Hot Under His Collar - Andie J. Christopher Page 0,64
Veuve Clicquot out of the refrigerator. “Speaking of. The last time we talked, you were dating some guy who it sounded like you mildly preferred to major surgery.”
“Nathan is nice.” Sasha didn’t know why she was defending him. She didn’t want to have dirty sex with him. Which was fine. Because the only man she wanted to have sex with was definitely off-limits. Why weren’t her friends more scandalized by this? Patrick was their friend, too. Sasha was ruining his life. “Why aren’t you guys more upset about this?”
“Because the vow of celibacy is total bullshit. And Patrick is nothing like my brother, so I can see what a huge waste of—potential—that is.” Hannah grabbed another croissant. It was good that she hadn’t turned a little bit green even once this morning. “I think you should suck the celibacy right out of him.”
“Hannah!” Both Bridget and Sasha yelled at the same time.
“What? You both know I’m right.”
“I just wouldn’t have said it that way,” Bridget said. “Listen, the way I see it, there’s the letter of the law and the spirit.”
Of course Bridget would come at it like the prosecutor she once was. “Well, we’ve broken both.”
“And there has to be a reason for it. Did Patrick seem as into it as you were?”
Patrick had instigated the kiss beyond what she’d intended. She’d just been reacting, and then he’d acted. His touch had been possessive; thinking about it now gave her a chill. That night at the bar, there had been no question of who was in control: him. She could have said no, but she would have done anything he asked, short of a crime.
“Yeah.”
“So you’re both breaking the letter and the spirit of the law. This is a conspiracy and there’s no victim here.” Bridget shrugged.
“It’s not that simple.” There was a victim—multiple victims. Sasha hadn’t missed how the people in the parish regarded Patrick. They looked at him as though he were the Savior himself, and not just because his crooked smile was enough to turn water to wine and panties to dust. Even when he was stern, his compassion and generosity were a beacon. Even if she didn’t believe in God, he was a good man, and he brought something good to people’s lives. She refused to believe that she wasn’t one hundred percent responsible for his downfall, and she refused to participate anymore.
“Hannah, I need you to handle the carnival.”
Her best friend grimaced. “I’m in a delicate state.”
Bridget called her out. “You’ve been back in spinning for weeks now.”
“Fine,” Hannah said. “But I think you’re running away, and I think it’s a terrible idea.”
“My wedding’s going to be a mess. Again,” Bridget said with a laugh. She was getting married to Matt again two weeks before the carnival. Patrick would be a guest. “I fucking love it.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Sasha asked, not really expecting an answer. She was already a disappointment to her family, and even though her friends wouldn’t judge her, she was worried that Patrick would grow to hate her. She’d seen his commitment to the parish, to the pre-K program, and whatever he thought God was. If she asked him to walk away from all that, and they didn’t work out as a couple, there was no way he wouldn’t grow to hate her.
She couldn’t survive that. She’d rather have to see Patrick from afar and wonder if they could have been something great than fail at a real relationship with him.
Sasha was saved from having to confess all that when the hairstylist arrived. When she saw the thick strand of hair that was sticking up on top of Sasha’s head, she blanched. But she recovered quickly, and said, “So, what are we doing today?”
“Cut it all off.”
* * *
—
PATRICK ENJOYED SPEAKING AT weddings. He loved baptisms. Even daily Mass—it filled him with a sense of routine and peace that had always felt elusive to him with his parents owning a bar. But he hated giving last rites.
He knew it was important and helped ease people on their way out of this world. But when it was over, he always felt like he’d absorbed the person’s panic and uncertainty. He didn’t know where to put it.
The day after he and Sasha kissed, one of his parishioners passed away. The only time he didn’t think about her in that twenty-four hours was when he was saying the words and just being there with a woman who hadn’t missed