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“Nah, he’s a cool guy,” Chase echoed. “Just…different.”
“How?”
Chase leaned his head against the wall. “Look, he’s solid, he’s there when you need him. That hasn’t changed. All I know is he went abroad last year, and he came back different. We were friends before.” His head snapped up. “Hell, we still are, we work out together, but it’s like someone else is in there and I don’t know who it is.” He spread his hands. “That’s all I can say. Right, Rufus?”
“Right.” The shorter guy, Rufus, studied the lawn. But when I turned to go, I felt him watching me.
I hustled up the staircase.
“Best cookies ever.” Chase’s voice floated up behind me. “You remember? The chocolate chips stayed melted.”
Upstairs, doors stood open, music thumped, and male voices yelled down the hall. But nothing seemed to touch Patrick’s closed door.
I stood in front of it. This was so fuckingpublic.
Finally, my knuckles met the wood. The door swung open. Blue eyes flickered down at me.
For the benefit of anyone watching, I stood on tiptoe to kiss Patrick’s cheek. My lips brushed marble. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His hand settled on my waist, casually possessive.
Then I was in his room. The door closed behind us, and the sounds from the hall faded.
Sweating, I unzipped my parka. It slid from my shoulders. Patrick took it.
“You’re late,” he said. “I’m not happy.”
God, his voice. It had filled my head all weekend. Quiet, calm, deep, like a radio announcer speaking just to me.
“My meeting ran over.” I cleared my throat, but it stayed dry. “And there were complications along the way.”
“What kind of complications?”
I unwound my scarf, pulled my hat off, and stripped away my gloves. He took those too. Last time, he’d thrown all my clothes on the floor.
“My ex,” I murmured. “He wanted to talk. Walk with me. Convince me to see his band. Tell me he missed me.”
Patrick moved with deliberate steps to his closet. Opening the door, he arranged my things on a hanger. Everything in the closet was sorted by type and neatly hung. He didn’t have a lot of clothes, but the ones he did have, all in a dark or neutral palette, had the same hard-to-define quality I’d noticed from the start.
“It wasn’t enough to fake it with him in bed?” he asked over his shoulder. “You have to pretend to like him now? Let me guess, he wants to stay friends.”
“Asshole,” I hissed. A ribbon of air from the open window, cold and restless, stirred the tie of my blouse and the hem of my skirt. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is my business.” Patrick shut the closet. “I don’t want complications. I want you here, on time, three nights a week with no fuss.”
“Then why’d you pick me? I think complications get you going.” I mimicked his deep voice. “I’ll find your buttons and push them, Christina, so you better have a lot. You’re like a train wreck, but prettier. You’re going to be the messiest messy mess every time I put my hands on your body.”
To my surprise, he cracked a grin — a real one. Patrick was handsome when he smiled. “Something to drink?”
“What do you have?”
“Water.”
“Right. You don’t drink. Yeah, I’ll have some.” I went to the bookcase opposite his bed, grabbing a random economics book.
Patrick bent to get a water bottle from his desk drawer. I eyed his huge body, about to split the seams of his black T-shirt and jeans. His feet were bare. I was in his territory, wondering if my lipstick still looked good and holding a copy ofGames and Decisions, dressed for a flirty job interview in a white blouse and pink miniskirt. My heart was about to rocket through my chest.
When he approached, I flipped busily through the book. With a snap, he unscrewed the cap on the bottle.
“Having fun?” He was so close, I smelled his faint salty scent. Heat beat at me in waves.
