“Um . . . should I?”
He pulled my body closer to his as my hand went to his massive chest. “No. You have no idea how happy you just made with that simple answer, Paislie.”
I liked how Trey made me feel. Not many men made me feel like I was wanted for something other than money or sex. “So are you going to tell me why you thought I knew you?”
His smile faded for a brief second. “Promise it won’t change anything?”
Lifting my pinky finger up, I replied with, “I pinky promise.”
“Trey Rogers. I play for the Dallas Cowboys.”
My smile dropped and I pinched my eyebrows together as I let it sink in that I just had sex all night, and then again this morning, with the star running back of the Dallas Cowboys. “Does this mean I have to be a fan of the Cowboys now, ‘cause I’m more of a Texan’s fan,” I said as Trey let out a roar of laughter and pulled me on top of him.
“I like you, Paislie.”
As much as I didn’t want to say it . . . I forced it out as to not hurt Trey’s feelings. “I kind of like you too, Trey.”
Pushing the large doors open, I made my way into the old church. Dipping my fingers in holy water, I made the sign of the cross. My heart felt light and free as I walked further in. Bending on one knee, I slid down the wooden pew and quickly went to my knees.
Crossing my hands, I rested my forehead.
Please forgive me father for my weakness. Forgive me for desiring the needs my body selfishly craves.
“I thought I saw you walking in.”
Her voice pulled me from my prayer. Turning to look over my shoulder, I smiled when I saw Sister Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth,” I said as I pushed myself up and made my way to her. Dropping to my knees, I let my head fall.
“Child, why are you dropping to your knees before me? Stand up, Paislie.”
Doing as she said, I stood, took her hands in mine and kissed the back of them. “I’ve missed you, Sister Elizabeth.”
My eyes took in the only woman I’d ever had in my life as a mother-figure. She was a young, beautiful twenty-year-old when she first held my eight-year-old hand in hers and led me into Saint Patrick’s Orphanage. Now she stood before me as an even more beautiful thirty-seven-year-old woman, who also happened to be one of my best friends.
With a smile, I shook my head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the fact you don’t wear a habit anymore.”
With a chuckle, she wrapped her arm with mine as we made our way to the front of the church.
“I see the heaviness in your eyes, Paislie. Do you want to talk?”
At one point in my life, I told this woman everything. Every hope, desire, and dream I had floating in my head, even my wish to follow in her footsteps and become a nun.
“I was asking for forgiveness.”
“Hmm . . . for?”
My eyes closed as we sat in the front pew. “My ways.”
“I see,” she said as she looked at me. “Paislie, you’re a young woman and your ways as you call them are normal feelings that every woman has. Even me.”
Pressing my lips together, my chin trembled. “I’m not as strong as you, Elizabeth.”
“Strength has nothing to do with it. I had a calling . . . your calling is not the same as mine.”
“Do you ever wish your life was different?”
She lifted her brow as she stared intently at me. “Let’s go for a walk outside. I need to check and see how my winter garden is doing today.”
Lacing my arm with hers, we made our way out to the garden tucked behind the church.
I inhaled a deep breath of air as I let the familiar smells of this place fill my senses. After walking in silence for a few minutes, she finally spoke.
“Paislie, you let guilt fill your heart when you follow your human nature. Sex is not a bad thing and something you certainly shouldn’t feel the need to drop to your knees and ask forgiveness for.”
I swallowed hard. “What if I’m using it for all the wrong reasons?”
She lifted a brow. “You don’t have feelings for him?”
I let out a gruff laugh. “No, Elizabeth. It’s nothing like that.” Anytime we were alone and just the two of us, I called her Elizabeth. Around others from the church, she was always Sister Elizabeth. Over the years we had grown very close. With just twelve years separating us, she was more like an older sibling to me. Almost a mother figure. “It’s always been about the feeling I get out of sex. The desire to have a man want me for something . . . anything. The attention feels . . . good.”
Motioning for me to sit on a bench, she softly replied, “Oh . . . I see.”
“I’m making myself sound like a slut. Forgive my language. I haven’t slept with that many men, but more than I should have at my age. I often wonder if I’m even capable of loving someone. If I let my heart open up to them, I have a fear they’re going to leave me like my father did.”