Page 52 of Strawberry Kisses

Chapter Twenty-Three

Connor

I sulked all the way home.

I was probably acting like a brat, but in my defence—actually, I didn’t really have a defence. I was just being a sulky child. It hurt though. I knew the routine hadn’t been my best ever, but I’d still put in a hundred percent because I always did. And to add insult to injury, Levi had made the cut. Not that I thought Levi was a worse dancer than I was, he wasn’t, but it still sucked because we were pretty much at the same level. I didn’t get why he’d made it and I hadn’t. I’d made it before. I’d even won a couple of years ago. But apparently it wasn’t going to be me this year. It was going to be Levi instead.

I’d known Levi for five years. I’d first met him backstage at a pole competition in Leeds. We’d sat next to each other in the green room because we were both in the same category, and we’d started chatting. It had been mostly polite small talk at first, but after we’d both performed, we’d kept going. We had to sit backstage until everyone in our section had performed, and it was a big section. We’d just clicked. We liked similar styles of dance and had similar backgrounds, although his was in ballroom while mine was in ballet. Plus, we’d been the only two male competitors, so it had been nice to find someone who understood what that was like. I’d won that section, and Levi had come in second.

We’d kept in touch after that, and when he’d floated the idea of setting up his own dance school past me, I’d encouraged him and ultimately ended up moving to help him. We trained together, bitched together, and always supported each other.

But this one stung.

I knew I shouldn’t feel jealous because Levi had worked really hard on his routine, but a little insidious voice in my head had started whispering that if I couldn’t even get into the East Midlands Championships, there was no way in hell I was making it into Chrome Stars. I should just give up now.

I pushed the voice away. I had no room for those thoughts, and they weren’t productive at all.

There was always room for improvement, no matter how good you were. If the judges didn’t think my routine was good enough, then it wasn’t good enough. I needed to get back some of the toughness from my teenage ballet days. Things had been cutthroat at times, and there’d been numerous occasions when I hadn’t gotten the roles I’d wanted. Although sometimes that might have been because I’d slightly overestimated my abilities. And sometimes it was never going to work because the principal girl was half a foot taller than me, and it didn’t matter how strong I was.

Being short sucked ass sometimes, but I’d never let it get me down. I’d just kept working. My teachers had been tough but fair. Well, most of them anyway.

But this had never happened in pole, and it caught me off guard. I strongly suspected everything from this weekend had me feeling all sorts of vulnerable, and that was probably making me feel worse. I’d get over it by tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday. After all, if I acted like a brat for too long, then Levi was bound to notice, and I didn’t want him feeling guilty for something that wasn’t his fault.

For now though, poor Patrick had drawn the short straw and had to put up with my salty, mardy ass all the way back home. He was very good about it though, leaving me to my own devices or occasionally chatting about random things like whether we thought President Whiskers would forgive him for going away for the weekend.

By the time we got back to Nottingham, it was early afternoon, and as we drove towards the city, I suddenly had a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. I assumed Patrick was going to drop me off at my flat before going home, but I didn’t really feel like being alone. I knew it was selfish, but I wasn’t ready for the weekend to end, and with everything that had happened, including this morning’s shitty news, I just wanted to stay with him for a little while longer. I wanted to keep one good thing going.

“Can I… Are you… Were you…?” No matter how I tried to start the sentence I couldn’t find the words I wanted.

“Do you want to come back to mine for a bit?” Patrick asked. Apparently he’d suddenly become a mind reader. “I could make us some late lunch, and we could just chill for the afternoon. I can take you home later.”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, babe.” I loved how he knew what I needed without me having to ask for it. Patrick seemed to know that I hated being vulnerable, and that I was useless at asking for things for myself. So he didn’t make me.

“I know I’ve got some cheese, and there’s bread in the freezer. Are you okay with cheese and beans on toast?”

“Honestly, that sounds like the best plan right now.” Comfort food for the win. There was still some of the barmbrack left. And if all else failed, I’d order some ice cream on Deliveroo. I was going to end my long weekend of indulgence with yet more indulgence. I deserved it.

We pulled up outside Patrick’s house. I left my suitcase in the car and helped Patrick unload his bag and the stuff from Aoife into the house. As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, I heard the jet-engine purring of Whiskey, who sauntered straight past Patrick to wind himself around my legs.

“Hey, baby. Are you pleased to see me?” I reached down to rub him gently behind the ears. He meowed loudly at me before resuming his purring. “I’ll take that as a yes then. You’re a smart boy.”

Behind me, I heard Patrick chuckling. “You’d think he hadn’t been fed in four days. You’re lying, Mr. President. I know Cathy from next door came in to feed you twice a day. I have proof.”

“Awww, but he’s starved and sad. Just like me.”

“Is that a hint?”

“Maaaaybe.” I smiled at him, and Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Okay, yes. It’s a humongous hint, but I am hungry and heartbroken, so please feed me.”

“Let me just put this case upstairs then I’ll make something.”

“You spoil me.”

“I know.” As he walked past me, he pulled me close and pressed a quick kiss to my mouth. It was a sudden, sweet gesture that left me reeling. I ran my fingers across my lips like I wasn’t sure what had just happened, staring at the door to the living room where Patrick had suddenly vanished. I thought we’d stop that now that we were home, but maybe I was wrong.

There’d been a gentle casualness to the kiss, almost like it was an everyday thing that he hadn’t even thought of. It was almost relationshipy. But not new relationshipy. Established, comfortable relationshipy. The sort I’d always craved but had never seemed to find.

Patrick was back before I could get too lost in my thoughts, and I perched on the side while he made lunch. We ate at the kitchen table with Whiskey staring at us, hoping one of us would slip him something. I wasn’t even sure he’d want beans on toast, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

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