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Bougie:Why are you saying shit like this to me?
Me:Because it’s true.
I pressed his name on the screen to call him. Patrick answered right away. “What do you want, man?”
“Aww, come on. Don’t you like it when I tell you how pretty you are on the field?”
He puffed out an annoyed breath that didn’t have any bite behind it.
“My bye week is coming up. I’ll fly out to you, show you just how sexy I think you are. Jesus, Patrick. I’m dying to get inside that ass.”
He inhaled sharply, and damn, I wish I had video called him instead. I wanted to see the look on his face, how his Adam’s apple bobbed, and see those secrets in his eyes that he couldn’t keep from me.
“One time. And then this is done.”
I grinned. “Baby…one time isn’t gonna be enough for us, and you know it.”
* * *
The next fewweeks went by at a snail’s pace. Patrick and I texted, but other than when we’d sorted out what day worked for both of us, we didn’t talk about whatever it was that was going on between us. We spoke about football and other teams. We talked shit to each other because that was just what we did. We pretended everything was the same, ignoring the big-ass elephant in every conversation that I was going to fuck Patrick Whitt…that neither of us had been with anyone except each other in months, and we had some kind of confusing relationship that we didn’t want to dissect.
But fucking finally, the day had come.
The flight from Denver to LA was only a couple of hours. Patrick would be picking me up at the airport. I’d told him I could take car service, but he cutely wasn’t having it. I was pretty sure there was a closet sweetheart under his rough exterior, and damn, did I like to be the one to uncover it.
I didn’t check a bag or anything, so with my carry-on in tow, I made my way outside of baggage claim at LAX, where he was picking me up. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this was happening at all while trying to figure out how in the fuck I felt about it when he pulled up at the curb in his Audi.
I tossed the bag in the back before climbing into the front seat. “Hey, baby. You miss me?” I teased, which immediately made him roll his eyes.
“You’re an idiot.”
“You like it,” I countered because I knew he did. And I liked that he liked it. “You know there’s a possibility that paps might see us?”
He shrugged but didn’t respond right away. Granted, the last thing they would suspect is the fact that he was picking me up and taking me home so I could get in his ass, but I still wanted to protect this, that we even spent time together.
“This is LA. Sometimes it’s easier to hide in plain sight.”
Was that what Patrick did in a lot of ways? Hide his pain or his hurt? Hide the fact that he felt so much and his parents fucking sucked and how goddamned lonely I knew he was? Because before we’d gotten close, before I’d let myself really see him, I would have never believed those things were there, so yeah, I understood what he was saying. Sometimes hiding in plain sight kept you camouflaged more than anything else.
“Hey,” I said, reaching over and putting a hand on his thigh while he drove. He glanced my way, trepidation in his stare. “Want some road head?” I teased, knowing he had expected something a little deeper.
Patrick laughed, not smooth and cultured the way he did when it wasn’t honest, but like the joy couldn’t be contained or couldn’t be bothered with pretending it wasn’t real.
“That might get some attention, asshole.”
“I can’t wait to be in your asshole.” I pumped my brows, knowing that was a terrible comeback but not caring since it made him smile.
“How the fuck do you get women with lines like that?”
“Men, too, and I don’t know. I got you, didn’t I? You tell me.”
“I just want to see what it’s like to be with a man. Let’s not pretend you’re something special.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Depends on what you’re offering.” I winked, earning myself another bit-back grin.
