Chapter Twenty
Emerson
I am out of control. I have been before, sure, but never quite like this.
I like Patch. I really, really do. And we might have only been on one date, but that doesn’t change how I feel about the connection between us.
But I don’t want to let go of Jamie, either. Not that I think spending more time with Patch will stop us from being friends or anything like that. It’s not just friendship I want from him. From either of them.
The constant circle of my thoughts puts me in a strange headspace, so that by the time I meet Patch on Monday afternoon, I’m second-guessing the whole thing.
Hell, I’m even second-guessing the job. I haven’t seen the wolf again, though I’ve been back to the same area several times, but that hasn’t stopped me from staring at the footage I got for hours on end.
Cate has been watching it too. She’s called me about it more than once. She wants me to go back, and I can’t blame her. That wolf… I checked the news. Checked every social media site I could think of. No sign of one escaping, and that would have been reported, surely.
Patch grins when I get close. We’ve decided to spend today’s date at a park close to my house, and I’ve brought a little picnic lunch I hope he’ll enjoy. Now I’m having second thoughts about that, too. What if he hates it?
“Hey,” he says, jogging over to meet me. There’s more to him than just the physical, of course, but wow, he is handsome, and even more so for the way his face lights up when I smile back. He reaches out for the tote bag I have over one shoulder, but I dodge aside.
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it. Did you see anywhere good to sit?”
“Yeah, this way, come on.” He drops into step with me, so close that our hands brush with each movement. After a few seconds, I reach out and tangle our fingers together.
Patch grins at me, obviously pleased. Some of the spiky feelings from earlier soften. I like him. He likes me. He really doesn’t seem bothered about what happened with Jamie and me last week, and it’s not like I’m going to let it happen again.
I think back to Friday, to Jamie’s flushed giddiness as he told me about the job and the fact that he probably won’t have to move away.
I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to be the one to initiate it this time, even though I know better, even though I hardly know him, just to let him know that I care and I’m proud of him and—
“Em?”
“Yeah, sorry?”
Patch gives me a quizzical look. “Here’s good. Right?”
We’re not far away from a pond, and I pause to take it in, breathing in the crisp afternoon air. “Yeah, here’s perfect.”
Patch doesn’t ask what had me not paying attention to him, instead helping me set out a blanket on the grass. His eyes widen as I pull food and drinks from the tote bag and my rucksack.
“Wow, Em, this—”
I flush and rub the back of my neck. “I overdid it, huh?”
“No! Fuck, no.” He grabs my hands, drawing me down onto the blanket. I have to be careful not to crush anything or knock anything over. “This is amazing. I just… I—”
“What is it?”
“I guess I feel like I should’ve done something as impressive last week.”
I squeeze his hands and then reach for one of the boxes, opening it to reveal tiny prosciutto sandwiches. “I had fun with you last week. That’s all I want.”
“Fun?”
“On our second date?” I manage a teasing grin. “Maybe it’ll be a little more fun than the first, huh?”
Patch’s eyes darken, and he leans in. I hold up the box of sandwiches before he can reach me, and he laughs, picking one from the pile. “All right. Tell me about your week, then.”
We talk about the dog again, a little, and Patch’s obvious concern makes my heart beat faster. I want to kiss him whenever he pauses to tell me how much he likes something I’ve made; I baked the scones myself, but I’m quick to let him know the rest was store-bought.
“Don’t care,” he says and leans over to brush his lips against my cheek. “It’s delicious. I’m going to have to step it up for date three, huh?”
“No.”
“Well, I will.” He strokes his thumb over my cheek and down my jaw. “I don’t think I’m as good at cooking, though, so it might be more along the lines of an activity.”
“An activity?” I ask, mind immediately in the gutter. Though with the way Patch keeps groaning whenever he tries something, it might have been there all along.
“Not like that,” Patch says, then lets his gaze sweep slowly over me. “Well, maybe like that. If you ask nicely.”
Oh, it is like that? I take a sip of my wine—I brought along a couple of those small bottles and some plastic flutes—and study Patch for a moment. He holds my gaze for a second but then blinks and looks away. Colour sweeps up his throat.
No, no, it’s not. I tip my head back, drinking the rest of my wine in one swallow. Patch gapes openly when I look at him again. Two dates… well, one and a half. That has to be enough. Like I care.
“Do you want me to ask nicely?”
“I… No.”
“Do you want me to tell you what we’re going to do?”
Jamie and Nick are at work, but they’ll be back soon. No. Nick is out tonight at a friend’s birthday party. He said this morning that he’ll probably stay over and see us tomorrow.
Jamie will be at the house. Later. I shake the thought off.
“Yes.”
“You’re going to text Flynn and tell him not to come home until later.”
“Okay.”
“And we’re going back to yours. Is that all right?”
“Yes.”
“But first, we’re going to pack up.”
Patch gets to his feet almost like he’s in a daze. He stares at me for a second, then hurries to clean up, though he’s careful as he puts what’s left of the food back into boxes. I help, of course, though this time I don’t argue as Patch shoulders my rucksack.
The rain starts as I’m folding up the blanket. A couple of drops at first—no big deal, really, because we might not be that close to Patch’s place, but I don’t mind getting a little wet—but within seconds, it’s a downpour. Patch grabs the blanket out of my hands and wraps it around my shoulders.
“You too!”
He shakes his head. The rain is torrential, splashing off the surface of the pond. I grab Patch’s hand. We can get a bus to his, but we’ll have to wait. Fuck.
“Come on.”
I drag him out of the park and we run hand in hand back to my house. We’re laughing as we stumble into the hall, dripping water all over the floor. I drop the blanket, now a sodden mess, at my feet. I’m relatively dry, but Patch is soaked to the bone, and his hands shake as he removes the rucksack.
“Fuck, you’re soaked. And freezing. Let me get some towels.”
Patch grabs me before I can go far away. He pulls me close, flush against him, and even as I squirm, I laugh.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and he’s smiling too, cheeks and nose red from the cold. “I’ll dry off and go—”
“Don’t go.” I lean in, whispering the words against his mouth. “You can be quiet, can’t you?”
“I—” Patch swallows hard. “Yes. Yes, I can.”
“Good,” I say and kiss him.
He goes pliant just the way I expect him to, sagging back against the wall behind him. I follow him, one leg fitting neatly between his because I’ll hold him up if I have to. Patch groans when our tongues slide together, then winces when I shove cold hands up under his T-shirt.
“Sorry,” I say and laugh, and Patch chuckles too, hands coming up to cup my face. He rubs our noses together, both of them still cold, before we kiss again. This time, he groans when I slide my hands up his back and we press together front-to-front.
“Where’s your room?” Patch murmurs between kisses.
“Up-upstairs.” His lips move to my jaw, and I dig my fingers in just below his shoulder blades. “Fuck, we have to get all the way upstairs.”
“Got to put this stuff away, too.”
“We’ll just drop it in the kitchen.” I part from him reluctantly and grab the bag and the blanket. “Come on.”
Patch follows me with the rucksack, and he’s never more than a foot from me, stealing kisses, as we put everything back where it belongs. I throw the blanket into the washing machine and when I turn, Patch crowds me back against the side, this time kissing me more deeply. “We said we’d go to mine.”
I tilt my head, listening. “It’s still raining.”
“But here, you—”
“You said you’d be quiet.” I raise my eyebrows. “You said you could be.”
Patch nods eagerly. “I can. I will.”
I drag him in for another kiss. This time, I let my hands wander just the way I want to, and Patch whines into my mouth when I grab his arse.
Fuck, he feels good. And—I tilt my hips, the hard outline of his cock pressing against my thigh.
That feels even better. I know what I want, and I know I can—
The front door opens and shuts. Patch jerks back, eyes wide.
“Jamie,” he hisses.
I don’t know how he knows it’s Jamie and not Nick, but sure enough, Jamie comes walking into the kitchen a few seconds later, shaking water droplets from his hair. He’s kicked off his shoes, but the bottom few centimetres of his trousers are damp.
He freezes when he sees us, eyes going comically wide. “I—Fuck, I didn’t—”
Patch is just as frozen, though I can still feel him against me. He’s still hard, pulse still beating a frenzy at the base of his throat. “No, we—I—”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. If this were anyone else, Jamie would have left. If this were anyone else, Patch would have pushed away, or told them to leave, or—
One of us has to take a risk. And with all the risks I’ve been taking lately, it seems logical that I’m the one to take that leap.
I lean back against the counter, relaxing my body again. Patch and Jamie have been staring silently at each other for the past few seconds, but now both their gazes snap to me.
“Em?” Patch says. His voice is breathy. Almost desperate.
Almost.
I study his face. Does he know what I want to ask? Does he want it too?
Like he can read my mind, he nods.
I look at Jamie again. Pure willpower is keeping him in place, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. “Ask, Em,” he says. Demands. Patch shakes against me.
“Jamie,” I say, measuring each word carefully. “Do you want to join us?”