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I reluctantly took it. I was afraid if I touched him, I would want more. I wasn’t wrong. His hands were warm and strong. I wanted to kiss him. My mouth went completely dry, and I’m sure my face was as red as it was hot. I dropped his hand and headed for the ladies room.
I somehow managed to get my underwear down and pee and then I made it to the sink to wash my hands. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for not falling on my face when I walked out of the bathroom and some chick body slammed into me.
“What the fuck?” My sainted mother would be turning over in her grave.
“Jeez, chill out. It was an accident; I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry.” I don’t know what happened to me—my mouth just wouldn’t quit. I am the furthest thing from a fighter that ever lived.
“Well, maybe I’m not now, if you’re gonna be a bitch about it.”
“Who are you calling a bitch, you ghetto tramp?” Dear God…who am I?
I’m pretty sure she was about to swing her fist at me when suddenly, my green-eyed savior was at my side. He looked at the ghetto girl and said, “I’m sorry about that. She had a terrible day. She’s usually a real sweetheart, aren’t, you dear?”
I shot him a look and actually thought about telling him to screw off…but I realized that was the drunk in me talking and I was about to get my ass kicked.
“He’s right. I’m sorry I took it out on you.” She snorted and walked away. I flipped her off behind her back. My “protector” grabbed my hand and folded my finger down.
“I’m headed home. Maybe you should walk with me. You seem like you could use some air.”
“I’m fine,” I protested, heading back to the booth. Before I could stop myself, I barreled into the waitress with a full tray of drinks and the crash that followed caught the attention of the entire bar. “Oh shit! I’m sorry!” Someone was at my elbow and I thought it was the green-eyed God. It turns out it was the bartender and his friend, Mr. Security.
“You need to leave, Miss.”
“Me?” I’d never been kicked out of anywhere in my life. “Really?”
“Yes, really. You’re cut off. I’ll call you a cab.”
“I can call my own cab!” I tried to storm out in a manner befitting a bad-ass who was getting kicked out of a bar. It was hard when you had to grab onto tables in order to walk in a straight line.
As soon as I pushed through the doors and tasted the fresh air, I felt sick. I doubled over and suddenly felt an arm slip through mine.
“Walk with me?” he said. I looked up into his green eyes and suddenly forgot my nausea.
“Sure,” I said. I would probably regret it in the morning…or before.
Chapter Three
Jace
I moved to Lexington on Saturday and had to attend church and be introduced to the congregation on Sunday. I woke up Sunday morning with a raging hangover because I drank an entire bottle of scotch Saturday night.
My intentions had been pure; I was only going to have one drink. But one drink led to the other, and another. The truth be told, the only reason I stopped drinking was because I ran out.
I thought about going out for more, but I was too drunk—and thank God I’d had the sense to realize that. Imagine the headlines: “New Priest Arrested for Public Intoxication.” Grandmother would be rolling over in her grave. That’s not to mention what the good Lord was thinking of me.
I still felt as if I was strong in my faith. I definitely had the same fear of God that I’d had before. And of course, I still loved, God even though I was still angry with him. I just hoped He still loved me.
So Sunday morning, I woke up riding waves of nausea that would have rivaled a tsunami. Miserable didn’t describe the feelings that were tearing through my body. My head hurt so badly that my brain felt as if it would swell beyond my skull’s capacity and cause it to explode. I was so dehydrated that my mouth actually hurt. It was the only thing that got me out of bed that day or I may have skipped mass and called in sick.
I had to have a drink of water. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and my feet were met with a cold, sticky floor. I looked down and realized I’d left the bottle on the floor and the half an inch or so of liquor left had seeped out and I was stepping in it. I was a pathetic mess; if my grandmother could have seen me, she would have been so ashamed.
I finally made it to the kitchen for a bottle of water and then to the shower. After my shower and a handful of aspirin, I was feeling better. Not normal, but better. I dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white button down shirt. I made sure my shoes were shiny and my hair was combed respectfully. I used deodorant and mouthwash, and when I walked into the vestry at St. Luke’s, I almost felt as if I belonged there. I at least looked the part.
I was met by the priest who had been caring for the parish temporarily until I was put in place—Father Byrnes. The other priest had just taken off, and as far as I knew, no one knew where he had gone. I wondered briefly if his grandmother died, then I said a prayer for him and one for me, too.
“We are so happy to have you here, Father Jace.” Father Byrnes was a much older man and his hands felt like parchment paper as he took one of mine between them.
