Page 48 of Tempting Fate

“Well, I will.” He strokes his thumb over my cheek and down my jaw. “I don’t think I’m as good at cooking, though, so it might be more along the lines of an activity.”

“An activity?” I ask, mind immediately in the gutter. Though with the way Patch keeps groaning whenever he tries something, it might have been there all along.

“Not like that,” Patch says, then lets his gaze sweep slowly over me. “Well, maybe like that. If you ask nicely.”

Oh, it is like that? I take a sip of my wine—I brought along a couple of those small bottles and some plastic flutes—and study Patch for a moment. He holds my gaze for a second but then blinks and looks away. Colour sweeps up his throat.

No, no, it’s not. I tip my head back, drinking the rest of my wine in one swallow. Patch gapes openly when I look at him again. Two dates… well, one and a half. That has to be enough. Like I care.

“Do you want me to ask nicely?”

“I… No.”

“Do you want me to tell you what we’re going to do?”

Jamie and Nick are at work, but they’ll be back soon. No. Nick is out tonight at a friend’s birthday party. He said this morning that he’ll probably stay over and see us tomorrow.

Jamie will be at the house. Later. I shake the thought off.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to text Flynn and tell him not to come home until later.”

“Okay.”

“And we’re going back to yours. Is that all right?”

“Yes.”

“But first, we’re going to pack up.”

Patch gets to his feet almost like he’s in a daze. He stares at me for a second, then hurries to clean up, though he’s careful as he puts what’s left of the food back into boxes. I help, of course, though this time I don’t argue as Patch shoulders my rucksack.

The rain starts as I’m folding up the blanket. A couple of drops at first—no big deal, really, because we might not be that close to Patch’s place, but I don’t mind getting a little wet—but within seconds, it’s a downpour. Patch grabs the blanket out of my hands and wraps it around my shoulders.

“You too!”

He shakes his head. The rain is torrential, splashing off the surface of the pond. I grab Patch’s hand. We can get a bus to his, but we’ll have to wait. Fuck.

“Come on.”

I drag him out of the park and we run hand in hand back to my house. We’re laughing as we stumble into the hall, dripping water all over the floor. I drop the blanket, now a sodden mess, at my feet. I’m relatively dry, but Patch is soaked to the bone, and his hands shake as he removes the rucksack.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. And freezing. Let me get some towels.”

Patch grabs me before I can go far away. He pulls me close, flush against him, and even as I squirm, I laugh.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, and he’s smiling too, cheeks and nose red from the cold. “I’ll dry off and go—”

“Don’t go.” I lean in, whispering the words against his mouth. “You can be quiet, can’t you?”

“I—” Patch swallows hard. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Good,” I say and kiss him.

He goes pliant just the way I expect him to, sagging back against the wall behind him. I follow him, one leg fitting neatly between his because I’ll hold him up if I have to. Patch groans when our tongues slide together, then winces when I shove cold hands up under his T-shirt.

“Sorry,” I say and laugh, and Patch chuckles too, hands coming up to cup my face. He rubs our noses together, both of them still cold, before we kiss again. This time, he groans when I slide my hands up his back and we press together front-to-front.