He speaks like twenty languages, has two or three PhDs…and kicks ass on our church league team. So don’t go after him because you’re pretty enough to tempt even him.”
Suzanne shook her head.
“A teenage boy defending the unsullied virtue of his Catholic priest—interesting,” she noted. “Do all the kids like Father Stearns?”
“Yeah, of course. He’s really laid-back.”
Suzanne’s eyes widened. Father Stearns, the couple of times she’d talked to him, seemed intimidating and rigid.
“Laid-back?”
“Doesn’t lecture, doesn’t bitch at us for swearing, treats us like people. It’s nice. Blake over there—” Harrison pointed to Father Stearns’s goalkeeper “—goes to St. Mark’s. His dad’s a deacon there. Hates it. They’ve been through three priests in three years. One went to rehab for booze. The other got transferred for ‘reasons,’” Harrison said, putting the word reasons in scare quotes. “And the new guy is sixty going on one hundred and sixty. Father Stearns rocks. So if you put the moves on him, you and I will have words.”
“Have words? That’s cute.”
“I’m cute. And I’m not a priest.”
Suzanne turned back to the game for a second. Father Stearns and his goalie seemed to be plotting. The goalie had a water bottle in his hand. He took a swig before pouring some into Father Stearns’s hands. He took the water and swept it through his hair, slicking it back. At that moment Suzanne realized she’d never been so attracted to someone in her entire life. Need pooled in her stomach like a simmering fire. Priest or not, enemy or not, asterisk or not…she wanted him.
Adam, she whispered to herself. Remember Adam.
“So no rehab trips for Father Stearns? No weirdness?”
“Only weird thing is what’s he doing here with us in the suburbs? He should be pope.”
Suzanne leaned back on her elbows and crossed her legs at the ankles. She wished she’d worn shorts or a skirt, something to show off her legs to Harrison.
“Maybe he’s got a reason for sticking around here.” She looked at Harrison out of the corner of her eye.
“Like what?”
Suzanne shrugged. “I don’t know—Nora Sutherlin?”
Harrison clamped his hand to his chest.
“God, Nora. Be still my heart. Be still my groin.”
“That hot, is she?”
Harrison turned wide eyes at her and slowly nodded.
“You’re a fan?” Suzanne asked.
Again he nodded.
“Father Stearns also a fan?”
Harrison rolled his eyes.
“He’s male and straight. I’d worry if he wasn’t a fan.”
Suzanne pulled a dandelion from the grass and caressed her bottom lip with it. Flirting with a teenager to get answers? How low could she go?
“Think they’re together?”
Harrison shook his head. “No way. Why would he still be a priest getting paid peanuts, putting up with us losers, if he had her waiting for him at home? Besides,” Harrison said, dropping his voice to a whisper. Out on the pitch, Father Stearns blocked yet another attempt at a goal. The teenagers on the team looked tired and thirsty. He’d barely broken a sweat.
“Besides what?”
“I think Nora has a thing for younger men.”
Suzanne raised her eyebrow at him.
“Got any evidence? Or just wishful thinking?” God, now she sounded like Father Stearns.
“Now I’m not one to tell tales out of school,” Harrison began. “But there’s this guy at church—Suicide Mike.”
Suzanne’s hands went cold at the mention of suicide. But she kept her face neutral.
“Suicide Mike?”
“I know. It’s horrible. I never call him that,” he said although he just had. “Michael Dimir.”
“The boy who tried to commit suicide in the sanctuary?”
“The same,” he said, nodding. “Here’s the thing about Suic…about Michael. Michael, he’s glass, breakable. Kid is scared of his own shadow. Barely talks. You say hi to him and it takes a year off his life.”
Suzanne’s stomach dropped in sympathy. Withdrawn? Anxious? Constantly on the alert? Michael sounded like a classic abuse victim to her. But where had the abuse come from? Home? Or church?
