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He poked his head out. “In the pantry. You remember where the kitchen is?”
My cheeks flamed. The kitchen was a worse idea than upstairs. I’d committed, so I’d see it through.
As soon as I entered the spacious room, I was assaulted with memories. Him at the stove. Me on the island.
I rubbed my forehead in an attempt to erase the images. Jack’s smiling face came to the forefront. I’d betrayed him by doing something domestic with Patrick.
“Find them?” I jumped. Patrick placed a hand on my shoulder and reached around me. “These okay?”
He held up the box. I nodded, accepting the sleeve of crackers from him.
“I’ve got ginger ale. I always like that when I get sick.”
“Please don’t be nice to me,” I pleaded.
He unscrewed the cap on a cold glass bottle of the drink and offered it to me. I sipped the fizzy liquid and sagged against the counter.
“You could use a shower.” He wrinkled his nose and followed it up with a playful smirk.
“You’re an ass,” I said half-heartedly.
“Nicest thing anyone’s called me all day.” He snatched a cracker from my fingers. “Want me to wash your hair.”
I tensed. “I should go.”
“Blake’s already out again. He’s had a busy day. Let him sleep.”
I nibbled on a cracker. “I—”
“Have you been feeling okay? Do you think it was something you ate?”
“I’m fine.” The nausea had nearly subsided.
“I’ll take these upstairs.” He swiped the box off the counter. “You can use my shower. It’s got the best pressure.”
“You’ve tried the others?” I asked as I followed him upstairs.
“You mean you haven’t at your place?”
“Only once when the master bath was messed up.”
Blake was stretched out in the middle of a navy duvet, mouth open. That kid . . . sometimes I wondered how he was mine. He was sweet, and I wasn’t. He was loving, and I wasn’t. He was strong, and I was barely holding our lives together.
Patrick turned on the taps and hung a fresh towel and washcloth over the door. “I think I have lavender or vanilla or some shit if you’d rather have that.” He motioned to the shampoo.
“This is fine.” He kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for bed.” I stared as he undid the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Oh come on, Wicked. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten shy.”
My skin flushed as he shrugged off his shirt. “I’m not showering with you.”
His lips flattened, unimpressed. “I know that. We’re not in kindergarten. I think you’ll survive if I brush my teeth while you’re in there.”
He unbuckled his pants. They hung open, revealing the gray waistband of his underwear. I stood motionless as he shoved a toothbrush in his mouth.
“Want me to wake up Blake with this noise?” he asked around the toothbrush.
Screw it.
