CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
I had a short walk to think about it, which wasn’t nearly enough time. Over the last few weeks, this whole fake relationship thing … it had to be in public. Derek had been clear about that – our dates had to be seen, be visible.
There’d never been any reason to go back to my place. Or his. And even as we began to spend time with each other outside of the scheduled events, even after the photo booth, we had never crossed that line.
I shivered with something like anticipation as we stepped up to a tall building that looked, honestly, pretty normal. Not massively different from where I lived, only the street was a bit greener.
‘Cold?’ Patrick put his arm around my shoulders.
‘Yeah,’ I lied.
I didn’t want to give him a reason to remove his arm. Even if the physical contact between us had my stomach twisting with nerves, and my heart racing and my nipples tightening –
Chill the fuck out, Jessy!
Patrick wasn’t calm either. I could sense the coiled tension running through him. His hands shook lightly as he fumbled his key at the door. His nerves told me everything I needed to know.
He hadn’t brought another girl back to his place. At least not recently.
Which made me feel good. And then like an idiot. I had no right to feel possessive over him.
I had no claim to Patrick Tetlow – not even as his fake girlfriend. Sure, we both knew there was something more here. But Patrick had never brought up being exclusive or taking this beyond its written end date.
And why would he? The whole world was his oyster.
‘Here we go,’ Patrick said quietly after we’d walked up two flights of stairs and he’d unlocked a door with a large 23 on it. ‘Home sweet home.’
He might call it home sweet home, but it certainly didn’t feel very homely.
Honestly, the hallway had hotel lobby vibes more than anything else.
There were no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks, no half-mangled umbrella by the door or myriad coats hanging up. It almost felt like no one lived here.
It also wasn’t the palatial cavern that I had kind of assumed it would be.
From where I was standing, as Patrick closed the door behind us, the hallway opened up into a kitchen–lounge thing, there was a bathroom just to my right, and then two other doors. Bedrooms, right?
That was it. No walk-in wardrobe, plunge pool or snooker table, like I always assumed a pop star’s home would have.
No cinema. No bar.
Just … a flat.
I mean, obviously not just a flat. The lights came on automatically and music started playing in the sitting room; there was definitely a sword – a sword?
– mounted on the wall that I could see through the open doorway, and the furnishings were so high-end that I was a little worried about staining the upholstery with the lingering grease from the fried chicken we’d been eating earlier.
I wiped my hands discreetly on my sundress.
‘So, I guess this is the bachelor pad,’ I said lightly as Patrick dropped his keys into a bowl that sat on the carpet by the door.
‘Yeah.’
‘Where’s the cinema, and the pool table, and the built-in bar?’ I raised one solitary eyebrow.
Patrick’s laughter filled the space and, instantly, the room felt more alive. ‘What, not meeting your high standards?’ he asked.
I grinned back. ‘Well, you just keep surprising me. I was expecting your place to be more of a –’ I gesticulated, looking for the right word. Patrick continued laughing. ‘I thought it would be more bachelor pad-like, I guess.’
But I shouldn’t have been surprised. All this time I’d spent with Patrick had proven he wasn’t the playboy, ‘pop star gone wild’ type. At least, not any more. Not for a long time.
He shrugged, half-self-deprecating and half-pleased. ‘Well, sorry to disappoint. If I’d known you had such high expectations, I would’ve made sure to get a hot tub built into the living room. Or maybe I should have gone full Vegas and found a tiger?’
I chuckled before letting a peaceful silence settle over us.
Here, the two of us … It was the first time we’d actually been alone. Properly alone. Somewhere we couldn’t be interrupted.
I swallowed as we stood, unmoving, in the hallway.
Two doors. Two bedrooms.
Which one was Patrick going to suggest that I sleep in?
‘I guess –’
‘Should we –’
Our laughter felt muffled in the hallway. ‘Sorry.’
‘Nah, it’s OK.’ Patrick shrugged his coat off and held out his hand for mine. ‘What were you going to say?’
What was I going to say? I could hardly think. There were quite literally two doors, two options ahead of me, and I wasn’t sure, not really, which I wanted.
Well, I knew which I wanted – but I didn’t know what Patrick wanted. What he’d wanted when he invited me round.
If he showed me into the spare bedroom, I tried to tell myself, that was nothing – nothing – to do with how he felt about me.
It was the responsible thing to do. The respectful thing to do. After all, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him just assuming I would fall into bed with him – though after our photo booth moment, maybe I shouldn’t be that surprised.
And it shouldn’t matter, should it?
This thing between us might not have been fake any more, but it wasn’t real either. We weren’t together in any meaningful way.
But it meant something to me. He meant something to me. Sometimes Patrick felt like the realest part of my life, the only part in colour, the only part with a soundtrack. The brightest part of my life I really loved.
Patrick stepped forward as I handed him my jacket. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I could never have imagined this – you – happening all because of Butterflies and a stupid dating contract.’
I grinned. ‘You know, I think we’re a bit beyond the contract.’
‘Oh, Jessy. We are way beyond it now.’ Patrick’s voice was low, and he couldn’t know how he was making my whole body thrum.
‘And it doesn’t matter what the internet thinks, or the paps, or any of them.
We know the truth. We know that this is real,’ he whispered, his eyes darkening as they flickered over my face. ‘That we do care about each other.’
My lungs struggled to take a breath. ‘I thought – when –’
My stomach fluttered. I couldn’t believe I was hearing the words I’d been longing for.
‘Since the tattoos.’ Patrick smiled ruefully. ‘Or maybe before that. But that was when I really knew, for definite, that I didn’t want to lose you. Not for anything.’
Overwhelming joy burst though me as I laughed, reaching out for his hand, hating even the tiny distance between us. ‘I thought – I thought maybe the way you felt about it was all in my head! But the way you look at me sometimes –’
‘Can you blame me? Damn, Jessy, you’re beautiful.’ Patrick’s voice sizzled through me, lifting my spirits, burning my affection for him into my heart like a tattoo. ‘And you’re clever. And you’re kind.’
I couldn’t bear it any more, not being in his arms. I stepped into his embrace and pressed a swift kiss on his lips. ‘I’m not the only one. Clever fingers.’
His groan was enough to propel me to kiss him again, the heat flowing through us one that I recognized and so desperately wanted to experience again.
Who wouldn’t?
The kiss deepened. I needed his hands on me, everywhere. And I needed us naked, like, yesterday.
‘Come on,’ Patrick muttered against my lips, pulling me towards the nearest door.
His bedroom was as sparse as the hall. It had a bed, untidy duvet and three pillows scattered across the top, and a small bedside table with a lamp without a bulb.
But none of that mattered to me.
It had a bed.
‘God, Jessy.’ Patrick panted, like we’d been doing more than just kissing. ‘Do you have any idea how mad you’ve been driving me?’
He pressed fluttering kisses along my shoulder before he lifted the hem of my sundress and pulled it over my head.
There I stood, in nothing but my pants. The delicate bandage covering my tattoo was so small I could barely feel it –
But then I couldn’t feel anything, save heat and longing and need as I stood before Patrick Tetlow, my celeb-crush-turned-fake-boyfriend, almost completely naked.
Almost.
‘You know, I barely kept control of myself, when you were getting that done,’ Patrick said nonchalantly as he pulled his T-shirt over his head.
And I barely managed to keep control of myself as those perfectly sculpted abs were revealed. ‘What?’
‘When you were getting your tattoo – I wanted to drop to my knees there and then. Audience and all,’ he breathed, stepping closer to me and dipping his head to bring one of my nipples into his mouth.
Oh, fuck. The way his tongue swirled before biting –
The cry of need that escaped my lips was a strangled one, but it only seemed to spur Patrick on.
‘Fuck, Jessy, I need to be inside you,’ he muttered, kissing my lips hard as his fingers fumbled at his trouser belt.
Before long the offending items were off, and there we stood, naked save for our underwear.
‘I need you,’ I whispered, stepping forward and slipping my thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. ‘Right now.’
The way he groaned made me feel so fucking powerful – so powerful I didn’t hesitate to pull off the last of our clothes.
Holy fuck.
My mouth watered as I took him in, in full. I had never wanted anyone this badly.
Patrick stood there, all chiselled and almost glowing in the night. We hadn’t bothered putting a light on, or closing the curtains, and the amber streetlight poured through and lit him up like a piece of art.
And then there was the way he was looking at me.
‘You are gorgeous,’ Patrick breathed, his gaze raking over my curves and dimples. ‘I don’t know how I’ve managed to go this long without –’
‘I don’t know how you’re going this long without it now,’ I said teasingly, grabbing his hand and pulling us on to the bed. ‘I was promised sex, so what are you going to do about it?’
Excitement drummed through me as I laid myself down on Patrick’s bed and looked up at him.
This was it. This was the moment that I lost myself to him.