Girl Next Door - The Complete Series (17 page)

We both groaned. When Patrick stretched out on top of me, I realized what was happening and I froze. What in the hell was I doing? I wondered what had happened to my resolve to stay away from him. Groping his cock through his jeans and trying to stick my tongue down his throat was the exact opposite of keeping my distance. I tore my mouth away from Patrick’s and shoved at his shoulders with my hands.

“Patrick, stop.” His mouth bit gently at my neck and I gasped. My voice got louder. “Patrick, please stop.”

My words must have finally penetrated. He pulled back a little to look into my eyes. Apparently, my poker face needed a lot of work because he knew that I was going to stop this crazy, insane
thing
that was happening. He also wasn’t happy. Patrick’s jaw tightened, but he let me push him back another couple of inches.

“I can’t do this, Patrick. It’s way too fast and intense.” I swallowed. “I’m not comfortable and I’m not ready. Please, just slow down and give me a little breathing room.”

He sighed, but he also seemed to sense that I was telling the truth, well, half the truth. I intended to slow down so much that we came to a full stop, and perhaps even reversed. As for breathing room, I seriously considered getting Nat’s locks changed, but I didn’t think she would thank me for that when she and Aidan got back from their honeymoon.

Patrick handed me my camisole and I tugged it over my head quickly. He stood, grimaced, and adjusted his erection in his pants. I wanted to feel sorry for him, but, in a perverse way, I was also amused. He looked so uncomfortable and even adorable. Still, he was going to stop. That impressed me. Grabbing my hand, Patrick tugged me to my feet and dragged me toward the front door.

He stopped in front of the door and looked down at me. “I’m going home to take a cold shower.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say. He grinned down at me.

“But, I do want to see you tomorrow.”

Okay, this was not giving me breathing room or slowing down. I opened my mouth, but Patrick beat me to the punch.

“No fooling around, we’ll eat, maybe hang out and watch some TV.” He lifted his hands up, palms facing me, like he was under arrest. “These hands and these lips will remain a safe distance away.”

I didn’t want to find him amusing, but he really was. I nodded again and smiled.

Patrick did the nose tap thing again, but followed it by brushing his fingertip across my lower lip. I felt that touch zip down my entire torso. I was in deep shit. I didn’t want to want him, but it seemed my body was in charge.

“See you tomorrow, Cat. Lock up behind me, okay?”

I nodded, shut the door behind him, and threw the deadbolt. Then I leaned my forehead against the door and sighed. Deep, deep, shit. I wondered what I could find to do tomorrow to try and avoid him again.

The next day he showed up with steaks. He actually made dinner for me. He grilled corn, steak, and potatoes and it was delicious. Not only was the food good, so was the company. Patrick told stories about the trouble he and Aidan got into as children. I made note of a few to share with Nat later. I was pretty sure Aidan hadn’t told them to her because of their embarrassing content and I was also pretty sure she would find them hilarious and tease him relentlessly. Still, he was true to his word, he kept his hands and his mouth to himself. I tried not to be disappointed. I failed.

It was the next day, though, that something very interesting occurred. After work, I went grocery shopping before I went home. I had just pulled up in front of Nat and Aidan’s house and headed up the front sidewalk with my bags when Patrick called out to me.

“Hey, Cat. Wait just a sec.”

I stopped and waited, watching him stride across the yard toward me. Damn, he was pretty. He had just taken the grocery bags out of my hands when I saw an adorable blue car pull up next door, in front of his house. I gestured behind him and he turned to look. We watched as his ex-fiancee, Anya, slid out of the car and swayed across the yard to us. She was dressed in a short, flirty skirt, a snug tank top, and wedge sandals. Her hair was loose and flowed down her back, almost to her waist. She looked feminine and stylish.

“Rick, can I talk to you for a minute?” Her voice was soft and gentle.

I was still dressed in my scrubs from my shift at the hospital. I’d just spent the last twelve hours in physical therapy sessions with patients. My make-up was long since rubbed off and my hair was bundled on top of my head in a messy bun. I felt like an enormous frump next to Anya. I stepped away, intent on going into the house and leaving them alone.

“I’ll just go on in. I’m exhausted,” I said.

Patrick grabbed my hand before I made it even a step away. “No, that’s okay, Cat.”

I gave him a pointed look and pulled my hand away. “It’s fine, Patrick. I’m tired and this is between you and Anya.”

She smiled at me gratefully. I grabbed my grocery bags from Patrick and headed into the house.

“What’s up, Anya?” he asked. I didn’t hear her response as I walked up the steps and into the house.

I went into the house, put away the groceries, and made a huge pitcher of margaritas. I was sprawled on the couch on my back with a glass in one hand when Patrick came through the door. I twisted my head around on the arm of the couch to look at him. He didn’t look happy. He disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared through the doorway with his own margarita.

Patrick flopped down in the chair next to the couch where my head rested. His face looked tired.

I really hated myself for this, but I had to ask. “Are you going to be okay?”

He glanced at me and took a healthy gulp of his drink. “Yeah. I’m okay. This shit is just getting old.”

My brows lowered as I continued to stare at him. Anya seemed like a very sweet woman. I realized that it took two people to screw up a relationship, but she seemed like she was perfect for him. Sure things hadn’t worked out, but that didn’t mean he should speak about her that way. I didn’t say anything, just watched him.

He sighed. “Don’t look at me that way, Cat. I’ve tried everything. I’m nice to her but I also keep my distance. I don’t want to encourage her. I cared about her, even loved her, for a long time. Now, I don’t have those feelings for her but she can’t seem to let go.”

I was curious. I didn’t know a lot about Patrick’s relationship with Anya, just that they had been together for several years, been on-and-off again for a while, before finally breaking up for good not long after Aidan and Nat got engaged.

“Why don’t you have feelings for her anymore?”

He stared into his glass for a few moments. “Anya is sweet, like you said, but she’s also fragile. She doesn’t have the life skills to take care of herself. I didn’t mind taking care of her. I even liked it at first. Still, there was something missing. I always had to walk on eggshells because she’s so sensitive and nonconfrontational. We never fought. If I got upset, she would just freeze up, freeze me out. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

I stared at him in surprise. Non-confrontational? Showing up uninvited to his home wasn’t exactly something a shy, retiring woman would do. Apparently Patrick needed a refresher on passive-aggressive behavior. The way she touched him at the engagement party and acted today said it all. She might not be a screaming bitch, but she wasn’t completely defenseless. Still, I knew exactly how he felt about her ability to freeze him out. My personality was strong and many of my boyfriends had been unable to deal. Patrick had the same problem in his relationship with Anya.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I understand how that feels.” I also understood that he was oblivious to all the little gestures she made to mark him as her territory. I let it slide. He seemed unsettled and I didn’t want to make it worse.

A few really sweet men had run from me and my sharp tongue. Still, if she was that sweet, why would he be the one to leave, rather than Anya?

“I don’t understand why you left her, Patrick. She sounds like a wonderful partner.”

He finished off his margarita and set the glass on the side table. “She is a wonderful woman. It’s just that,” he paused, “I need to be challenged. I need a woman who will call me on my bullshit instead of cowering every time I get the least bit upset. It wasn’t fair to either of us to settle. We just didn’t fit. One day, she’ll realize it and be glad I broke things off. I’m just sorry that I have to keep hurting her because she won’t let go”

I pondered that a moment and let it go. I really thought that Anya was trying a little too hard to reconcile. Hell, what did I know? I couldn’t be a sweet woman unless I moved to Stepford and had a “procedure”.

However, it would be a mistake to sympathize with Patrick. I was struggling to keep some distance between us, and knowing that he dealt with a lot of the same shit I did in relationships would not help me to that. Time to change the subject. Well, after one question.

“Why does she call you Rick?”

Patrick grunted a little. “She liked it better than Patrick. She said it sounded more sophisticated, or something like that. I didn’t mind at first because it seemed special that she was the only one who called me that. In the end, though, it bugged the crap out of me.”

I nodded. I didn’t see how Rick was more sophisticated, but that was Anya’s opinion and she was entitled to it.

I took another big swallow of margarita. “So, what did you want to talk to me about before Anya came over?”

His serious expression morphed into a grin. “There’s a horror double feature tonight. I wanted to see if you’d like to go.”

I finished off my margarita and set the glass down with a thud. “Why didn’t you mention it earlier? When does it start?”

I ignored the rational part of my brain that whispered in my ear, telling me that I wasn’t sticking to my decision to stay away from Patrick.

Patrick’s smile widened. “Don’t worry we’ve got plenty of time. We even have time to grab dinner, if you’re hungry.”

My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. “Awesome, where are you taking me?” I was heading out of the kitchen toward the stairs. “Oh, and you do know you’re buying me popcorn
and
candy, right?”

I skipped up the steps and heard Patrick laugh behind me. Twenty minutes later, I bounced back down the steps, my hair pulled back into a high ponytail and dressed in a denim miniskirt and a blousy sleeveless top. I had slid my feet into a pair of high wedges. I was barely five-two, well, really more like five-one. I needed the extra four inches of height the wedges gave me, especially since Patrick had to be at least six feet tall, maybe even an inch or two over. I came downstairs and found Patrick on the sofa in the living room, watching TV. I did a double take. He was watching Food Network. He flicked off the TV and stood.

“That was quick,” he said. He gave me a once over. “Nice skirt. Does it come any smaller?”

I flipped him the bird for his sarcasm. “Everything important is covered, but, if I wish, I can let my ass cheeks hang out if I want, Daddy Dearest. Why don’t you focus on your cooking shows?”

He chuckled. “Fine, but I won’t protect you from any perverts who decide that skirt is an invitation.”

I turned and went to grab my purse off the foyer table. “That’s not very fatherly of you, Patrick.”

I heard him mutter something, and glanced over my shoulder. He was watching me from the doorway, his hands jammed into his pockets. I could have sworn he’d said, “Damn straight I’m not your father.”

Deciding I was hearing things, I threw my purse over my shoulder. “You’re driving, Daddy-O.”

Patrick scowled at me and yanked his keys out of his pocket. Taking pity on him, I pulled the keys to my Camaro out of my bag. “No, we’re taking my car. There’s no way I can get up into your Jeep in this skirt.”

His eyes lit up when I tossed him the keys. “I see the benefits of your wardrobe.”

I laughed and followed him out the front door. His odd bad mood was broken and he laughed and joked while we ate dinner at one of my favorite Cajun restaurants. When I ate a particularly spicy bite and started tearing up and sweating, Patrick laughed so hard he was almost crying along with me. I had to ask for a glass of milk to put out the fire because the heat was so bad. To punish him, I ordered dessert and made sure to leave the table before the bill came. That’s what the jerk got for laughing at me.

I felt a little guilty afterwards, so I paid for our movie tickets. Well, I tried. Patrick glowered at me and growled until I put my wallet away. No longer feeling guilty for making him pay for dinner, I proceeded to order popcorn, candy, and a drink from the concession stand. After the meal I’d just eaten, I doubted I could put away half of it, but I ordered it anyway out of pure spite.

Barely fifteen minutes into the first movie, I was already clutching Patrick’s arm in a death grip. By the end of the movie, well, we were practically sharing our skin and he was silently laughing at me. I knew that there was no way I’d be sleeping soundly that night, and maybe not for the rest of the week. I made him get me a refill on my soda and made a quick trip to the bathroom between films. The second movie in the double feature was more suspenseful and frightening than the first. I tried, I really did, to keep my hands to myself, but I was so freaked out that I was burrowed under Patrick’s arm, watching the screen out of the corner of one eye, and I didn’t remember scooting that close to him.