Chapter 4
4
Jaylen
One second Patrick is in front of me, eyes wide as I approach him for the second time tonight. The next...I'm looking up at him from his arms.
"Are you okay?" His lips are less than a foot away from mine. It would be so easy to close the distance.
But I can't. Not when I need to figure out if there can be anything between us. At least, anything more than friendship. Everything hinges on him spending more time with me.
"Hello, Jaylen." He shifts me until I'm upright, and takes a step back. My opportunity to kiss him faded away into reality. "You good? It looks like you missed a step."
"Sorry." I shake my head. "I'm not used to wearing heels."
I knew I shouldn't have let Hannah talk me into wearing these. I can count how many times I've worn heels, especially this high, since I started teaching.
She said it would make my legs look amazing and would draw Patrick's eyes like nothing else. Little does she know, she lied. He didn't pay attention to me at all when we were talking, and then he rushed outside for some unknown reason. Honestly, I thought he was going to bail on the whole reunion.
"Not exactly great for chasing kids on the playground, huh?" So, he has kept up with me. That's good to know. Not all hope is lost.
"You'd be correct. After the first couple of years, I stopped wearing even sandals. Rocks kept getting stuck under my feet. It's not the most pleasant feeling."
Realizing what I just said, I cover my face with my hands. The last thing Patrick wants to do is hear about my feet problems while monitoring recess.
His warm hand encircles my wrists and pulls my hands away before letting go. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I've known you most of my life, and your feet have never bothered me."
It's only then I've noticed the music has softened. Not completely off, but much lower than it was five minutes ago. I can feel the eyes of our classmates on my back, and I know they heard the comment about my feet.
Good Lord, can tonight get any more humiliating? "Um, thanks." How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?
Moving away from him, I take a step toward the door. It's my turn to run away. There's no way in hell I'm staying in here when most of the class, at least those in our proximity, heard our exchange.
Before I can go any further, he grabs my hand, stopping me in my tracks. The gesture, so normal in our past, feels heated now. Or maybe I'm choosing to see what I want instead of what is actually happening.
He pulls me toward him. His lips are mere inches from my ear. "Don't go. Let me buy you a drink."
I wait for the music to be loud before nodding. I already know this little incident will be what everyone is talking about when we leave. Plus, there's no way I'm trusting my voice won't shake with nerves if I speak right this second.
As much as I want to march out those doors, to my car, and act like none of this happened, I can't. He's actually showing some sort of interest in talking to me, and I can't pass that up. I want, no need , to know the man he is now. That will tell me if I should go forward with my plan or not.
He places his hand on the small of my back. It's warm through the thin fabric of my dress, and I want nothing more than to melt into him. To close the sliver of space between us. I don't, though. He may decide to take back his offer, and I can't let that happen.
We wind through the crowd. There's no need because they part for us as if we're royalty. I have a feeling most of them knew how he felt about me way back then. Apparently, I'm the only one who was oblivious.
Even though more people have shown up, there's space for us at the bar. His friends, and mine, have spread out just far enough to make sure we can squeeze in.
I don't miss the look his friends give him. Hannah winks at me and doesn't bother trying to hide it. Please let that have slipped Patrick's notice.
"Do you still like margaritas?" he asks as he places himself between me and Liam. A small bit of separation so it feels like we're by ourselves.
"Yes, but they've gotten better at making hurricanes."
"Like the ones they serve in The Quarter?"
"Not quite, but they are still good." I grin at the disgusted look on his face. His mouth and nose scrunched as if he smelled something foul. He's never been a huge fan of the drink.
"Is that what you want?"
A quick nod is my only response. I study his profile as he turns toward the bartender and orders our drinks. There's a confidence in him I don't remember seeing when we were teens.
He's also a lot more muscular than he was back then. No longer the slim boy who avoided getting tackled on the field. I didn't let myself appreciate him the way I would have liked when I first walked in.
The bartender slides our drinks across the counter. Mine catches on a nick in the wood and leans over. Patrick catches it before it falls to its side. Good thing, too. It would have landed all over me.
"Thanks," I take the glass as he hands it to me, "that would have been a disaster."
"Sometimes I swoop in and save the day." His grin is small and reminds me so much of the boy he was when we were teens.
"So, it's still beer for you?"
"Yep." He nods toward the drink in my hand. "Let's just say I learned liquor and I didn't get along when we were teens. I don't need a repeat of those decisions. Except for the sangria one of my coworkers makes."
"Tell me more." I'm a sucker for sweet drinks. I'll talk about whatever he wants as long as we keep the conversation going.
"I honestly don't know what she puts in it. But it sneaks up on you and packs a punch. One minute you're fine and the next...not so much."
"Sounds dangerous." I try to hide my wince at the fact he's had this other woman's drinks.
But he notices. "Her boyfriend is pretty funny after he's had two. Which you wouldn't expect from a guy who sings in a band."
"Wait. You know someone in a band?" How the hell does the town he lives in have cool things there? I don't think it's much bigger than here, but it might be.
"Yeah, they play at the bar sometimes. Lately they've been opening for Crooked Halo."
"Seriously?" It's probably a good thing I don't live there. I'd be fangirling.
"Yeah, they've played at Out of the Ashes, too. It's a long-convoluted story how it all started. But they are pretty cool. And they like my food."
No wonder he doesn't come home. I wouldn't either. "That's pretty amazing." I reach out to touch his arm. This time I don't pull away. "They'd be fools not to like your food."
"Thanks," he takes a sip of his drink, "what have you been up to?"
How am I supposed to live up to everything he's just said?