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But other members of the congregation hadn’t shared my fascination. They’d tutted at Lyric and her friends for the way they’d dressed and the language they’d used.
But I couldn’t stop watching her.
While her face and hair bore a striking similarity to the girl I’d once known, tattoos swirled down her arms, creating a full sleeve on her left. Her voice was loud and proud as she shouted about what she believed in, no hint of Annie’s soft, respectful tones. When she’d turned my way, her gaze lingering on mine for a moment longer than it should have, desire had roared through my blood, hot and out of place.
I’d spent years learning how to fight back my inappropriate urges. Years in therapy, only for them to tell me I needed God.
I’d listened.
I’d done the right thing and joined the priesthood, praying God would forgive my sins. Praying every day that my urges would go away.
For the longest time, they had. I’d suppressed everything, wrapping it up in a nice little package tied up with trauma and trust issues, and buried them deep.
Until her.
One glimpse had set me to unraveling. It had only gotten worse since.
To the point where now, I couldn’t have her, but I couldn’t give her up either.
I lived in some in-between world, where I watched her life from afar, wishing it could be more, while knowing it never would.
I blinked when the door to the club slammed open again. That was quick. It normally took them between fourteen and twenty-seven minutes after the last patron left before the staff emerged.
They also normally emerged with clothes on.
Not tonight.
Lyric’s completely naked body froze me to my seat. She ran out onto the curbside with nothing but high heels on and her long red hair cascading down her back as she looked back and forth. She said something to the bouncer, who jumped off his seat and ran a way down the street, searching for something.
My gaze drew down her body, over high, round breasts, a flat stomach, and completely bare snatch.
“Fuck,” I muttered, sinking lower in my seat.
I was being tempted. I was sure of it. Why else would God create a woman like her, so perfectly suited for someone like me?
The urge to get out of the car, storm across the street, and claim her was strong.
I wanted to feel her naked body beneath mine.
Touch her curves and her skin and all her intimate places.
Put my fingers around her neck and squeeze while she writhed in ecstasy.
I jolted, along with the slam of the door, and realized she’d disappeared back inside.
Good.
She was safer there—in a place I couldn’t go.
I picked up a chain of rosary beads, chanting the familiar prayers over and over until they seeped through the haze of lust and need surrounding me. My erection died. The heat in my blood turned cold.
The numbness settled in.
I picked up my notebook and recorded the unusual event, until my careful note-taking turned into a sketch of Lyric’s naked body.
It would become the inspiration for a new sculpture. I was already itching to get home and get started on it.
Ten minutes later, at five on the dot, she emerged again. This time fully clothed and with a scowl that had me leaning forward, resting my elbows on the steering wheel, and peering through the windshield at her.
