Dirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (7 page)

“Replace the short ones,” I call out. My voice is loud in this empty room.

I glance over at Eve about to grab the apple. I return my focus to the candles. With each flame extinguished, I realize that we’ll be in pitch dark soon enough.

And then I realize my fatal mistake. We’re working our way towards each other.

We’ll meet in the middle.

In the dark.

I hurry as fast as I can to finish my side, hoping to beat Saint. But he had the head start.

We meet at the last two candles. Saint’s face is serious for once. “It’ll be pretty dark in here when we’re done.”

I nod. “Yeah. I don’t have my phone, so we’ll have to stumble our way out.”

Saint bites his lip and hands me a candle. “Yours needs to be replaced.”

I feel like someone else is inhabiting my body right now. I can’t be trusted. My hands shake as I blow out my candle and swap it out. Saint’s candle is the only one burning.

He leans over it, closer and closer to my face. Our lips are seconds from meeting when the doors to the chapel break open.

I jump back from Saint and he does the same.

“Pastor Blevins,” I say breathlessly. “Saint was just helping me with, uh, the candles.”

Pastor Blevins has his thin hands wrapped around a Bible. He looks suspicious but doesn’t say anything. “Very well, then. You can leave the last one. I’ll take care of it.”

Saint motions to the candles still in his arms. “I’ll just put these back and Sister Esther can go ahead back to her dorm.”

“That’s a good idea,” Pastor Blevins intones. “Saint, stay a bit after. I think we need to have a talk.”

Saint nods and smiles amiably. “Happy to. Goodnight, Sister.”

“Goodnight,” I say. Saint leaves to return the candles and I try to shuffle my way past Pastor Blevins. He grabs my arm.

“Sister Esther, I think you might need to go over the notes for tonight’s sermon in your prayer time tonight.”

His words sting like acid against my skin. “I will do that, Pastor. Thank you.”

I pull away from him, feeling an emotion I haven’t let myself feel since I was a young child.

Anger.

CHAPTER TWELVE

SAINT

Pastor Blevins keeps me for half an hour, the two of us sitting in a nearly-dark sanctuary. He tells me how women are temptations, not to be trusted. That I shouldn’t find myself in a room alone with anyone other than my intended wife.

Right.

Okay.

I tell him everything he wants to hear. I put on my best face of contrition and he seems satisfied.

Good.

The next morning, I’m up before dawn. Rick is snoring loudly and I know I could probably set off a bomb and he wouldn’t so much as roll over. I pull on athletic shorts and a t-shirt and slide into my favorite pair of running shoes. Dew covers the green grass, and a brisk wind shakes the drying, red leaves on the trees.

It’s still pitch dark. This is how I like to run. Not on a burning field with the whole team. Just me and my thoughts.

This morning they’re of Esther. How I’d nearly kissed her the night before. The feeling of her breasts underneath her plain sweater. The way she trembled when I barely grazed her there. The way she was willing to kiss me in the middle of the fucking sanctuary.

I’m guessing it wasn’t the first time Pastor Blevins cock-blocked somebody.

Asshole.

I run over the hills, the sun finally waking up behind the Blue Ridge Mountains. Fog fills the air and I speed up my running. My heart is threatening to pound out of my ribcage. This is the feeling I want. I want to feel like I can’t breathe. It’s the only thing that will get her out of my mind.

An hour later, the sun high in the sky, I shower and get changed. I roll into the dining hall, load up a tray with food, and Rick waves me over. “Did you even sleep last night?” he asks me through a mouth of cereal.

I shrug. “A few hours. I needed to run.”

“You’re a machine, man. You’re making me look terrible.”

I dig into my eggs, bacon, pancakes, and muffin-covered tray. “What’s up with you? I feel like we barely see each other.”

Rick grins. “Romy and I have been getting in some
quality
time.”

A girl walks past our table, her hair in a low bun. She’s holding a pile of neon blue flyers; she tapes one on the pillar next to Rick.

“What’s that?” I ask Rick, nodding toward the paper.

He reaches behind him and rips it off. I hear the girl scoff indignantly as she comes back to tape up a new flyer.

“Parents’ day,” he says.

My stomach suddenly feels like lead. I put down my fork. “I forgot about that. Fuck,” I mutter.

Rick looks around. “Lower your voice, man. What’s wrong with you?”

I sigh and push my tray away. “Let’s just say you’re getting a lot more action than I am right now, and it’s sort of got me keyed up.” I rub my eyes with my hands. “And you know I’m not too excited about parents’ day, for obvious reasons.”

“Man, your parents gave you everything you ever needed as a kid. I don’t know what your problem is. Football lessons from the time you were four. All the gear you ever wanted. Money to go to out of state competitions. Summer football camps. Most guys would kill for that kind of support.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I spit at him, picking up my tray.

“Saint! Hey, man! Come back!”

But I ignore him, dumping my barely-eaten breakfast into the trash, knowing I’ll regret it during running drills in about an hour. But I don’t care. This day is already a bust.

***

Coach blows his shrieking whistle. That’s good. I feel like I’m about to drop dead of hunger and exhaustion. I shouldn’t have pushed myself so hard this morning.

“Everybody bring it in!”

We all tear off our helmets, sweating in spite of the sixty-degree day.

“Alright, pretty good practice,” Coach says. His eyes skim me as he says it. “Saint, you stay behind. I’ll see the rest of you knuckleheads this afternoon.”

“Sorry I wasn’t myself today, Coach,” I say.

He waves his hand. “I can’t expect my star player to be a machine. It’s fine. We all have off days.”

“Where’s the water girl?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

Coach shrugs. “Emailed me this morning. Said she has some sort of stomach virus.” We walk toward his office, my shoes crunching the grass. “I’ve got good news for you, but let’s wait until we’re alone.”

A few minutes later, I’m sitting in Coach’s office. He looks like the cat who swallowed the canary. “I have some great news, son.” He puffs out his chest, holding onto the announcement tightly. “The biggest sports network in the country wants to do an interview this afternoon.”

“Really?”

Coach nods exuberantly. “Yep. You have permission to skip out on practice. I spoke with the Dean and he says we can get it set up in his office. You up for that?”

“Of course I’m up for it.” I did an interview last year, but it was with the whole team. “Wow. Did they say what the interview is about?”

He shrugs. “I think it’ll just be about you, our record season so far, stuff like that. You’ll be great. The camera loves you.”

I stand up and shake his hand. “Sounds great.”

But an interview is the furthest thing from my mind right now. I run to the locker rooms. “Where’s Rick?”

“Shower,” someone yells.

I rip open the curtain and Rick yelps. “Hey, man! What are you doing?”

“Where’s Romy’s room?”

“Sorry about this morning-“

“Forget it. Can you tell me where Romy’s room is? Number of windows from the ground, how many windows over?”

Rick furrows his eyebrows and goes back to soaping up his underarms. “Let me think for a second.” He squints his eyes and mouths numbers. “Halsey dorm. Third floor up, six from the left on the side facing the administration building.”

“Thanks, I owe you,” I say, tearing off my practice gear and hopping into the shower next to Rick’s. I bathe as quickly as I can and get dressed. I’m wash so quickly I’m out of there before Rick’s even done showering. I grab my duffel and take off at a run back to campus.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ESTHER

“You’re skipping class? Seriously? You must have the plague,” Romy says as she gathers up her books.

I’m still in bed in my pyjamas. “Yeah, I’m not feeling great. Just tell Professor Jenkins that I’ll get the notes from you.”

Romy squints at me skeptically. “You sure you’re okay? I’ve been your roommate for over two years and I’ve never, ever seen you miss class before.”

“We all burn out at some point, Romy. I’ve got a lot going on. Now hurry before I make you late.”

“Text me if you need something,” she says, opening the door to our dorm.

“I will. Have fun.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s highly unlikely.”

She shuts the door and I sigh. The truth is that I skipped practice because I didn’t want to see Saint, and I’m still feeling guilty about last night in the chapel. I’ve been acting so strangely I can’t trust myself to not offer a full critique of Original Sin in front of Jenkins.

I roll over and grab the copy of Mark Twain I stole from the house party. I crack it open, enjoying the fresh fall air coming through the window along with a morning sunbeam that’s warming me perfectly. This feels entirely decadent.

I like it.

An hour later, I’m dozing off behind my book.

That’s when something hits the window. Hard.

I sit upright, totally awakened out of my slumber. I look at the window. It’s not cracked or anything.

POP!

Something else hits the window. I throw the covers off and stand up, resting my palms on the painted window ledge. I look down and yelp, jumping back and covering my chest with my arms.

Saint Williams is standing underneath my bedroom window. And he’s throwing pebbles up at me. I grab a blanket and wrap it around my upper body for modesty, even though Romy calls my pyjamas “Amish-inspired.” It still feels strangely intimate for a guy to be seeing me in them.

“What do you want?” I hiss down to Saint.

His hair is wet and his arm muscles are rippling; in his left hand is a football. He clearly just got back from practice. “Missed you this morning at practice,” he yells up in a clear voice.

I shush him. “People are going to see you.”

Saint shrugs. “So what? I’m used to people seeing me.”

“You need to leave,” I hiss down at him.

“If you come down here I will,” he says.

“What?”

He laughs. “I can’t very well come upstairs, can I?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Unless you really want me to, and then I
could
-“

I shush him again. “Fine!” I whisper hoarsely. “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

I slam the windows shut and sit on the edge of my bed to collect myself. My heart is racing and my cheeks are on fire with embarrassment. I finally get it together enough to pull on a long skirt and one of my dozen cardigans. I actually grab the baby pink one. I never wear this one. I usually stick to taupe, grey, and white. This one is half a size too small for me.

I blush as I think about why I chose it. I actually want to look good for Saint.

The guy that I allegedly don’t care about.

I’m not doing a great job convincing myself that’s true anymore, clearly.

I grab my room key and head downstairs.

Saint is at the side entrance, leaning against the wall nonchalantly and spinning a football in his fingers. “Hey,” he says in a voice like caramel.

“Did you check that ball out of the supply room? Because Coach makes me count them,” I retort, hoping for a change of subject that gives me the upper hand.

“Relax, Delilah. I do follow
some
rules, believe it or not.” He steps closer to me. “I like that sweater. That’s a good color on you.”

I blush. Again. I cross my arms over my chest. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why you weren’t at practice today. You don’t look sick to me,” he says challengingly.

Oh. Right. I’m supposed to be sick, not waltzing around in pink cardigans with the most eligible guy on campus. “I’m feeling better now, thanks,” I reply.

Saint pierces me with his gaze. “You know what I think?”

“What?” My heart cannot handle his blue eyes right now. They’re too much.

“I think you were embarrassed about last night and you didn’t want to see me at practice.”

I open my mouth to speak but he cuts me off.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now. You’re here now. And you’re coming with me.”

I guffaw at this pronouncement. “Excuse me?”

He tosses the football at me and I catch it easily. “You heard me. Come on.”

He strides away confidently, heading down the sidewalk to the student parking lot. I don’t have a car. Saint does.

I weigh my options. Every fiber of my being wants to follow Saint.

The rational part of my brain is telling me not to.

But I already know that in the last twenty-four hours I haven’t been acting like myself.

What’s a few more hours?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SAINT

She’s wearing that same dowdy cardigan that drives me crazy.

Only this time, it’s pink.

On most girls, this would be just another boring shade. Nothing special. Just ordinary.

But on Esther? The color makes her cheeks glow even more than they do when I’m making her blush.

And it seems to be a size smaller than she normally wears.

Nothing like a fresh set of sweater puppies to get a guy going in the morning.

I’m a good ten yards away from her dorm when I finally hear her feet jogging to keep up with me. I play it cool and don’t turn around.

I knew she would follow me. Nobody can resist this smile, not even her.

I unlock my Jeep and toss my duffel into the backseat. Esther throws the football on top of the bag and climbs inside the Jeep.

“Never thought I’d see the day when Delilah skipped class to go off campus.” I turn the key and the engine roars to life.