Page 11 of Strawberry Kisses

Chapter Six

Connor

This was madness. Sheer, irrevocable madness.

What the actual fuck had possessed me to say yes to this insane idea?

Oh, yes, maybe it was because I was head-over-fucking-heels for Patrick, and the idea of being his boyfriend, even if it was just for three days, was better than nothing. I had tried really, really fucking hard over the past twenty-four hours to forget that Patrick was gay. Honestly, I’d actually tried. Well, at least for the first couple of hours anyway.

After the initial shock had worn off, I’d tried to tell myself that just because Patrick was gay didn’t mean he suddenly had a neon sign floating about his head that said he was available. But I was still thinking about it two days later.

Maybe Patrick didn’t want to date. Maybe he wasn’t sexually or romantically inclined, although I had to admit that the non-romantic thing felt like a bit of a stretch given what I knew about Patrick. Then again, I knew better than to make assumptions about people. Enough people made them about me, and I knew how much they hurt.

Part of me wanted to be hurt that Patrick hadn’t told me before, but then I sagely remembered the advice of my other best friend, Taylor, who’d always reminded me that just because I was happy to be my own Pride parade and shout my gayness from the rooftops with a megaphone while throwing glitter at people, it didn’t mean that everyone else felt the same way. I realised I would never hold it against my beloved chef because that just wasn’t who I was as a person.

Still, a teeny-weeny part of me was still holding out hope that it might mean something.

Even if I didn’t ever see myself being Patrick’s type.

I would be the first one to admit I wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I was short, mouthy, and could kick most guys’ asses while wearing heels and not putting a hair out of place. I liked women’s jeans and pink T-shirts and sparkly Converse. I wore eight-inch heels, thigh-high boots, and tiny shorts while regularly throwing myself around a stripper pole. I had a better make-up collection than a lot of the women I knew. And I liked topping.

I knew I wasn’t most people’s thing. My entire twenty-eight years of life had shown me that. And if people didn’t want to date me because of it? Well, fuck that.

I was never going to be anyone else, and I refused to change who I was as a person just to make some dickhead happy. I’d tried it once, and I’d been fucking miserable for two weeks until I’d finally seen sense and kicked him to the curb. No cock was worth not wearing lipstick. Men could take me as they found me, or they could leave. Unfortunately, they always ended up choosing the second option. Sometimes it hurt more than others, but I always told myself that if they didn’t like who I was then they weren’t worth my time in the first place. My mum had always taught me that.

Patrick was the absolute opposite of me in so many ways. Where he was quiet and thoughtful, I was loud and had a tendency to look before I leapt. Patrick was organised, whereas I had the organisational skills of a headless chicken. Honestly, sometimes it surprised me that we were friends, not in a bad way, just in a how-on-earth-did-we-make-this-work way.

I couldn’t see Patrick wanting to date someone like me full-time. I was a handful, and I didn’t think that would be his style. If he even had one.

And yet, here I was, agreeing to pretend to be his boyfriend in front of his entire family because they’d decided we were together, and Patrick, being the adorable sausage that he was, hadn’t been able to tell them no. Although, from the sound of the conversation he’d described, I wondered how he’d managed to get a word in edgeways. Then again, my entire family consisted of exactly two people—me and my mum—so I didn’t really have any experience with big family conversations.

There was a knock on the front door of my flat that jolted me from my internal pacing. I hopped up from my place on the sofa. I knew exactly who it was, and I wanted to laugh.

“I’ve told you a million times to just come in,” I said, throwing the door open to reveal Patrick on the landing. “You have a key to the building. I don’t get why you don’t just let yourself in.”

“Well, it feels rude,” Patrick said with a little smile and a shrug. He followed me into the narrow hallway, slipping off his battered old trainers. “Thanks again for doing this.”

“It’s fine. Honestly.” I waved my hand dismissively, trying to pretend everything was, indeed, fine.

We flopped onto the sofa, and I grabbed the panda notebook and biro I’d left on the coffee table. We’d agreed there needed to be ground rules for the weekend and that we needed to lay out our expectations. I wasn’t sure if I was insisting on this to protect my heart or to encourage my feelings. After all, there was a chance I’d get to kiss Patrick, and I couldn’t resist that.

It might be the only chance I’d get.

“Did you want a drink or anything before we start?” I asked, tucking my feet under me.

“No, it’s fine. I had a cup of tea at home.”

“Good, good… okay… so.” I was stalling, and we both knew it. One of us had to take the first step. Time to pull on my Pleasers and stride out into the world. “Ground rules, I guess.”

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

“So… first rule? It’s just for this weekend, Friday to Monday, then we go back to being friends again.”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, just for the weekend.”

It almost hurt to write that on the page, but this was for my protection as much as anything else. I had to remember this was just temporary, otherwise I was going to end up getting hurt, and I’d had enough of that shit.

“Okay, um, rule two. We need to be honest with each other this weekend. Talk about things. Like if things make us uncomfortable.” Patrick looked confused, so I elaborated. “For example, let’s say we decide we’re okay with some minor PDA, but then one of us realises we’re not actually happy with it. We should tell the other person and agree there will be no hard feelings.”

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