Hot Under His Collar - Andie J. Christopher Page 0,85
that.” She stepped closer to him, which made him wrap his arms around her. “And we’ve established that it’s reciprocated.”
“Do you have a plan for what to do next?”
A week ago, the twist in her smile—the one that said she definitely had a plan—would have worried him. Now, it filled him with hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SASHA HADN’T BEEN NERVOUS the first time she’d had sex. It was totally calculated, down to the instructions she would give that boyfriend. Plus, they’d done everything else, so P in V was hardly even momentous or important. She hadn’t even thought very much of the notion of virginity, even though it had been very important to her mother.
She hadn’t been nervous about any of the other times she’d had sex, either—mostly because it had never been exciting enough to get nervous about.
It had always been intended to get someone to like her or just to get off. Sasha had never had sex with the purpose of giving something to someone else before. That thought would make her feel sad if she wasn’t about to have sex with Patrick Dooley—a man who loved her. A man who’d left the priesthood to be with her. They’d never kissed without it being a violation of his vows. They’d never touched without it being illicit and wrong.
For a split second after he’d told his whole congregation and almost all of the people they knew in the city of Chicago that he was in love with her, she was nervous that there wouldn’t be the same intensity of feeling on her part if he wasn’t forbidden. But that was gone when he’d literally run into her after leaving the stage. The way his face changed when he saw that it was her. The way his grip on her arms had tightened—as though he’d found a treasure and wasn’t letting it go—reassured her at the same time that it lit up all her nerve endings.
When she’d taken his hand and led him to her car, the weight of it hit her all at once. It was only holding on to him that kept both of her feet attached to the ground. They hadn’t talked about where they’d live or what he’d do. There was no road map, no plan. Never in her life had she gone into something momentous without any idea of where it would lead, and it should terrify her.
But no. As she started her car and pointed it toward her condo, she was nervous about getting naked with him, feeling the full weight of his body above her, waking up tomorrow with him next to her.
All they’d shared were some kisses and illicit groping. He knew more about her terrible family and hidden insecurities than he did about what got her off. It was so old-fashioned, almost courtly, and that felt ridiculous.
She’d wanted him to be hers and hers alone for so long that she felt giddy that it was actually going to happen. It was difficult to concentrate on navigating the traffic to her place, but she wasn’t about to die before she got to fuck Patrick Dooley—unless that was going to be the punishment doled out for stealing him from God.
In that case, she could totally understand—he was one of a kind.
As they sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Dan Ryan, she snuck a look at him. He smiled at her, looking almost goofy. “What the fuck are we doing, Patrick?”
He looked shocked to hear her say it, and then concern flashed over his features. Like he was worried about her kicking him out of the car on the freeway at this point. But then he said the perfect thing. “I have no idea what we’re doing other than loving each other.”
For some reason, that thought comforted her. The idea that she wasn’t the only one who’d been taken apart and laid bare by their feelings for each other. She gave him another smile that she hoped didn’t reveal how shaky she felt about this whole thing and then looked back at the road. “Where are we going to live?”
Patrick snorted. “I think they’re going to kick me out of the rectory after that whole deal. I was thinking about moving into the apartment above Dooley’s.”
Sasha scrunched up her nose. That apartment was probably fine for a twenty-something just out of college, but there was no light. It seemed sad—not a place to start a new life. Patrick deserved to have light. It was fine, really, but