Saving Sins (Forbidden Erotic Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

dismissive noise,
letting him know just what she thought about his concern. "You're wasting
your time, Father. I don't need a dad."
    "Oh?" His voice was soft, inviting, and almost
without thinking about it she told him.
    "Yeah, had one of those. He left. So no thanks.
Don't need that again."
    "I see."
    His deep, soft voice. She could have wrapped herself up
in it. Could have rubbed it over her skin, if it were a real thing. She wanted
to luxuriate in his voice. She wished he would talk more. He made her feel
something when he did.
    "Whatever," she said. "Tell me about you.
We're always talking about me, but it's just same shit, different day
here."
    To her surprise, he smiled. "Is it?" he said.
"You're eating better."
    "Of course I am, you won't stop stuffing food down
my throat."
    "Oh? You hate pie that much?"
    She put her arms out and dragged her pie closer.
"Don't touch my pie," she said. "It's the only thing I like
other than smack."
    She shouldn't have tried to shock him. He didn't shock
easily. "I won't touch your pie," he said, and in her head it turned
into something salacious. Sexual.
    She watched his mouth as he took a sip of his coffee.
"So really," she said. "What's going on?"
    "One of the girls I minister to overdosed last
night," he said.
    The statement clattered to the table between them.
    Tara swallowed. "Who? Is she okay?"
    "Her name was Misti. And she died."
    Though there were other people in the diner, silence
descended, almost smothering them. The pie in her mouth was suddenly like
cardboard and ashes. Slowly, Tara forced herself to chew it and swallow it
down.
    "I'm sorry," she said.
    "I am, too," he replied.
    They finished in silence. Tara choked the next few bites
of her pie down, but it felt like glue in her throat. If she ate too much of
it, she felt like it would fill her up, suffocate her. Death by pie. It was
even worse than death by dope. At least death by dope would feel good. Wouldn't
it? She'd never seen anyone die of an overdose, but she'd heard it was pretty
peaceful. Too much, you slip away.
    "Was she..." she searched for the words.
"Did she go peacefully?" she asked at last.
    To her despair, Father Michael shook his head.
"No," he said. "She choked to death on her own vomit."
    Tara nodded. "Well," she said. "Thanks,
Father. I'll remember not to eat anything the next time I shoot up."
    Without warning, his hand shot across the table, and her
wrist was suddenly held in a crushing grip.
    Pinned, on her stomach, the stink of the sheets around
her face. Weight on her back. Burning between her thighs.
    Panic. She pulled on her arm.
    Immediately he let go, and she snatched her hand back.
    She trembled, rubbing her wrist, staring at him.
    His face was pale, and he suddenly looked older, more
haggard. "I am so sorry," he said. "I am so sorry."
    She'd wanted him to break, to mess up. But she didn't
like it. She didn't like it at all.
    "No, I'm sorry," she said, surprising
herself. "I'm sorry. Father, I'm so sorry." A lump rose in her
throat, too big, too much. She hated crying.
    Pushing her pie away, she swung out of the booth, not
daring to look at him. She wished she'd kept her hair long, able to sweep it
over her eyes, but it was too much with the street, so she just looked at the
pattern of the carpet on the floor, an ugly green thing, criss-crossed with
beige lines and red flowers. Horrible. Vomit inducing. If she'd been high, it
would have given her a headache. "I have to go," she said. "I'm
sorry about your..." Friend? Girl? Sheep? "I'm sorry about Misti.
I'll see you around."
    She heard him get out of the booth behind her, but she
was already barreling toward the door, full of shame and a sudden, deep fear.
    Was she going to die like Misti? Would anyone but some
nosy priest give a shit?
    She didn't want to see Father Michael all of a sudden. He
had to care about her. It was his job. His calling. She didn't want to be
anyone's job. Her mother had made it clear just how much of a problem she