Page 37 of Road Trip to Forever
Even when he’s pissed off, Patrick is infuriatingly kind.
Stops traffic for a family of ducks to cross the road kind.
Heats up a plate in the oven so my eggs stay warm kind.
Handwritten birthday cards to each one of his students kind.
Slipping a ten-dollar tip in the jar on the counter when he thinks I’m not looking kind, because that’s the man he is.
One in seven billion.
“Coming right up. Lola, it was great to meet you. When you want another round, you know where to find me.” Liam winks, adding fuel to the fire. He makes the fastest gin and tonic I’ve ever seen, and before I can blink, a full glass is on the counter.
“I don’t like that guy,” Patrick grumbles. He takes a sip and admits, “But he knows how to make a good drink.”
“You don’t even know the guy and you don’t like him?”
“I can tell he’s trouble.”
“Some people like trouble.”
“Shit, Lo. I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever was happening back there.”
“What did you think was happening back there?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Flirting?”
A laugh bubbles out of me and I pull him by the elbow from the bar to an alcove tucked away from the rest of the party. The secluded spot is quieter, and I can hear the clink of ice against glass as Patrick swirls his drink around four times like he always does. It helps itmarinate,he explained to me once, apparently a mixologist in a past life.
“Patrick,” I say. “I’m pretty sure he’s never watched a music video on MTV. He probably wants to name his kids Brayleigh or Huxon. Definitely not my type.”
“Huxon? There’s no way that’s a real name.”
“There’s a fifty-fifty chance it’s a character fromThe Lord of the Rings.”
“Stop. I did not make you watch the entire trilogy plusThe Hobbitfilms in twenty-four hours for you to disrespect Tolkien like that. Take it back.”
“Fine.” I stick out my tongue. “Please accept my heartfelt apology. If you were Frodo and I was Sam, I’d go with you to Mordor.”
“Wow. With an iconic line like that, how could I not forgive you? Apology accepted,” Patrick says, turning to look at me.
A fog clears from his vision and it’s like he’s seeing me for the first time tonight. Like the last five minutes never happened. His eyes sweep down my body in a slow perusal, from my hair to the plunging neckline of the black dress that shows off a hint of cleavage. He keeps going to where the material stops halfway up my thigh, the rest of my legs bare.
When he reaches my feet and the pair of red heels pinching my toes, there’s a strangled noise, a sound made from the trenches of his chest. He drops his head back and lets out a soft, low groan.
Oh.
That’s nice.
I can barely move in this outfit, the stitching tight and the fabric borderline unbreathable, but I’d gladly contort my limbs and put the dress on for a second time if it means seeingthat lookon Patrick’s face again.
Tortured, anguished, and undone by the sight of me.
My conversation with the girls has been on repeat in my mind. I’ve been searching for an inkling, any insight into figuring out how Patrick feels about me. And how I feel abouthim, grappling with the idea that I might be overreacting to a small hint of attraction that’s entirely one-sided.
As I watch the bob of his throat, the way his eyes glaze over and how he licks his lips as if staring at me will quench eternal thirst and offer him salvation, I understand I’m not overreacting at all. It’s soobvioushow I’ve started to feel about him, as certain as the sky being blue and oxygen being necessary to survive.
I see it now.
