Patrice's Passion

by Tasha Hart

  How could I be stupid enough to go and let myself go and fall in love with this guy? I never used that word with him—hell, I was scared to even admit it to myself. Only once or twice in my life have I been in love (or thought I was), and each time I wound up with my heart shattered into a million pieces.

  Somehow, I tricked myself into thinking this time would be different.

  Bzzz Bzzz

  My heart goes cold in my chest, and I start tingling all over. I snatch my phone and look at it, trying to keep my breath steady.

  You up?

  It’s Angela from the club. Fuck.

  Yeah. Can’t sleep.

  That sux. Me too, but I expect for different reasons—Haha.

  Why do men suck so bad? That feels a little overt, maybe even a little high school, but I send it.

  You’re gonna have to get past this whole Chase thing.

  It’s hard.

  I know, girl, but you got people you can lean on. Everyone at the club has got your back.

  That’s nice.

  Wow. “That’s nice?” Girl, can I call you?

  Sure.

  Leave it to Angela. This really isn’t the kind of thing to get into over text, and she saw right through me. As much as I don’t want to wallow, I can’t help it. And, it’ll be nice to have somebody to talk to.

  “Hey, Ange.”

  “Got that one on the first ring. You must be feeling lousy.”

  “Yeah,” I can’t manage to keep the late hour out of my voice. It’s funny how tired you can be and still be unable to sleep. But Angela sounds wired. “What’s got you up so late?”

  “You really don’t want to know. I don’t want to make you feel worse.”

  “Got it. A guy kept you up.”

  “Damn right, he did!” She lets out a shriek of laughter. “He just left. Brother could tear that ass up!”

  It stings a bit, but it’s nice to hear someone laugh. “Is it anyone I know?”

  “Are you kidding? I don’t do like that. Never have. I hate to say it, but I think that’s your real problem, Trice. You get all tied up in these assholes. Remember how bad you had it when Jason took off?”

  “Yeah.” It hurts to think back on. I was a complete mess. I smeared more mascara over that worthless piece of shit than he’ll deserve in his casket.

  “I know you do. And who had your back then?”

  “You.”

  “Oh, just me?” It sounds so much like an accusation that I snort out a laugh.

  “Okay, fine. All of you. Is that what you want me to say? You girls at the club worked overtime to put me back together.”

  “Like humpty fucking dumpty, baby!” I’m starting to suspect she smoked up with whatever man threw her against the headboard tonight. “And, I’ll tell you something else. We’ve got you again. You’ll be back in the game in no time.”

  “Uh-uh,” I protest. “I’m done. After getting hurt again, I’m swearing off men.”

  “Oh, bitch, just swear off getting tied up with ‘em. Find someone who can lay down the dick, and then send him on his way. It can work out, believe me.” Those last words pour out of her like she’s about to testify in church. “It’s good to hear you laughing,” She says. It’s not until she points it out that I realize I’ve been giggling. “Look, girl, it’s late. You good?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for calling.”

  “You got it. I’m here if you need me okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  One more check. No texts. I toss the phone back down beside me and roll onto my side. Ange is the best. Nobody else is checking in on me at 2:30.

  And, I know everyone at the club has got me. It’s called Sistaz for a reason. Even so, as much as I’d like to think I could go out and fire up the scene, the thought of someone else climbing into this bed makes my stomach feel weird. I’ve got the ugly suspicion that all I would be doing would be thinking about Chase.

  I need to get my shit together. Class is at 9, and I’ve been dog tired for it every day this week. If I let some man derail my life, then I’m really fucking this whole thing up.

  If single life means I get to focus on what’s really important, then that’s something I can resign myself to. Sure, I may be tending bar, but what I am is a writer. That’s the thing to keep my eyes on. Life would actually be simpler and easier if I didn’t let some man come in and fuck it all up.

  After I finally got Jason out of my life, there was a long dry spell, and it’s the most productive I’ve ever been. Shit, that’s when I decided to get serious and go back to school. If nothing else, Chase has given me that—I’m doubling down on my vocation, and I’ll be damned if I let some man get in my way.

  Eighteen

  Chase

  As soon as I step off the plane at JFK, it’s like I can breathe again. Not just because I’m home, but because I’m finally back in the same city as Patrice. Being out of contact all week has been driving me crazy, and I feel as though I’m going through a kind of withdrawal.

  In total honesty, I’ve been afraid. Nobody is actually busy every single moment of the day. I could have stolen time to call her or text her, even just to leave her some stupid note to let her know how fully she had been occupying my mind. But, that nasty little confirmed bachelor inside me was afraid of how completely I had fallen for this woman.

  So, in reality, Chicago was a kind of test I put myself through to see if the strength of my feelings could survive. They did more than survive. A whole hell of a lot more actually, they exploded in her absence. If I thought that I was fixated on Patrice before heading to that conference, I became full-on obsessed once I was away from her.

  Now there was only one thing to do.

  “Regal Guardian Car Service, this is Carol speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Carol, it’s Chase Connor.”

  “Chaaaaase,” she coos like I’m a puppy. “We hadn’t heard from you in so long, I was starting to get worried. It’s not like you.”

  “I was in Chicago for the firm. Any chance of a ride from the airport?”

  “Of course. I believe Harold is already on his way there with a drop off, if that works for you?”

  “Harold is perfect.”

  “Are you going to the office, or straight home to the Hartsfield?” My palms immediately start sweating. My mouth goes completely dry.

  “Actually, I’ve got two stops to make, and neither of them are among my usual.”

  “Not a problem. Which terminal?”

  “Terminal 8. I’m just past the taxi pickup.”

  “Very good. Welcome home, Mr. Connor.” Suddenly she’s all studious professionalism. Her supervisor must have walked by.

  “Thanks, Carol.”

  I hang up and look at the phone in my trembling hand. This is it. Like, really it.

  As far as I’ve always been concerned, love was something that happened to other people. I’ve seen what it was supposed to look like, I guess, but it just never seemed like that kind of thing was coming my way. After a while, it was as if I started consciously avoiding it.

  But then, Patrice happened. Like a bomb going off, obliterating whatever I thought my life was going to look like. I can hardly even remember it.

  Being a confirmed bachelor in Manhattan is kind of awesome—especially if you’ve got money. The good looks never hurt, come to think of it. Living here has been like wandering through an orchard, and every tree is covered with the most beautiful woman in the world, ripe and waiting to be picked.

  And, then there’s Patrice, standing out like the rarest fruit anyone has ever seen. From the first moment I crashed into her, I loved her. It’s just been a long journey letting myself admit it. I even tried to avoid it, to talk myself out of it. But now, there’s no doubt. Being in love with Patrice Johnson is the best thing that could ever happen to me.

  “Mr. Connor?” Harold has rolled up in the long, black town car and rolled down the tinted window.

  “Hey, Harold. Thank
s for picking me up.”

  “It’s literally my job, sir.” The locks pop, and I swing my carry on into the back and flop down onto the seat.

  “Carol tells me you have some stops to make?”

  “Yeah. I do.” My voice has a slight tremor in it, and Harold sized me up in his mirror. I look down at my left hand and consider how long it’s been bare. Wait, am I shaking?

  “Sir?”

  God, how long have I been sitting there just looking at my hand. This poor guy can’t roll out unless I tell him where we’re headed.

  “Sorry. Take me to Sashka Jewelry on 47th.”

  It’s a fight into midtown traffic, and usually I would avoid heading anywhere near this close to Times Square. But, Sashka has a reputation for being among the very best in the city.

  “Wait here for me, will you?”

  “It’s literally my job, sir.” This guy thinks he’s funny.

  Inside the place is so bright, you’d think the diamonds themselves are incandescent. Places like this are designed to make even the rich feel humble. Fortunately, I’ve got what it’s going to take to make my presence felt.

  “Are you looking for anything special, sir?”

  “Isn’t everyone?”

  I turn to see a gorgeous woman in a pencil skirt glide up next to me. She flashes a smile that could melt a heart of stone, or at the very least, make a different part of the anatomy as hard as stone. It’s a bold move putting a woman like her in charge of selling engagement rings. No doubt seeing her would make almost any man think twice. Even I check her hand for a ring. Old habits die hard, I guess.

  At my request, she fans out some startling stones, but the right one springs out from the rest. Somehow, when the moment comes, you just know. Nothing else even stood a chance.

  This is, without question, the most expensive eight minutes of my life. But, once I’m back out on the street, it’s not just my pocketbook that’s feeling light. It’s like my feet are barely touching the ground. This little bag in my hand is going to change my entire life, and I couldn’t be more ready for it.

  “Is it back to the Hartsfield now, sir?”

  “No, actually.” His eyebrows go up. “Do you know where the Sistaz Club is?” At my question, Harold looks over his shoulder and fixes his eyes on mine.

  “Actually, sir, I do.”

  Nineteen

  Patrice

  Roslyn rolls up beside me and places her hands flat on the bar.

  “Don’t look now, girl, but I think trouble just walked in.” What is it about people saying “don’t look now” that makes everyone look? It’s almost like they’re saying, “get a load of this.” Coming through the door is something to get a load of.

  Chase Connor comes in, beaming at me as if he’s still anywhere near my good graces. After a week of dead silence, during which he probably banged every waitress, bartender and hotel clerk in Chicago, he has the set of brass balls to come swaggering into my club? It’s enough to make me want to come over the bar instead of calmly walking out from behind it.

  I hope you’re ready for a warm welcome, I say in my mind, before dousing him with the purest spirits I have and setting him on fire.

  Hey, Chase, you’re looking sharp today! Then I pull a stiletto out of my boot and slice his throat open in one, swift swipe. He drops and bleeds out on the floor while Roslyn and the rest of the Sistaz team organize a parade in my honor.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” It’s not my most original line, but it’ll have to do. Something about it works, because Chase looks about as confused as any man I’ve ever seen.

  “What?”

  “I said: What. The Fuck. Are You. Doing Here?” Am I shouting? I’m pretty sure I’m shouting. “You leave me hanging without so much as a word, and now you think you can just walk into the club? Bitch, we’re closed. If you want a drink, come back at 9 when we open.”

  Okay, that was better. I turn on my heel and start to make my way back behind the bar.

  “Patrice, can I just say something?”

  “No.”

  “Just four words. That’s it.”

  “What?” The word comes out like a grenade, but when I turn around, he’s on the floor. What the hell is wrong with him.

  My eyes focus, and I can see he’s got something in his hand. For some reason, my head starts spinning, and I can’t see exactly what it is.

  “Will you marry me?” It’s like I go deaf for a second.

  “I’m gonna need you to say that again.”

  “Patrice Johnson,” Those unbelievably blue eyes cut through the fog, sparkling more than the diamond in his hand. “Will you marry me?”

  I can’t say for sure whether I merely say yes, or if I’m screaming it. One way or the other, my lips have found his, and I’m kissing him like his tongue is the goddamned antidote. And, I guess it is. These lips are going to cure all the hurt and loneliness I’ve been carrying around like a stone.

  We crash through the door into his apartment, and I barely have time to take in how nice it is. Fuck it, there’s gonna be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I’ve got other things on my agenda that supersede a tour.

  Chase’s mouth scalds my neck, and I’m already bristling to get out of my clothes. His hands are doing a damn fine job of helping me along the way. In one swift move, he pulls my top over my head and tosses it on the floor. Thank God, his mouth is on me again before my skin can begin to cool down.

  Not that there’s any danger of that. Every inch of me is burning.

  In a flash, my bra is cast aside, and he stoops down, lavishing his tongue around my nipple. Taking it into the warm cavern of his mouth, he uses that expert tongue and the gentle grazing of his teeth to coax it into a pebble harder than the diamond on my finger. The prickling tingle of it makes me weak deep in my core.

  Somehow, my skirt is off, and his hand is sliding firmly up along the inside of my thigh. I need him so badly, I worry that I’ll scorch his hand as it gets closer and closer to my aching cunt. When his fingers arrive, a spasm cracks over me, and I feel like I’m going to explode before we even get started.

  “Oh, Jesus, Chase.” My hands are in his hair, pulling him to my other breast and forcing him to give that nipple the exact same attention. He does but manages to slide a finger inside me at the same time, reveling in my wetness as he searches for the places that make me quiver. Every one of them is ready and waiting to be found, and he knows exactly where they are.

  I realize I’m on my toes, tightening higher and higher toward the inevitable crash. With a shove, I send him back onto the rug and force myself on top of him. In a moment, his trousers are open, and that thick, pulsing shaft is in my hand.

  Before he can even manage to get his pants all the way off, I snug him into me, and ease all the way down until I can grip the entirety of him. It’s electric. Like a demon takes the wheel and begins to drive full speed toward oblivion.

  “Oh, God, Patrice,” his eyes are half open, his mouth gaping as if trying to suck in breath as I ride the wind out of him. With each roll of my hips, that magnificent cock stabs pleasure into me, finding all the places that even I could never have dreamed of.

  My breasts are slapping against my ribs, and Chase seizes them, working my crackling nipples with his fingers. Grinding my pelvis up to his so that my clit rubs feverishly against him, I begin to buck against him at a furious pace.

  Even with my eyes closed, I can feel his back arching up under me, desperate to get as deep into me as possible. My back is arching too, offering my breasts to his hands as I coil tighter and tighter.

  “Trice,” I crack my eyes open to look down at his, savoring my body as I plunder him. “I love you.” A bonfire rages up in my core, and I begin to shake uncontrollably, grunting out a long moan as I tip over him. My lips find his, and I scream my orgasm into his mouth.

  Chase begins to scream back, and he releases in a series of shattering jolts, pumping me full of cum and driving me further into
my own frenzy. We claw at each other’s bodies, writhing and shuddering as aftershocks course over us.

  At last, we lay in a sweaty heap on what I’m sure is a very nice carpet. My breath is coming in thick heaves, and I can feel his heart thundering through his chest into mine. Raising my head for a moment, I take my first look around my new home.

  “Chase,” I say, “this is a pretty nice place you’ve got here.”

  Twenty

  Patrice

  I don’t know why there’s a preconception that days like this have to be stressful. Sure, there’s a lot to do, but everyone has been going out of their way to make sure that I don’t have to handle any of it. Someone has done my makeup, one of the best stylists in the city has done my hair, and my best friend has helped me into my dress.

  “How is it?” I haven’t seen a mirror yet, so I suppose there is still time for my good mood to go to shit.

  “Are you serious?” Angela puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head as if I’ve just asked the dumbest question she’s ever heard. “Get over here.” Now the butterflies start, and I step over to the full-length mirror.

  My breath goes away. Looking back at me is the kind of princess I would have grown up dreaming about if all those movies had black princesses. I almost hope there’s little girls out there in the chapel who can see this and have something to aspire to.

  Before anyone gets all, “Wow! Listen to her!” please know I’m not taking any credit for this. I know I look good, but the woman in that mirror looks like something else altogether.

  “Yeah, girl.” Ange has her hands on my shoulders and possibly keeping me from turning into a puddle. At the moment, that’s one hell of a job.