Pushing Patrick: Fight Dirty (The Gilroy Clan Book 1)

by Megyn Ward

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re parking in the lot across the street from a little hole-in-the-wall diner that has a line out the door that’s comprised of mostly still-drunk college kids with a liberal sprinkling of white-collar business types. By the looks of it, it’ll be hours before we get a table.

  “On second thought, maybe I should take me home,” I say, slowing my stride. “They look crowded and you probably have stuff to do—like get to class.”

  Patrick stops walking and turns to look at me. Smiles at me and it’s like staring into the sun. He shines, so perfect and bright, it almost hurts to look at him. “I do need to get to class... but I want pancakes,” he says, his dark green eyes glittering with humor. “And bacon. Do you like bacon?”

  “What kind of girl do you take me for?” I say, fighting the smile threatening to brake over my face. “Of course, I like bacon.”

  He splays a hand across his chest and lets out what sounds like a relieved breath. “Thank god—I thought I was going to have to leave you here.” He holds his hand out to me and I take it so he can pull me onto the sidewalk. As soon as I’m standing beside him, he leans in to press his mouth to my ear. “Stick with me, and don’t talk to Nora unless she talks to you first, okay?” he says, straightening to look down at me. That’s when I realize how tall he is. I’m five foot nine and I feel tiny standing next to him. The second thing I notice is how amazing he smells. Like sunshine and sawdust. I recognized it as his scent the second I picked his shirt up off the floor. Rob’s douchey cologne doesn’t smell half as good.

  He’s still looking down at me, waiting for me to answer him so I nod like an idiot. “Okay.” For all I know he is Ted Bundy and he is going to take me to his kill shack in the woods. But I don’t care. Not as long as he keeps looking at me like that.

  He smiles again. “Here we go,” he says, swinging the door open, stepping aside so I can pass through it first. As soon as we’re in, Patrick takes the lead, grabbing my hand so he can pull me in his wake, past a massive swarm of people crowding the hostess station. Behind the podium is the frailest, scrawniest old woman I’ve ever seen. She can barely see over the hostess station but the gaze that focuses on me is laser sharp. “Hey—hey, Veronica,” she barks at me and I’m instantly confused. Veronica? She must see the confusion on my face because she points at me, her boney finger hovering in the air between us. “Yeah, you—you ain’t special. You see that line?”

  “Nora,” Patrick reaches for the hand that’s pointing its finger at me and lifts it to his lips. “As beautiful as ever.”

  As soon as she sees Patrick, Nora seems to grow six inches and a slow smile spreads across her face. “I was wondering when you were gonna show up,” she says. Hand still held aloft, she skirts the podium, neck craned to look up at him with total adoration. Her forehead barely clears his bellybutton but she give him a disapproving tsk. “It’s been weeks.”

  Patrick nods his head while people behind him start to grumble. Without looking away from the old woman in front of him, Patrick reaches a hand between us to catch me by the wrist. “I’ve been busy with classes,” he tells her, pulling me closer.

  “No excuse. Con makes it in to see me.” She gives him another disapproving glare but it’s thin enough to show the affection beneath.

  “Con isn’t in college anymore.” Patrick’s mouth quirks as he fights to suppress a smile. “I’m sorry, Nora—I didn’t mean to stay away so long. Got room for me and my friend?” The request ups the volume on the grumbling crowd to near riot levels.

  “Hey,” Nora shouts, her voice loud, tone drill-instructor sharp. “You’re gonna shut your damn cake-holes or you’re gonna leave my damn restaurant. Ain’t gonna be both ways.”

  It’s like someone hit the mute button. That’s how quiet it is. I can feel a grin coming on but then she shoots me a look so sharp I can feel it withering on my face. “Somethin’ funny, Veronica?”

  I shake my head, fast and sure.

  “Got Con and Audrey in the back,” Nora says, tilting her head toward the dining room.

  Patrick seems to hesitate for a second before he nods. “That’d be great, Nora.” He leans down to press a kiss to her soft, wrinkled cheek.

  She beams at him, pulling her hand free. “Next time, don’t stay away so long,” she tells him, giving him a pat on his cheek that sounds more like a smack. I’m chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

  “Promise,” Patrick says, rubbing the feeling back into his cheek.

  Satisfied, Nora moves back behind the hostess station. “I’ll send Tina over with coffee.”

  Patrick leads me through the diner, to a booth near the kitchen. Sitting across from each other is a couple in their early-twenties. They’re arguing.

  “I will not admit it,” the girl says, small hands flat on the table. She had short, dark hair with long layers falling across her brow that accentuates sharp features and a full mouth, currently set in a hard line that borders on hostile. “Matter of fact, the only thing I’m going to admit is that you’re a moron.”

  “There’s no shame in being wrong, you know—” The guy is leaned back in the booth, sleeved-out arm draped across the back of it, laughing loudly. “and there’s no need for name-calling,” he tells the girl, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Getting a good look at him, I stop in my tracks. I’d seen this guy at the party tonight. I thought he was Patrick when he opened his door an hour ago. It was the lack of tattoos that threw me.

  “Is he your—”

  Patrick’s hand tightens on my wrist for a moment. “No,” he says, letting go of me completely. “He’s my cousin.”

  “I’m not wrong,” the girl hisses, lifting herself out of her seat just a smidge. “Superman is better than Batman. He has quantifiable super-powers. Batman is nothing but a trust-fund baby with a cool car and mommy-issues.” She returns the guy’s smirk. “Sound familiar?”

  “You’re mean.” The guys sounds genuinely wounded. I would’ve bought it, if not for the grin plastered all over his face. “Hey, Boogey Nights,” he says, turning to look at us, still grinning. “Thought you had class.”

  Boogey Nights? Patrick visibly flinches at the nickname, the look on his face unmistakable—don’t. “Yeah?” he says, casually, sliding into the booth next to the girl. “Thought you had a threesome.”

  “I did—and it would’ve been a foursome if you weren’t such a prude,” the guy says, shooting Patrick a shit-eating smirk before looking at me. “Have a seat, Legs, tell me your safe word,” he says, giving me a grin that I’m sure has melted plenty of panties. “Mine’s peppermint.”

  Threesome? Safe word? I look at the girl next to Patrick, waiting to see how she’s going to take having her boyfriend’s cheating rubbed in her face. I know from recent, personal experience that it’s not fun. Suddenly, I’m angry. Really angry. “What the fuck is wrong with you,” I seethe. “Talking about fucking other girls in front of your girlfriend doesn’t make you a man. It makes you a dick.”

  All three of them look at me like I sprouted a second head. Then the girl starts to laugh. “Oh…” she keeps laughing. “You think… no,” she says, shaking her head while wiping tears from her eyes. “We’re not together,” she finally manages, hand pressed to her middle like her stomach hurt.

  “Oh.” A warm flush creeps across my chest. “I thought…”

  “She’s laughing to cover up the fact that she secretly—not so secretly—wants to fuck me,” the guy who looks like Patrick says, giving the girl a sweet smile. “Isn’t that right, Tessie?”

  The girl lets out another hoot. “I wouldn’t let you fuck me with Cap’n’s dick.”

  Tessie? “I thought your name was Audrey.”

  “That’s just what Nora calls me,” the girl says, waving her hand. “As in Audrey Hepburn—it’s her thing. What she’d call you?”

  “Veronica.”

  “Veronica…” The girl gives me an appraising look. “Veronica Lake, I bet.” She
nods. “I can see it.” She lifts her hand and aims it in my direction. “I’m Tess. This is Conner—and you’re right. He’s a total dick.”

  The guy sitting next to me—Conner—laughs as I take her hand and shake it, returning her smile. “I’m Cari,” I tell her, feeling instantly accepted, which is weird because I’ve never gotten that from another woman before. Instant acceptance.

  “Hi, Cari,” she says sitting back in her seat, to study her menu. “You have no idea how glad I am to finally have another girl around to help me keep these two fucksticks in line.

  Three

  Patrick

  Class started twenty-five minutes ago and missing that test is going to cost me. I could’ve made it if we hadn’t stopped for breakfast. Probably still could’ve made it if Tess and Con hadn’t been there—but we did and they were. But if I’m honest, right now, I don’t really care. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.

  “So, what’s their deal?” Cari says from the seat next to me. Breakfast is over and we’re finally back on the road, battling rush-hour traffic that’s turning a forty-five-minute drive into a two-hour trek across the universe.

  I don’t really care about that either.

  “Tess and Con?” I say, shooting her a quick look. “You mean, why aren’t they together?” She’s not the first girl to ask, trying to get the all-clear before making a move on Conner. But giving it has never bothered me this much before.

  She laughs. “Yeah—they seem perfect for each other.”

  “They are,” I agree with a shrug. “That’s the problem.”

  I watch her brow furrow from the corner of my eye. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s hard to explain,” I tell her, trying to find a way to clarify a relationship that defies clarification. “Tess is the one girl Conner would never make a move on.”

  “Why?” Cari says, a puzzled look on her face. “She’s smart, funny and freakin’ adorable.”

  Tess? Adorable? I suppress a laugh. “He loves and respects her too much,” I say, because there’s no other way to explain it. “Like a sister.”

  “Really?” Cari arched an eyebrow at me. “Because talking about getting in her pants made up about 75% of their conversation.”

  “That’s Con and Tess.” I’m the one who’s laughing now. “He runs his filthy mouth and she insults him. Like you said—they’re perfect for each other.”

  We spend the next hour crawling across Boston at fifteen miles an hour, talking about everything from music and movies to what we see ourselves in five years. We’re both small-town college transplants—I grew up in up-state New York. She was raised in Ohio—and we both like thin crust pizza, prefer Abbott & Costello to the Three Stooges and hate Tom Brady. The conversation peters out and we sit for a while, neither of us talking. She’s looking at her hands and chewing on her lip like she has something to say.

  “Can I ask you a question,” she says in a rush. “You don’t have to answer, but…” I can tell by the flush creeping up her neck beneath the collar of her shirt what she’s about to ask. She’s going to ask me if Con has a girlfriend or is seeing anyone or thinks she’s hot. I’m nothing if not my cousin’s perpetual wingman.

  “Shoot.”

  “Why did your cousin keep calling you Boogey Nights?”

  Jesus. I nearly swallow my tongue—have to literally force it out of my throat so I don’t choke and pass out in the middle of cross-town traffic. Seriously? Why can’t she just ask me about Con’s relationship status like every other girl on the planet?

  “Because Conner’s an asshole who experiences joy at the discomfort and embarrassment of others,” I tell her.

  Because this girl doesn’t seem to know when to quit, she double-downs. “People kept shouting it all night and then—ohhh,” I can feel her gaze zeros in on my lap. Because it’s also an asshole that experiences joy at the discomfort and embarrassment of others, my cock twitches under her heavy stare. “You’re the guy Rob made strip in the kitchen.” Realization dawns and a flush creeps up her neck from under the collar of her shirt. “The guy with the…”

  Enormous dick. “Roller skates? Raging coke problem? Best friend who wants to be a famous magician? Yeah, that’s me.” I deflect and thankfully, she lets me. Clearing my throat, I change the subject. “Can I ask you a question?”

  The question is intrusive enough to draw her attention away from the front of my shorts. “Why am I dating Rob?”

  “More like how,” I say. “Rob and I have been roommates for almost two years and I’ve never seen you before tonight. I didn’t even know he has a girlfriend.” As soon as I say it, I want to kick myself. “That didn’t come out right. What I mean is—”

  “It’s okay,” she says, offering me a smile that looks too practiced to be genuine. “Rob and I met over the summer—his friend is dating my roommate—and we just started hanging out.” She shrugs. “It’s not that serious.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t even know why I got so upset over catching him with that girl.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself that what she’s saying is the truth. For some reason, the fact that she’s making excuses for that asshole pisses me off.

  “He’s not a good guy, you know,” I blurt out because, apparently, putting my foot in my mouth is my signature move when it comes to this girl.

  “I know.” She sighs, gaze aimed out the passenger side window. “Unfortunately, good guys are hard to come by.”

  I’m a good guy. I want to say it but somehow I manage to stop myself from making a total ass of myself. Instead, we spend the rest of the car ride in silence. When I finally pull into her driveway, next to a beat-up, powder blue Carma Ghia. It’s nearly nine in the morning and the house seems quiet, making me wonder who she lives with.

  I put the car into park and look at her, intent on apologizing. Her relationship with Rob is none of my business. No matter how much I like her.

  “Hey, look...” I say, turning in my seat. I watch her take off her seatbelt. “I shouldn’t have said anything about you and Rob. It’s none of my—”

  And then she’s kissing me.

  She leans across the gear shift, laying her hand on my thigh, fingers brushing, almost carelessly, against the shaft of my cock and it hardens instantly. Her lips are soft, slightly parted. Her tongue slips into my mouth, rubbing and sucking against mine. Her teeth, nipping and grazing until I’m fucking drowning in her.

  My hands lock around her upper arms and I keep them there because I want to drag her into the backseat of my car and get her naked. I wanted her to straddle me, impale herself on my cock and fuck me stupid in her driveway. In broad daylight. But guys like me rarely get what we want. We’re usually too worried about doing the right thing and while she’s not fall down drunk, she’s not sober either. Dragging her anywhere is definitely off limits. Before I can push her away, she beats me to it, pulling back to look at me, waiting for me to say something. Do something.

  I let her go. That’s what I do. “It was nice to meet you, Cari.” That’s what I say. The most amazing girl I’ve ever met just had her tongue in my mouth and her hand on my cock and I say, nice to meet you.

  I should’ve gone with my first instinct and thrown myself into traffic when she asked me about my dick.

  She sighs, the breath of it skates across my mouth, just before she gives me a soft smile. “Thanks for the ride, Patrick,” she says, trailing her fingers across my obvious erection as she goes. She slips out of my car and leaves me sucking wind while she walks up the drive without a backward glance.

  Three years later...

  Four

  Patrick

  “Hey, boss,” the voice below me calls out, bouncing off me like I’m made of rubber, the word boss making it easy to ignore. That’s my cousin, Declan. He’s the boss. It’s his initials on the work trucks parked outside—DG Contracting—not mine.

  I’m on the second floor of the six-thousand square foot custom home we’re building, standing in ap
proximately the same place there’s supposed to be an upstairs laundry shoot. It isn’t there. Moving down the hall, I head toward the master suite where there’s space to spread out my blueprints and check before I find Jeff, the crew foreman.

  I find my table—just a sheet of plywood balanced on the backs of a couple of paint splattered saw horses—and spread out my blueprints. The embossed seal pressed into the lower left-hand corner bares my name. My blueprints because I drew them up. I designed this house. And now, we’re building it. I’m an architect but I also act as the go-between between Declan and his crew because he’s not exactly what would be considered a people person. Left to deal with it on his own, he’d fire everyone and just build the house himself.

  “Boss!” The bellow is directly below me now and I look down, weaving my gaze between the cracks in the yet to be finished sub-floor to find Jeff looking directly at me.

  He’s talking to me.

  “Something wrong?” I say, instantly concerned. Declan isn’t here—something about him and his fiancé going to register for wedding gifts at some pricey department store. When he left, Dec looked like he wanted to hang himself.

  “Nah, nothin’ wrong, boss,” Jeff said, breaking out into a wide grin. “Your girlfriend’s here again.”

  I don’t have a girlfriend. What I have is Cari. She’s not my girlfriend but trying to convince the crew of giant adolescents, masquerading as grown men that I work with is nearly impossible.

  Letting the plans roll closed, I snatch them off the table on my way down the hall and to the stairs. Jeff is waiting for me at the foot of them, hardhat pushed back on his forehead, toolbelt dragging at his worn jeans. He’s a good guy, just a few years older than me. He dropped out of high school in the tenth grade and worked construction with his dad until he died a few years back. He’s a hard worker. Doesn’t have to be told more than once to get shit done and the rest of the guys respect him, which is why he’s foreman, as opposed to someone who is older or has more experience.