Page 26 of Patrick

“If you insist.” He smirks like a troublemaker, like he doesn’t take school seriously.

“What’s your schedule like?”

“I have Intro Stats on Monday⁠—”

“So do I—with Professor Gringely?”

“No shit. What are the chances?”

“Right? I thought you were a hockey major.”

He laughs and bites my earlobe. His teeth bring the right pressure to my tender skin to sting and to stir my nerves into a frenzy. Grinning, I squeak in mock pain and pull away in self-preservation, but not the physical kind.

“What’s your major?” he asks, straightening, separating from me. It’s my own fault, but I’m disappointed anyway.

“Fashion Design. How about you?”

“Business.”

“What kind of business? And don’t say monkey business.”

“I’d say you’re no fun, but that would be a big fat lie. Finance.”

I laugh because he must be joking. That’s a tough major.

He arches one brow in that way he does which makes you question whatever you’re thinking.

“You’re serious?”

“As an accountant.”

I laugh for real this time. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d want an easy major.”

“No worries. I’m surprised myself.”

“I’m a marketing minor. That’s why I’m taking stats.”

His soft smile turns into a yawn that he tries to cover with his hand. “Sorry.” He chuckles, reaching a hand out to twirl a lock of my hair in his fingers. “It’s not you. I played hard tonight.”

“Did you win?”

“You’re going to have to make an effort to follow UNH hockey if you’re going to be spending time with me.”

“Yes, sir. I’m now officially your biggest fan. Congratulations on the win. I bet you scored a goal.”

“I did.” His grin is lopsided, showing his one dimple and I’m about to make myself comfortable in his arms when he yawns again.

“You’re tired. I should have known⁠—”

“No. I’m fine.” He wraps an arm around me and nuzzles my neck. His breath and the touch of his hot mouth sear my skin and the heat spreads like I’m kindling catching fire. I almost sink into him because I want more of him, to make him burn until he explodes into flames while I watch like a firebug needing to witness the conflagration, to see him wild the way he makes me.

The sound of car doors and laughter outside stirs my brain, restoring some unwilling function.

“Trick, wait.” I say the words I’m supposed to say, but I don’t move. “As much as I want to… do all those things, this isn’t the right time. Not yet.”

“You sure about that?” He kisses the corner of my mouth, lingering just long enough to make my brain stutter.

I nod, not trusting my words.