Dirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (13 page)

But now? I’m not sure there are enough hours in the day to absolve me of my sins.

Saint keeps bringing me to my knees. Well, he’s usually the one on his knees. And it only takes one look from him, one crook of his finger, one blush of his breath against my neck to get me there.

I walk out of my afternoon math class and run smack into him. “Were you waiting for me?” I ask under my breath, walking past him like I didn’t see him.

He stays a safe three steps behind me, still talking. The hallway is crowded enough that no one is paying attention. But I always make him do this.

We can’t be seen in public together.

“I was waiting for you, yeah,” Saint says in his luscious, deep voice.

I know what the vibration of his lips feels like when he’s talking. I know the feel of his lips forming words against flesh feels like. How it cuts me to my core and makes me beg for more. “You can’t do that. You can’t wait for me.”

We turn down another corridor, this one empty of students. I take a right into the janitor’s closet and Saint follows me.

We don’t lock the door.

I like the thrill of wondering if we’ll be caught, even though the reality of that is terrifying.

I guess that’s what makes it so good.

So, so good.

I’m beyond ready today. I rip off his jacket and unbutton his white shirt, undoing his belt and letting his khaki pants fall to the floor. “You’re leading prayer at dinner today?” I ask him. This is the uniform of the prayer leader. I realize the irony.

“Mmhmm,” he says, slipping my hair elastic off my ponytail and letting my silky strands fall around my shoulders. He has my sweater off and he’s already unbuckling my bra.

This is a well-choreographed dance we have by now. It’s been a few weeks, but it feels like a lifetime.

A sexy, sinful, guilt-inducing lifetime.

His lips find my nipples and he teases them with his teeth. He nibbles at them and I feel a shock of pleasure down to my very core.

“You know what I’ll be thinking about when I’m praying in front of the whole school?” He licks the flesh between my breasts and breathes the question against my skin.

“Wha-at?” I ask, stuttering from the pleasure of what he’s doing.

“This,” he replies. “I’ll be thinking about licking every inch of your body. And no one will know.”

He rips off my underwear and my spine is soon against the industrial metal shelves, the cold seeping into my skin. This is a familiar place by now. We have our positions, and this is my favorite.

Just like that first night in the stadium. My back against the wall, my legs around his perfect ass, every inch of him filling me up.

The jugs of bleach rattle as Saint thrusts in and out of me. He goes faster and faster until I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. I have to put my mouth against his, kissing him as hard as I can while pleasure rockets through my body.

It’s the only thing that can muffle my screams of intense pleasure.

“You have sex hair,” Romy says when I step into our dorm room a half an hour later. She’s reading a fashion magazine and eating licorice.

I throw my hand against my hair in a panic. “I do? Oh my word, I just walked all the way from the science building. Everybody saw me.”

Romy laughs and lazily flicks another glossy page of the magazine. “I’m kidding. Geez. Lighten up, Esther.”

I glare at her. “Thanks for scaring the life out of me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m the only one who can tell when you’ve had sex. It’s like my sixth sense. Your secret is safe with me.”

I unpack my school bag and grab a duster, cleaning up the cobwebs hanging from the corner of the ceiling. “I’m glad that not everyone has that sixth sense.”

“Why? Because they’d be running up to you three times a day telling you that you have a glowing sex aura?” Romy says jokingly. “I wish I was getting as much sex as you are. I’m still not quite sure how you’ve managed that. You’ll have to let me in on your secrets.”

I laugh. “There’s no secret,” I say, biting my lip and blushing.

“Esther?” Romy suddenly sounds serious.

“What’s up?” I ask her, putting down the duster and sitting at my desk.

“You’re on the pill, right?”

I blush again. “Of course I am.”

“Good,” she replies. “The last thing you need is having to convince the Dean that you immaculately conceived.” She bites an end off of her licorice and chews it thoughtfully. “Although, you’re such an ass-kisser he’d probably believe you.”

I throw a cleaning rag at her head. “Stop it,” I say. “I’m not getting pregnant.” I walk over and grab a licorice whip.

“I’m just saying, if there was going to be any man on earth whose sperm could obliterate birth control, it’s Saint Williams. Remind me again how an innocent virgin with super-religious parents manages to get birth control?”

I shrug. “It’s the one thing my mother insisted upon without my dad’s consent. I’ve been on it since I was fifteen.” The truth niggles at me, but I don’t divulge it.

“Is that because your mom got pregnant at eighteen and didn’t want you going through that?”

Well. So much for the truth staying a secret. “Probably,” I reply. I hate thinking that I’m an accident baby or some sort of regret of my mother’s. “I mean, she was married by then, but yeah. Probably.”

Romy sighs and flips on the television. She changes channels and stops. “He’s just so
dreamy
.”

I glance at the television. My stomach does a little dance when I see Saint’s smiling face on video. He’s waving to the crowd after his game-winning touchdown last week, his blue eyes glinting. “He’s alright, I guess.” Romy laughs and I join in with her. “Okay, fine. He’s hot. Like,
smoking
hot. Still not sure why he’s into me.”

“Because you’re a
catch
, Esther. Any guy would be lucky to have you.” She mutes the television. “Alright, so tell me about the sex today, and spare no detail.”

I launch into the descriptions, feeling somewhat smug that God hasn’t struck me down yet.

If anyone deserves a lightning bolt right now, it’s me.

***

“I just don’t understand the point of a Christmas cotillion,” Romy groans, digging through her closet for a dressy version of the plain clothes we’re supposed to wear every day. “I mean, the music sucks, we have to stay a foot away from the guys. I just don’t get it. And on top of that, how am I supposed to dress in party clothes for something that’s the exact
opposite
of a party?”

I swipe on some lip balm and smack my lips together. “You can borrow one of mine.” I look in the mirror at the tea-length black skirt I’m wearing. “As long as it’s past the knees, you’re good.”

Romy stomps her feet over to my closet. “I’ll look like a nun wearing some of your clothes.”

“Take it or leave it. But I’m not going to this dance alone. You owe me. I went to that party with you, and you’re coming to this dance with me.”

Romy rolls her eyes as she pulls out a navy blue long skirt of mine. “You got marathon sex with the hottest guy on campus out of that party. I think the cosmic scales are tipped in your favor. I don’t owe you anything.”

“Fine. I’ll go to the
next
party with you. The next ‘real’ party as you call it. I promise,” I say to her, loosening my hair and letting it splay out across my long-sleeved black top.

Romy holds out her hand. “Pinky promise?”

I slip my pinky into hers. “Pinky promise.”

An hour later, Romy still complaining about the clothes she’s wearing, we’re at the dining hall. It’s been transformed into a Christmas wonderland, with white twinkle lights and twelve-foot-tall real pine Christmas trees. A string quartet plays traditional Christmas songs, and the guys are all wearing suits.

Romy forced me into wearing a glittery black headband. “It’s
festive
,” she’d said before adding that I must at least put on
tinted
lip balm if I was going to be wearing any at all.

My eyes immediately search for Saint. His dark hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a suit that makes him even more handsome.

As if that were even possible.

Romy pokes me in the spine. “Go get your lover boy before someone else does,” she whispers.

I shoot her a nasty look. “Don’t say that,” I reply. “Besides that, I can’t approach
him
. He has to approach
me.”

Romy is ignoring me, busy instead winking at Rick across the dining hall. He shoves his hands in his pockets and jerks his head. She wanders over to him. “Those aren’t the rules!” I yell after her, but she doesn’t care.

I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the wall. Saint is walking over toward me, a big smile on his face. But a woman grabs him by the arm and he’s jerked back. I see blonde hair being flipped over a shoulder and a surge of jealousy rocks my body.

I’ve never been jealous in my life, but here I am, waiting up against a wall for a guy I claim to not be that interested in to ask me to dance. I sigh and turn around. I’ll go hang out in the bathroom for a while instead.

I hand on my shoulder stops me. I turn around, “Saint-“

But it’s not Saint. It’s Scott. “May I have this dance?” he asks, putting his hand out.

I feel slightly repulsed by it. I mean, Scott is really handsome. But he’s such a slime ball it’s hard to get past that and move on to his deep dimples.

“Oh, I would take that offer if I were you, Ms. Avonlea.” I look to my left to see the Dean passing by us.

I sigh and take Scott’s hand, and he leads me out onto the dance floor. “I know it’ll be hard to resist my incredible body, but make you’re making room for Jesus, Esther.”

My eyes roll back into my head. “Let’s just get through this dance and move on, shall we?” I say this through clenched teeth.

He laughs, his hand too warm on my lower back, his palm sweaty in my right hand. “You don’t like me very much. Why is that?”

I bite back my real answer, which is:
you’re an asshole
. I chide myself for cursing even silently. “I don’t feel any particular way about you, actually.”

“Right, okay.” He leads me around the dance floor, smiling sycophantically at the Dean, who is watching the proceedings with a jolly glint in his eye. Scott leans down and whispers in my ear. I feel like vomiting. “Maybe it’s because there’s a certain football player who’s caught your eye more than I have? Maybe someone this campus worships?” He twirls me around and pulls me back into place. “Oh when the saints! Go marching in! Oh when the saints go marching in,” he sings in a low whisper. “I hear janitorial closets are really great for fucking in. I don’t blame you for using one all the time.”

I don’t have time to respond. Scott pulls away from my body and waves farewell, a devilish smile on his smug face. The song has ended and I’m standing here alone. I feel tears stinging my eyes as I run out of the dining hall.

How can he possibly know that? The one person on this campus I can’t stand to look at knows my deepest, darkest secret. I crouch down next to one of the decorated outdoor Christmas trees. I stare at the large, shiny balls on it and see my distorted reflection.

I’m almost unrecognizable.

What a metaphor for my current predicament.

The tears fall hot and heavy down my cheeks. Did Saint tell someone? Did Romy? No, there’s no way that Romy told anyone. She wouldn’t do that to me. It had to have been Saint. I hear the calls of
Merry Christmas
through an open window of the dining room. I couldn’t feel any less merry right now if my father was standing right next to me.

The dark winter night bites at my exposed skin and tears through the thin fabric of my long-sleeved t-shirt. I shiver. I can’t go back in there. But I can’t disappear, either.

I finally just sit in the cold earth of the flower bed I’ve been crouching in, watching people wander past me and into the dance. I lean back on the cold brick of the building. I feel like the temperature is waking me up. Maybe if I sit here long enough I’ll turn into the person I used to be.

Unquestioning. Virginal. Content.

But was I really content before?

No
, comes the answer to my own question.

“Delilah, you’re going to freeze those perfect tits clean off your body if you don’t come inside.”

I open my eyes and Saint is standing before me. Of course he is.

“Go away,” I moan, wiping the tears off of my cheeks. He crouches down and procures a white handkerchief. I take it even though I shouldn’t. “Thanks.”

He smiles at me kindly. I see his blue eyes and immediately heat appears between my legs.
God help me.
Literally. All I want to do is feel him inside of me. “One of these days, Delilah, you’re going to greet me with a phrase that isn’t a synonym for
fuck off
.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “Don’t bet on it.”

“I was coming over to dance with you and I saw that someone else cut in line.” His eyes flash in anger. “Did that asshole make you cry? Because I will kick the absolute living shit out of him.”

Scott
. The sound of his name sobers me. I’m reminded that Saint has to be my betrayer. “You’ve told someone about us,” I say challengingly.

Saint looks confused. “I told Rick, yeah. But I didn’t tell anyone else.”

I roll my eyes and shove his handkerchief back towards him. “Right. You haven’t been bragging about your sexual conquests in front of the entire locker room?”

Saint shakes his head. “Of course I haven’t. Why would I do that?”

I stare at his eyes, willing myself to
not
be sexually aroused by looking at him. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

“If you trust me, you should believe it.”

“Why should I trust you?” I retort.

Saint leans back on his heels and stares up at the night sky. Then he holds out his hand. “Get up,” he commands.

“Excuse me? I’m not getting up,” I say stubbornly. But the cold of the ground is seeping through my skirt. My knees are cramping up. I really do need to stand and soon.

“Just get up, Delilah.”