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“Not unless you’re an art nerd like me.” I laugh and shake my head. From the corner of my eye I can see Patrick on the other side of the bar, talking to Crazypants. They’re standing close together and he has her by the wrist while she eyefucks him. I get a sudden flash of Patrick hovering above me in the hallway, his hand gripping me by the wrist to lift my fingers to his mouth. Drawing them into his mouth to lick them clean of my juices.
I’m so lost in my own head that it takes me a moment to realize that whatever was happening between Patrick and Crazypants is over and he’s looking at me. Caught me watching him get his cock massaged by the same girl who had her mouth on it less than 24-hours ago. Then the asshole winks at me.
He. Winks.
Heat floods my chest and I tear my gaze away, forcing myself to focus on Conner. “What was that?” I say, smiling up at him.
“I said…” Conner laughs, tossing a look down the bar where Patrick is popping the tops on a round of long-necks. “This guy any better than the usual dickbags you go for?” he says, tossing a lime wedge into my glass.
I should be insulted but I can’t seem to muster the indignation. He’s right. My usual taste in guys is bad. Slicked back hair and expensive suits bad. Guys who just want something pretty hanging off their arm. Guys who treat me like I’m stupid with nothing important to say. Instead of getting angry, I shrug, unable to stop myself from looking down the bar where Patrick fields the steady stream of drink orders that come his way. “He’s an artist.” I say, tearing my gaze away from Patrick, focusing it on his cousin instead. “Miranda’s hosting a show for him in a few months. Some benefit thing. For combat vets.”
“Vets? So, he’s not a complete asshole,” Conner says, nodding his head. “And he gives a shit about something other than himself.” He shrugs. “I could get behind that.”
“Could?” I say, laughing a little while chasing the lime wedge around with the short red straw in my glass.
“Yeah—could,” he says setting a pair of shot glasses on the bar. “If you weren’t going out with him just to fuck with my cousin.”
His accusation stiffened my spine. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me just fine.” He lifted a bottle of Jameson from the well in front of him and poured a shot into each of the glasses in front of him. “I don’t know what your game’s been these past six months, but it’s not funny anymore. He deserves better.”
His words stung, like he slapped me in the face. “And I don’t?” I blurt out before I can shut myself up.
“Cap’n is a nice guy. He—”
I laugh because I just can’t help it. “Trust me—your cousin isn’t as nice as he pretends to be.”
Conner narrowed his gaze on me for a second before he seemed to make up his mind about something. “You’re right. He’s not nice. He’s repressed.” He tossed back one of the shots, not even flinching at the burn. “You want to know why he never made a move on you? That’s why,” he says, re-filling the glass he just emptied. “He’s afraid of who he really is and what he really wants because it’s not nice. It’s not polite. It’s dirty and it’s messy, so he ignores it and pretends those things about himself don’t exist.” He leans across the bar and drops his voice. “His feelings for you make it hard for him but he could handle you working him up, day in and day out—all he had to do was pretend it was all in his head. What he can’t handle is knowing you were doing it on purpose, just to fuck with him like he’s some kinda nutless chump.”
“That’s—” I’m shaking my head, staring at Conner, my throat seizes up, hand wrapped around the glass in front of me like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling off my stool. Before I can formulate a response, he starts talking again.
“Look, I like you, Legs. I like you a lot,” he says. “That’s why I’m telling you all this. One of you is gonna have to pull your head out of your ass and be honest about how you feel and what you want and I can almost promise, it’s not going to be him, because there’s still waters and then there’s where Cap’n likes to hang his hat.”
He’s right. I know he is, but I don’t have a clue on how to fix it. “How do you I propose I do that, Conner?” I’m not angry anymore. I’m asking for help from someone who seems to know Patrick better than he knows himself. “I’ve tried apologizing. I’ve tried explaining. He won’t listen to me.”
“Fuck if I know, Legs, I’m just a grease-monkey who can’t keep his dick in his pants but I’ll tell you this much—” He lifts the shot glass again, this time clinking it against my glass of club soda before tossing it back. “You broke it. You bought it.”
Thirty-one
Patrick
The car shows upfor Cari at seven o’clock sharp, the driver pushing through the door to stand just inside the bar, searching for someone in the sea of frat bros and college girls who looks dignified enough to warrant a chauffeured car. As soon as he sees Cari, he straightens his posture and nods at her while she slides out of her seat and makes her way toward him.
I’m in the middle of building a round of black & tans, using every ounce of focus I have to ignore the fact that I can still feel the way her pussy clamped down on my fingers while she rode my hand. Her nails digging into my bicep, her eyes wide and glazed with lust when I pulled her hair. The way she moaned my name and reached for my cock like it was the only thing in the world that could satisfy her. The way she came for me when I told her to.
Fuck. Me.
Rounding the bar, I meet her a few steps from the door. “Let me help you with that,” I say, reaching for her red cashmere wrap. Taking it from her, I drape it around her shoulders, using my grip on it to pull her close. My mouth hovers over hers for a moment, my gaze focused on her lips, slightly parted. I brush the pad of my thumb over her strawberry birthmark, the edge of it peeking out from the neckline of her dress. It’s warm, I can feel the blood rushing across her chest to gather there and I smile because I know it’s because of me. How close I am. “Do you have your cell phone?” I ask like I’m her fucking mother or something and she looks at me like I’m nuts.
“What?” She sounds confused, looking over my shoulder at the guy here to drive her to her date. “Yes.”
“And it’s charged?” I let my thumb skim lower, running along the swell of her breast, dipping into her cleavage. “We both know you don’t keep it charged.”
“Yes,” she says softly, her pupils dilating, breath catching in her throat. “It’s charged… I have to go, Patrick.”
I ignore her, sweeping my thumb over the thin fabric of her dress, my cock jerking when I feel her nipple go hard. “Money, just in case?”
She nods her head, her eyes slipping closed for a moment, her tongue running lightly along her lower lip. I want to take her lower lip between my teeth. Bite and nibble and lick and taste my way over every fucking inch of her.