Dirty Playboy - Alex Wolf Page 0,62
know He loves me, no matter what I do. I know He’ll forgive me if I ask Him sincerely, but I just don’t think I need forgiveness. I kneel in front of the altar and contemplate things for a while.
In the past, I would be racked with guilt right now. I was when I had sex in college. Why don’t I feel that now? People always look at me like I’m someone who makes all the right decisions, has all the right answers when it comes to faith, but I’m a mess, all the time. Always confused. Always asking questions.
Why do I not feel guilty about sleeping with Rick?
In my entire life, I’ve never heard God’s voice. It sounds like an odd statement. People always claim to hear God, and I don’t know if they’re lying or not, but that’s not for me to decide. I never hear Him, but I feel Him. I don’t know any other way to explain it.
When I pray for wisdom, or why certain things are the way they are, I feel the truth. And when I look up at the cross on the wall and ask the question over and over in my mind, “Why don’t I feel guilty about sleeping with Rick?” the truth slams into my chest.
The rational part of my brain wants to laugh and totally ignore the answer I just got. But deep down, beyond the cellular level, somewhere past biology where you can just feel if something is true or not, I’ve known all along. X-factor, gut instinct, however you want to define it, it’s been there since our first real date. Ever since Rick stopped pretending to be something he wasn’t and showed me his actual feelings.
I shake my head. It seems so simple and so absurd.
Why don’t I feel guilty about sleeping with Rick?
It’s because I lo—
“Mary, you in here?”
I shriek and fall flat on my butt. My heart races a million-miles-an-hour.
Pastor Jeremiah laughs as he walks up the aisle. “Sorry, I figured you heard me come in.”
I make my way to my feet and brush imaginary dirt off my skirt. “No, was just...” I glance around. “Praying.”
“Oh, sorry for interrupting…” He turns like he’s going to leave me alone.
“No.” I walk over. “It’s okay.”
He looks up at me. He can’t be much taller than five-two or five-three, so I have a couple inches on him.
His eyebrows rise, and that curious stare of his comes out. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” I nod my head as I say it.
He gives me a scowl, the one a parent gives their child. “Take a seat.”
I do as he says and sit down on one of the pews. He slides in next to me but stares straight ahead.
How am I going to explain any of this to him? We’re not Catholic and it’s not like an anonymous confession. Shouldn’t I be able to talk to him about this kind of thing, though? Isn’t that a pastor’s job? I don’t really ever bring my problems to him, or to God, really. I always figure they have more important things to be doing than worrying about little things in my life.
“It’s Rick.” He doesn’t look at me as he says it.
Finally, I let out a sigh. “How’d you know?”
“I’m old. I’m not blind.”
I laugh at that. “Fair enough.”
“You two seemed so happy this morning when I saw you. Did something happen?” His stare hardens. “Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head vigorously. “No, no, nothing like that. He’s actually been kind of, perfect. I mean, we haven’t been serious that long.”
“That’s definitely you talking. That boy’s been serious about you since I met him.”
“Really? I thought it was some kind of con at first. I didn’t know what to think. We were so different. I don’t know what I did to make him so… I don’t even know the word for what it was. I don’t know if a word exists.”
“Horny?”
I almost choke and start coughing.
Pastor Jeremiah laughs and pats me on the back.
We’ve known each other for over a year now, and I’ve never seen him so relaxed and at ease. I mean, it’s not like we talk about sex, and for as old as he is, he’s super progressive compared to the pastors back in Texas. Still, it takes me by surprise.
“It sounds like things are going great, though. What are you worried about?”
“I’m not worried. But I feel like I should be. Should feel bad or something.”
“Ahh.”