Page 74 of Patrick

“Yeah. I can’t believe Prof Matahari set that up,” Darcy says, not looking pleased.

“Professor Matami,” Fifi corrects her, looking annoyed and smiling at the same time.

“Whatev.” Darcy shrugs, with her full-blown irritation showing, giving her face a nylon-masked burglar vibe. I saw the mask in a movie once, and it gives me a shiver now remembering it.

Turning away, I snake an arm around Fifi as my time with her ticks down, hoping a massive show of PDA will shame Darcy into going somewhere else, anywhere else. Either way, I’m going to get my R-rated goodbye with my girl Fifi.

Fifi wriggles in my arm, trying to squelch a giggle while I slip my hand under her sweater from behind and slide it around for an exquisite feel of the warm soft flesh covering her flat belly. I feel her quick inhale and smirk as she struggles to say something to Darcy.

“I, uh, I think showing our glam outfits at the Snow Ball is a game changer.” She squirms for separation. “The opportunity to…” She clamps a hand over mine when I try to slide it up over her ribs in the direction of her irresistible breasts, taunting me like twin hills of temptation. If they were made of gold, I couldn’t want them more. Now that I think of it, I’d want them less.

What does that say about me? I’m a fool who cares little about money? Or maybe I’m a fool when it comes to Fifi. Shit.

Fifi pinches my hand, hard, with those sharp pink nails. I freeze.

Darcy flits her eyes to where the action is—or where the action was—and makes a face like she’s looking at something obscenely distasteful. She’s full of unattractive expressions.

Throwing her hands on her hips, she looks down at us giving mean teacher vibes like she’s going to scold us. “I think trying to turn the Snow Ball into a fashion show puts too much pressure on us. Besides, it’s not like a bunch of New Hampshire bumpkin undergrads are going to appreciate high fashion.”

I laugh at the bumpkin reference. Fifi looks surprised. But I think it’s about the pressure, not the bumpkin jibe.

“We can handle this, Darcy. We’ll stun everyone with our dazzling glam dresses.” She gives her friend a big encouraging smile. I’m not sold on Darcy being a real friend, though.

“Whatever you say.”

“Absolutely. We can work together if you want. Sometimes two heads are better than one.”

“No way. My design is top secret.”

Fifi chuckles. “Okay. I’ll share my ideas with you and any tips and tricks⁠—”

Darcy puts up a hand to shut Fifi down. “Don’t bother. I know you mean well, but I’m from New York City. I apprenticed in a top design shop. I know more than you have in your pinky.”

I raise my eyebrows because that makes no sense, but more because she’s throwing shade at my girl. I open my mouth to say something, not hiding my displeasure, but Fifi squeezes my thigh. I wish, but it’s not the flirty kind of squeeze, so I get her message and keep my mouth shut.

Fifi’s smile fades, but before it disappears, I intervene and take her in my arms.

“I hate to leave you, babe, but I need to skate.” Without any warning, I cover her mouth with mine in a deep, behind-closed-doors kind of kiss, holding back nothing and letting my hands wander over all those parts I love most, ending by cupping her face and sucking her lips before I raise my head to take in some air.

Her face looks dazed and her lips slightly swollen and extra sexy, the way I love them. I drink her in, gathering up the picture of her to savor when I’m alone.

A loud derisive sound, half cough, half snarl, breaks the spell, and Fifi and I both look up at Darcy.

“You’re so… so… uncouth.”

Uncouth? We both laugh as I stand and help Fifi up from the soft couch.

“I’m sorry,” Fifi says, trying to stifle her giggling. “It’s just… uncouth?” Whatever else she was going to say gets lost in another giggle.

Darcy isn’t amused, and I figure it’s better to make peace, not war. “I’m sorry, Darcy. You’re right. I should exercise better self-control when we’re not alone.”

She gives me a micro-nod of her head, presumably accepting my apology. I don’t stay around for any more fun conversation with the girl, and Fifi walks me to the door for a final farewell kiss, which even as I’m halfway out the door, my lips still clamped on hers, I realize is more than ridiculous.

My need to kiss her every time I look at her is, in fact, insane.

You’d think I was a smitten teenager or…

Frigid air slaps me into gear, and I shut the door behind me, shutting down the insanity. I break into a jog to get to the Whit for afternoon practice. Thank God I’m returning to the ice.

I speed up to a run like getting to the the haven of the rink is a matter of life and death.

The death of my life as I knew it.