Danny looks so damn happy that I hate him for it.
He had every reason to be happy.
He is getting married today, after all.
I almost got married once. It was only a few years ago, but there are times that I'm convinced it was in a whole other lifetime. Her name was Miranda and she had the longest, reddest hair I'd ever seen.
Then Aunt Carmen decided that the Santos family needed a a good guy in the family and guess who got recruited?
You know your life is pretty fucked up when one day, your aunt sends you out to kill somebody and that same night, as you stride into her office with the poor bastard's blood on your hands and his pleas in your ears, she says, "Oh, by the way, Ray, we've decided you should become a priest."
So I traded in my 9mm. for a clerical collar and Miranda for an empty, lonely life.
Not like my life wasn't that lonely before, but at least I had a warm body in my bed.
Now Danny gets to spend the rest of his life cozied up to some bitch whose put a fucking goofy smile on his face and an almost unearthly light in his eyes.
But I smile at him.
I tease him about his "Romeo" days.
I play the part of the kind hearted priest/best man, all the while wishing I could feel the comforting weight of my gun in my belt and the soft pressure of a woman's skin against mine.
Not Miranda's though.
Miranda is reapidly becoming a distant memory.
I look at Danny as he keeps glancing anxiously over his shoulder for his bride and wonder about this Michelle that Danny has kept such a secret. Why the hell is he being so hush-hush about this girl anyway?
It's not like Danny to be secretive. He tries to act tough, like MIck, but deep down, he's just like his father, a major sap.
Yeah, and just look where that got Uncle Michael.
Danny never knew what I did for the family until I became a priest. Then he pieced it together. But there's still no judgement in his eyes when he looks at me and you can't help but like a guy like that.
I hope this Michelle girl makes him happy. God knows he deserves it.
He says she's special, but I have my doubts.
I've only known one special woman in my 28 years.
Did I ever say being a priest didn't have it's perks?
Oh, it has perks alright.
I never thought helping counsel troubled teens would be one of them though.
Four years ago, when I first entered the priesthood, Father Tomas assigned me to the task of talking to the surly teenagers he brought into the church.
Personally, I thought it was a waste of time. I mean, shit, if kids have a "bad attitude" they're just gonna have a bad fucking attitude. Sitting down with me for a few hours is just gonna piss them off.
But I just smiled and said I'd love to help out.
Doing God's duty, right?
I was so sick of whiny kids that first day. One after another, they filed in my office, looking like they'd rather slit my throat then talk to me. A few of them actually said as much.
I wanted to grab those little bastards by the neck and tell them what I would have done to them if they'd pulled this shit with me only a few months ago.
But I didn't.
I smiled and I simpered and I "counseled".
What the fuck ever.
It was nearly five when she came in.
Wearing too tight jeans and a too big sweater, she walked into my office like she was being dragged.
Her hair was curly, light brown with blond streaks radiating through it.
Her eyes were dark and acusatory.
She flopped into the chair across from my desk and glared at me.
"What's your name?" I asked, trying to get things started.
"What do you want it to be?" the little bitch snapped.
"Miranda," I said before I even thought.
That surprised her. Those dark eyes sparked. But she relaxed a little and said, "Great, Miranda it is."
"What brings you here, Miranda?" I asked, still the concerned priest.
"What do you think? You think I came here because I wanted to? Fuck that. My dad made me come."
Great, just fucking great, I thought.
"And what seems to be the problem?" I marveled at how good I was getting at that sympathetic voice when what I wanted to do was haul her sweet little ass over that desk and...what? Threaten her? Fuck her? Both seemed like good ideas.
"My dad seems to think I'm having...problems cause my mom died."
Of course. I should have known. The spoiled little rich girl who can't handle the fact that sometimes life just sucks.
"I'm very sorry to hear that."
"Yeah, I'll bet," she muttered.
"We aren't supposed to know God's reasons for everything, Miranda," I said and I think I sounded like I believe that shit. "There are times when we lose people and we think that-"
"Like when you lost the real Miranda?" she asked, shoving a handfull of that curly hair out of her eyes.
"We're not here to talk about me," I said a little too sharply.
"Maybe we should," she retorted.
Damn, she had nerve.
"So tell me about your Miranda, Father Ray," she drawled, leaning forward.
"Tell me about you," I reiterated.
She frowned slightly and flopped back inot her chair. "Ok, " she exhaled, "I'm seventeen, my mom is dead, and my dad's an asshole." She looked me square in the eye. "How's that?"
"It's a start."
"Have you been a priest very long?"
That caught me by surprise. "No, just a few months."
"Must really suck."
Yeah, I thought dismally, but I said, in that vapid voice, "I love to do God's work, Miranda."
"Did your Miranda love it when you left her to do God's work?"
Goddamn her. "I don't have a Miranda. I just like the name."
"Bullshit. Do you miss her?"
I opened my mouth to tell her to get out. I didn't need this, not from some little brat. But what did I do?
I said, "Yes."
The second Miranda leaned forward again. "What do you miss most about her?" she asked softly.
"Her hair," I answered, again without thinking, and this gets a smile from her.
"Her hair?"
I nodded, knowing I should have kicked her out, but liking talking her too much to do it.
"Miranda had this dark red hair that went to her knees and it was the softest hair I ever felt. It would wind around us when we were-" I suddenly realized what I said and looked away. "I think you better leave."
"So that's what you miss," she said, as if I hadn't spoken. "The sex."
"Wouldn't you?" I snapped angrily. Angry at her for bringing this up and making me so hard I hurt and angry at myself for letting her affect me.
She shrugged, her shoulders rolling under that huge blue sweater. "I wouldn't know. I'm Daddy's little virgin after all."
That surprised me. I just figured a girl like that, even if she was only seventeen, would have been around the block a few times.
She rose from her chair and for one dizzing moment, I thought she was on her way out. But she just locked the door and leaned against it.
"Tell me something, Father Ray," she murmured, a strange light in her eyes, "If you had a daughter, how would you feel about her fucking the priest you sent her to to...counsel."
Holy shit.
"Get the hell out of here!" I said roughly, thinking I could gladly kill her for putting me in this position.
The family needs me.
I'm not their killer anymore.
I'm their good guy.
And taking "Miranda" on my desk would probably blow that good guy priest shit straight to hell.
She shook her head and slid that sweater over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra.
Her breasts were small but full and her nipples were light pink.
And I knew I wasn't about to let her out of that office.
"I think you know what kind of counseling I need, Father Ray," she said as she walked around my desk to stand in front of me.
My hands, almost on their own accord, reached out and cupped those breasts, and I rubbed my thumbs over those pearly pink nipples.
Her head fell back a little, and I stood up quickly, grabbing her head and forcing her to look at me.
"I want you to know who's fucking you," I rasped out and her eyes widened.
She was in over her head and she knew it.She was a good girl at heart, trying her damndest to be a bad girl. Well, she was about to see what being a bad girl was all about.
"I know who you are, Father Ray," she snarled, trying to regain control.
"Good," I said and kissed her savagely.
Her lips opened under mine and welcomed the invasions of my tongue.
She may have been a virgin, but she ground her pelvis against mine in a way that let me know she had come pretty damn close.
I guide her hand down to the front of my pants.
She tries to pull away, but I won't let her and after a moment's hesitaion, she squeezed the evidence of my desire.
Yeah, she'd come close.
I unbutonned her jeans and slid them over her hips.
White cotton panties. What else?
She slipped off her shoes and removed her jeans.
I swung her to sit in front of me on my desk and sat back down in my chair.
She looked at me, breathing hard, her brown eyes confused as I parted her legs so that her thighs bracketed me.
Then I leaned in and explored the damp cotton at the apex of her legs with my tongue.
She nearly came off the desk and I had to stand up and clamp a hand over her mouth.
"Not a goddamn sound, you hear me?" I whispered harshly.
She nodded, her eyes large and glazed over my hand and I resumed my postion between her legs.
I kissed her deeply, seperating the folds of her sex with my tongue, relishing in the feel and taste of a woman again.I sucked and nipped lightly on that sensitive skin, hearing my Miranda's voice panting, "Please, Ray, please."
The new Miranda didn't make sound.
She writhed against my mouth and only gave a little whimper when I pulled away.
I pushed her shoulders back on the desk and took one hard rosebud nipple in my mouth, sucking gently until she was actually shaking.
Then I moved to the next one.
By the time I kissed her mouth again, she was trembling uncontrollably, which turned me on even more and I undid my pants as my tongue plunged into her mouth, imitating the activity our bodies were begging to be begin.
She may have told me she was a virgin, but I was still a little surprised when I encountered the barrier that proved her innocence.
She gasped a little, but made no move to stop me as I started thrusting into her.
She arched her hips over and over again, awkward at first, then more smoothly.
Despite her inexperience, she was a damn dream fuck. Her legs were holding me tight and I could feel her contract around me. I groaned as I came, feeling not just the physical release, but the emotional rush of finally being myself. She sunk her teeth into my shoulder as her own orgasm rolled through her, and I smirked, thinking, "Now if I could just go shoot somebody, life would be normal again."
The thought made me laugh and "Miranda" pulled back at that laugh, a look of utter horror in her eyes.
She pushed me off of her, grabbing her clothes, stuttering, "I didn't mean for this to happen, I swear, I never thought-"
"Yes, you did," I said and she turned to me, her dark eyes empty.
"You're right. I did."
The she left.
I went back to being Father Ray after that and, needless to say, New Miranda never returned.
It's getting easier to forget the man I was before I became the sainted priest.
But today, for some reason, I'm feeling like that guy again.
The killer.
The man who would fuck a confused teenager on the desk in his rectory.
Maybe it's because I'm seeing Danny, who might not be a killer, but is still a Santos, on the verge of a normal life.
I take my place beside my cousin at the altar.
Danny's bride appears on the arm of her brother.
She's a little older, a lot blonder, but there's no doubt of who she is.
New Miranda.
Shit.
Her eyes blink slightly as she sees me, but I can tell by the look on her face that I'm the least of her problems.
She doesn't acknowlege me as she weds Danny. That's for the best, right?
Turns out her name is really Michelle.
I still call her Miranda when I corner her at the reception.
She looks at me with this stupid little smile. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. You're Danny's cousin Ray, right?"
"And you're Miranda 2."
Her smile falters and her eyes slide from mine.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Then she walks away from me.
But I see her look back.