shit.
22:15 Patrick: Factors?
22:16 Andy: Yes
22:17 Andy: I’ll tell you Friday night
22:18 Patrick: You’re not giving me much
22:20 Andy: I’ve given you quite a bit
22:22 Andy: Probably too much
22:23 Patrick: I don’t think so
22:26 Andy: That’s just it, Patrick
22:30 Andy: I get the sense that there will never be enough for you
Chapter Ten
ANDY
M ore than you think you can.
More than you think you can.
Patrick’s words echoed over the throbbing techno mix, leaving me elated and edgy. I couldn’t shake them last night, and they lingered in the back of my thoughts. I spent most of the day distracted and a couple steps behind.
A glance at our table informed me that Jess and Marley were deep in discussion—some drama at the dentists’ office where they worked as hygienists had them and a few of their co-workers fired up tonight.
A quick drink was all I signed up for, not a late night out. It was easier for them—their offices didn’t open until nine, while I was checking out my third jobsite of the day by that time. I didn’t have the endurance for weeknight partying anymore, and figuring out how to back away from their drinking and drama routine was growing more crucial.
I edged closer to the speakers to drown out my thoughts, dancing with my companion for the evening: a limey gimlet.
The songs started blurring together and my muscles loosened. The combined effects of vodka and dancing made everything a little more mellow, and I didn’t protest the hands that landed on my hips.
“Your friends have terrible taste in bars,” a voice— Patrick’s voice —rasped against my ear, and I actually moaned in delight.
I didn’t dare look over my shoulder. I wanted to know why he was here, how he found me, and what he wanted, but those questions were going to wait. I needed to enjoy the way we fit together first. He enveloped me, his body curling around mine, wrapping me in sinewy muscle. Long fingers mapped my pelvis, pressing and pulling with the rhythm.
“And you were wandering around Lansdowne Street on a Thursday night, looking for overpriced drinks?”
“Something like that,” he murmured. “Those texts on your screen are hard to miss sometimes. And then you looked up the reviews for this place when we were stuck in traffic. I…I couldn’t stay away. I should, but…here I am.”
“I never told you to stay away.”
“You shouldn’t have to, Andy.”
Patrick’s lips brushed across the nape of my neck, and I hoped the music swallowed my guttural sigh. Or maybe I wanted him to hear, to know what he did to me. His fingers pried the glass from my hand and he studied the melting ice.
“My therapist,” I murmured, glancing over my shoulder for the first time. I smiled at his wrinkled brow. “Vodka. She keeps me in line. Usually.”
Patrick set the glass on a passing waiter’s tray. With a flick of his wrist, he spun me around and reclaimed his place on my hips.
“Running a couple miles along the Charles usually does it for me,” he said, ducking to my ear. “But it doesn’t seem like anything’s working for us right now.”
I shook my head. My eyes dropped to his lips and the pale freckles there. Where else would I find freckles? “There’s always tequila.”
“No,” he whispered, threading his hands through my hair. “There’s a much better solution.”
Stretching up on my toes, I captured Patrick’s lips as a growl rattled in his throat. It wasn’t like other first kisses. There was no hesitation, no patient exploration. This was the deep end. He knew what he was doing, and it was clear he intended to teach me something.
A distant voice reminded me that he was my boss, and this type of lesson from Patrick meant our professional relationship—the same professional relationship I dreamt of for years —was changing forever.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I whispered, our mouths a breath apart.
“Yeah,” Patrick murmured, his hands moving over my hair and
22:15 Patrick: Factors?
22:16 Andy: Yes
22:17 Andy: I’ll tell you Friday night
22:18 Patrick: You’re not giving me much
22:20 Andy: I’ve given you quite a bit
22:22 Andy: Probably too much
22:23 Patrick: I don’t think so
22:26 Andy: That’s just it, Patrick
22:30 Andy: I get the sense that there will never be enough for you
Chapter Ten
ANDY
M ore than you think you can.
More than you think you can.
Patrick’s words echoed over the throbbing techno mix, leaving me elated and edgy. I couldn’t shake them last night, and they lingered in the back of my thoughts. I spent most of the day distracted and a couple steps behind.
A glance at our table informed me that Jess and Marley were deep in discussion—some drama at the dentists’ office where they worked as hygienists had them and a few of their co-workers fired up tonight.
A quick drink was all I signed up for, not a late night out. It was easier for them—their offices didn’t open until nine, while I was checking out my third jobsite of the day by that time. I didn’t have the endurance for weeknight partying anymore, and figuring out how to back away from their drinking and drama routine was growing more crucial.
I edged closer to the speakers to drown out my thoughts, dancing with my companion for the evening: a limey gimlet.
The songs started blurring together and my muscles loosened. The combined effects of vodka and dancing made everything a little more mellow, and I didn’t protest the hands that landed on my hips.
“Your friends have terrible taste in bars,” a voice— Patrick’s voice —rasped against my ear, and I actually moaned in delight.
I didn’t dare look over my shoulder. I wanted to know why he was here, how he found me, and what he wanted, but those questions were going to wait. I needed to enjoy the way we fit together first. He enveloped me, his body curling around mine, wrapping me in sinewy muscle. Long fingers mapped my pelvis, pressing and pulling with the rhythm.
“And you were wandering around Lansdowne Street on a Thursday night, looking for overpriced drinks?”
“Something like that,” he murmured. “Those texts on your screen are hard to miss sometimes. And then you looked up the reviews for this place when we were stuck in traffic. I…I couldn’t stay away. I should, but…here I am.”
“I never told you to stay away.”
“You shouldn’t have to, Andy.”
Patrick’s lips brushed across the nape of my neck, and I hoped the music swallowed my guttural sigh. Or maybe I wanted him to hear, to know what he did to me. His fingers pried the glass from my hand and he studied the melting ice.
“My therapist,” I murmured, glancing over my shoulder for the first time. I smiled at his wrinkled brow. “Vodka. She keeps me in line. Usually.”
Patrick set the glass on a passing waiter’s tray. With a flick of his wrist, he spun me around and reclaimed his place on my hips.
“Running a couple miles along the Charles usually does it for me,” he said, ducking to my ear. “But it doesn’t seem like anything’s working for us right now.”
I shook my head. My eyes dropped to his lips and the pale freckles there. Where else would I find freckles? “There’s always tequila.”
“No,” he whispered, threading his hands through my hair. “There’s a much better solution.”
Stretching up on my toes, I captured Patrick’s lips as a growl rattled in his throat. It wasn’t like other first kisses. There was no hesitation, no patient exploration. This was the deep end. He knew what he was doing, and it was clear he intended to teach me something.
A distant voice reminded me that he was my boss, and this type of lesson from Patrick meant our professional relationship—the same professional relationship I dreamt of for years —was changing forever.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I whispered, our mouths a breath apart.
“Yeah,” Patrick murmured, his hands moving over my hair and
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