CHAPTER NINE
“Ugh,” I say.
“What is it?” Patrick asks.
“It’s Matthews.” I read his text.
MATHEWS: Just spoke with Mason. Let’s talk.
“He spoke to our boss and wants to talk,” I say.
“Want to do that now? I’m a believer in grabbing things by the balls.”
“Really? You haven’t grabbed me by the balls yet.”
His eyebrow raises and he flashes a devilish smile. “Are you into that?”
My phone goes off again.
“You should take that,” Patrick says. “Consider this round one of the I’m-there-for-you game.”
I smile at him. I don’t want to call Matthews but I do like Patrick’s thinking. At the same time, I hate the idea that this is happening during our time together.
The phone goes off again, this time ringing.
“Sure you don’t mind if I take this?”
He gives me a look that says answer the damn phone already, so I step out to take the call.
I’ve barely said hello when Matthews starts going.
“I don’t know what happened back there,” Matthews said. “It was completely inappropriate of me and wrong on all counts. I’m a dick and an asshole and totally had that coming.”
I wonder for a moment if this is a joke.
“Yeah,” I say, “not everyday something like that happens.” I’m purposely vague not wanting to instigate things by rehashing the details of who did what.
“I’m stressed and sorry man, definitely not appropriate Team Awesome behavior.”
“Yeah, about that,” I start, “I talked to Mason—”
He cuts me off. “So did I,” he says. “I heard Team Awesome is no more. Again man, really sorry about that. I know my approach was all wrong and if I’m being honest, it was about what happened the other night. I felt like such an ass after what happened, this was petty revenge on my part.”
I wonder if there’s truly such a thing as having good sense knocked into you. Maybe it’s more like having the stupidity knocked out of you. At any rate, he continues on apologizing profusely.
I look in the window at Patrick, who I see is staring at me. His eyes widen and his eyebrows raise; his face asks is everything ok.
A smile takes over my face at the idea of him being concerned enough to be watching over me while I handle this. I give a thumbs up and he smiles.
“I’ve got my own death situation I’m dealing with,” Matthews says through the phone. “I don’t want to bring personal stuff into the office but my dad is sick and could die. I find myself doing lots of things out of the ordinary lately. I don’t know, the whole thing is…” He goes quiet.
I’m not sure what to say. If I’m honest, I don’t believe him. But if he’s telling the truth I’ll not only feel like the biggest asshole on earth, I’ll probably ruin any future karmic sympathy.
“It’s okay,” I say, “and I’m really sorry to hear about your dad.”
He doesn’t say anything else.
“Let’s just forget about today, at least for now. We both have a lot going on. Too much tension and testosterone,” I say.
“Thanks, man,” he says. “Just wanted to apologize and try to clear things up.”
“Apology accepted,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says, and then hurries to end the call.
“Everything okay?” Patrick asks.
“Yeah, I guess,” I say. “He says his dad is dying and that’s what was behind all of that.”
“Do you believe him?”
My silence answers the question. “I believe in the benefit of the doubt, I guess.”
“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” Patrick says. “When my dad died I was distraught,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay. Was a long time ago. You remember but life has to go on.”
“I don’t know what it would feel like to suffer such a loss,” I say. “My family isn’t close. At all.”
“I’m sorry,” Patrick says.
“Thanks,” I say, “but don’t be. I have Rachel and her family. That said, when Cuddles died it did send me into a loop. I lost an entire semester because of it and had to go to therapy and everything. The therapist said it was symbolic and a trigger for a lot of stuff.”
“So your cat was a catalyst.”
I smile. “Yeah, I guess so.”
The bill comes.
“Let me,” he says.
I snatch it and refuse. “I don’t think so,” I say. “I already owe you for dry cleaning—”
“—and house cleaning,” he adds.
“—yes, and that,” I say now mortified. “I owe you a lot already. Let me at least say thank you.”
He smiles. “You can also just say it, you don’t have to buy my gratitude.”
I smile at him, not sure why that turns me on. “Thank you,” I say. “And I’m still paying.”
We make our way into the street. “Up for dessert?” He asks.
“I’m watching my carbs,” I say.
“We just had pizza and champagne,” he says, “you should have told me.”
“I’m joking,” I say.
“Ha ha,” he says. He grabs me and holds me. I can feel his warmth around me and his excitement poking against me.
“Did I tell you how much humor and dessert turn me on?”
“No,” I say, “but, um, something else is telling me for you.”
He says, “oops,” but the way he grabs me and pulls me closer lets me know he obviously doesn’t mean it.
“So where are we having dessert?” I ask through a smile.
“My place?”
Now I’m the one having problems hiding my excitement.
“OK, this is fucking awesome.”
We’re back in his kitchen eating gelato, which is not to be confused with ice cream, or Italian ice for that matter. He’s adamant about his dessert, that’s for sure.
“Okay, so what’s the difference between the three?” I ask.
It’s not that I’m into ice cream or sweets, period; it’s just that I find his interest in it so…I don’t know, adorable?
“Gelato has less fat, sugar, and calories than ice cream. So if you were watching your figure for whatever reason, not that you need to, gelato is a nice treat.”
The analyst in me wants the exact figures but realizes it’s probably a turn-off.
“And what’s the difference between that and Italian ice? Or sorbet? Or –”
He cuts me off, putting a spoon of gelato right in front of me.
I open my mouth but he teases me with it, the spoon flying here and there as I try to anticipate its landing. It lands on my nose then my mouth.
“Oops,” he says. “Let me clean that up for you.”
He grabs a napkin and pulls me close to him. It seems he’s going to dab it with the napkin but instead he kisses me.
His tongue is cold and he tastes like sweetness. My tongue wants more of the way he tastes but he pulls back.
I look at him and laugh. He’s now got gelato on his nose, too.
He looks at me. “I like the flavor,” he says. “Yum.”
“That’s just a sample,” I say.
“I’m sold,” he says. “I want the entire package.”
It’s a wrestling match at the kitchen counter. Our tongues and bodies are the combatants. He grabs and pulls me closer as his mouth finds my neck. He kisses and bites it aggressively but gently. He’s like a lion, not biting for a kill, but in the thrill of copulation.
The touch of his bites and kisses along my neck send goose bumps up my spine and blood surging down below the waist. He holds me tight, limiting my movements, forcing me to surrender to his tongue.
“Confession,” he says between nibbles, “this is the dessert I had in mind.” He licks my neck. “Even better than gelato.”
It’s my turn to have a taste. I kiss and lick his neck. “Mmm,” I say. “Sweet,” lick, “salty,” lick. He moans, the sounds of which drive me even harder into his neck. I grab below and feel the stiffening effect on him.
He turns me back around. The move sparks a question. Who’s the dominant one here?
I like to think that I’m the one on top of things. I try to take control, but he overpowers me. This isn’t a problem, I like a challenge. That said, here I am being dominated by Patrick like a lion. I give in and allow him to take the lead. But my surrender is short lived, as there’s a sudden sound at the door.
“Hey,” I say, “door.”
“Ignore it,” he says, but I can’t.
Someone has a key and is about to come through.