Page 36 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“I’m a big girl, Padre⁠—”

A squeak slips out of me when he grips under my arms and tosses me over his shoulder. Two strides and I’m on my ass again, heat bleeding into my aching skin.

“Why do I keep letting you do that?” I mumble.

“Because you know what is good for you.”

“You?” I scoff.

He collects the sword, tosses it beside me, and then sits and warms his hands against the flames. “I do not understand women.”

“Right back at you, buddy.”

“I am a man.”

“You know what I mean.”

Flames crackle. Water drips, plinks, and echoes.

“Bah,” he grumbles. “How am I supposed to know why you are upset with me? You say one thing, then do another.”

“So do you.”

His jaw drops, and he glares at me. “I have given you more truth than you have given me.”

“Yet somehow, you’re still impossible to read.”

“I have shared more about my life than you have about yours.”

I open my mouth. Close it. He’s not wrong. “It’s not always about confessing our secrets.”

“Yes, I know this.” He laughs bitterly. “Believe me, I know.”

“It’s about action.”

“Okay, Miss Smarty Dress⁠—”

“Pants. Smarty Pants.”

“See, you do this. Make jokes to change the subject.” He shakes his head. “I have clearly done something wrong, but Madonna mia—” He gestures at the ceiling. “You say nothing. Just give me action with no meaning.”

“Oh, you want action with meaning?” I get up on my knees and jab a finger at him. “One minute, you’re so desperate to taste my pussy that you can’t wait until we’re clear of a crime scene. You tell me I’m yours, yours, yours—then as soon as I come, you look at me as if I’m dirt!”

“That’s not⁠—”

“I’m not finished.” I shuffle closer until I’m in his face, snarling. “You say you’re with me, you look at me like you want me, but then seconds later, you’re with the Pope. Newsflash. You can’t have us both, buddy.”

“Must be nice to live in a world so black and white.”

“Me?” Outrage. The blind, incredulous audacity. “You’re the one living it. You’re wearing it!”

“You are too.”

“I’m faking it!”

“Sì,” he mutters darkly. “Just like you fake everything, no? You do plastic. You don’t do real.”

“You’d better not be talking about my dicks,” I hiss. “Because you’re the one who packed them.”