Page 28 of Grift

“What about you? Any heartbroken exes I need to kill?” He’s smiling, but I notice he’s flexing his hands into fists.

“I haven’t dated anyone in a very long time.”

His interest is piqued.

“How long?”

“If you don’t count an awkward lunch date or bad conversation and a beer that ended with a handshake, it’s been basically since college.”

Shock gives way to something else on his face, but he just nods.

“When’s the last time you had sex?” My whole body burns as he asks the question, anticipation and embarrassment at being so open. So seen.

“It’s been years,” I admit finally. “Also since college, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” There’s a tone in his voice as he plays the word back to me. Why did I say that?

He leans back in the chair, taking a sip of his whiskey and gives me a wolfish smile.

“What do you want tonight, Jessica? Tell me.”

My mind races, a whirlwind of anxiety and desire and embarrassment. A week ago, I just wanted my life to go back to the way that it was. But today, in this bed, staring at this attractive man and contemplating what could happen between us I’m surprised to find the answer is very different.

Patrick stands up, coming to sit on the bed again. I swallow hard. He traces the skin from my knee to my ankle with a single finger, the least erotic zone on the human body. Why am I starting to shake at his touch?

“You tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you,” his eyes are heavy with desire.

Tit for tat. The thought makes me smile, the awful phrase having an even more inappropriate meaning in the moment. His shoulders are so broad, stretching the white dress shirt to its limits. I see the tattoo peaking from the edge of the shirt sleeve where it’s rolled up.

“I want to see your tattoo,” I blurt out.

“Which one?”

My cheeks and neck and ears turn even pinker, and he gives me a wicked grin then. I point to the one at his wrist and he nods approvingly. But my mind wonders what other parts of Patrick Carney’s canvas are decorated with tattoos.

“Very good.”

Holding my gaze, he stands up and unbuttons his shirt until it falls open revealing a flat hard stomach and a broad muscled chest. There’s the kind of V that cuts a line below his belt, further underscoring how fit he his and directing my attention down. I swallow hard as he slides the shirt off down to reveal arms corded with muscle, both tattooed with intricate designs that run from shoulder to wrist.

“I want you to touch me,” he holds out his arm and I lightly draw my hand down his arm. Muscle ripples beneath my skin. When my fingers skim his hot skin, his whole body stiffens and those eyes go darker still. There’s something in the way that he’s looking at me, and seeing his clear, naked desire there leaves me emboldened. It’s almost like here, in this space, I’m not myself.

I’m someone else, and whatever happens here won’t matter tomorrow.

“What do you want, Jessica?” My name is a caress on his lips. It’s like I drank too much, except that I’m completely sober. I didn’t even touch the whiskey he’d brought me, although I do after I say the next words.

“Teach me what you like.”

Patrick stands up, completely naked now except for his pants. Jesus. Maybe I spend too much time with the wrong kind of man because his strong muscles, hard lines and rugged features are so different than the academics I work with or the men that I meet through my family. He’s raw, animalistic, and drawing me in in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“Are you a good student?”

“I have a doctorate. I’m a fucking expert at learning.” The words are out before I can stop myself. He gives a deep laugh, but there’s an edge to it that holds a dark promise.

“Will you do what I tell you?” There it is again, the need for assent. The out. He’s always giving me an out. But tonight, I just don’t want to take it.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Strip for me.”

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