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

by Megyn Ward

  She swats me with her lunch bag and laughs. “You love it, you’re just afraid to admit.” As soon as her boss is out of earshot she takes a step closer. So close I can smell the gardenia scented hair products she uses. The same hair products I used to jerk off this morning. Despite the mortification currently making me want to disappear, I’m rock fucking hard before I have time to blink, the bulk of it pushing against the zipper of my jeans.

  Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down...

  “Look, are we okay?” she says, looking up at me. “Because I really am sorry about this morning and I don’t want there to be any weirdness between us. You’re my—”

  I smile. “No weirdness.” If I have to hear her tell me I’m her best friend one more fucking time I’m going to put my head through the goddamned window. “But if I don’t leave now,” I say, backing myself out the door. “I’m going to be late for the Beemans and then Declan will probably murder me.”

  “Okay.” She gives me a smile that looks relieved. Relieved that I’m not making this weird. That it’s behind us. That I’m still good guy Patrick and I’m still her friend. “See you at home?”

  “See you at home,” I say, turning to let myself out. Jogging down the steps, I risk a look up. Cari’s standing in the glass box of the gallery, paper bag clutched in her hand.

  She’s watching me walk away.

  Fourteen

  Patrick

  “Hello—earth to Patrick?”

  I look up to see Cari standing in front of me. As soon as she has my attention, she smiles. “Which one?” she says, jiggling the pair of hangers she’s holding, one in each hand.

  I look past them, at her. She’s wearing her white silk robe and nothing underneath. Her nipples push against the pale, thin fabric and it hangs open just a bit, giving me a hint of soft, curving breast. I know that if I let my gaze dip just a bit lower, I’ll catch a glimpse of her firm, tanned thighs. The dark, shadowy cleft between them.

  “The black one,” I say because I know it’s her favorite, forcing my eyes to retrain themselves on the baseball game I’m pretending to watch. I love baseball—loved it since I was a kid. I haven’t known Cari for half as long but right now, with her standing half-naked in front of me, it’s no contest.

  “Yeah?” She aims a slim, arched brow at the dress I chose. “You think it’s fifth-date worthy?”

  The dress in question is little more than a black lace tube that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs with straps so thin you have to squint just to see them. It’s what she was wearing when I suggested she move in with me. Every time I see her in it all I can think about is helping her take it off.

  “Yeah.” I shrug like I don’t care. “It looks good on you.”

  A slow smile spreads across her perfect face, lifting the corners of her full, lush mouth. “You think so?”

  I shrug again. “Sure.” I keep my eyes glued to the flat screen. All I can think about is what’s going on under her robe while she’s got me so deep in the friend-zone I’m helping her pick out dresses for her date with her douche de jour... what was his name? Tim? Travis? It didn’t matter. It was their fifth date and I know what that means.

  Someone’s getting fucked tonight. It just isn’t going to be me.

  Choice made, she retreats to her room to finish getting ready. A few seconds later, old-school Madonna—Lucky Star—floats through the open door. She always listens to Madonna when she’s getting ready for a date.

  As soon as the music clicks on, I shift my gaze to the full-length mirror that hangs on the wall, to the right of the flat screen. From where I sit, I have a perfect view of Cari’s bedroom... and she never closed her door.

  I watch while she hooks the hanger of the dress she’s decided against over the back of her closet door before tossing the other one on the bed.

  The black one. The one I chose.

  She unties her robe and I watch it slink down her arms to pool at her bare feet. She’s suddenly naked. Her breasts, full and firm, sway gently as she gathers up her long, caramel-colored hair and winds it into a loose bun at her nape. If she looks up or catches my reflection in the mirror, she’ll know I’m watching her. Catch me perving out but I can’t stop staring. For a second, I can almost taste her. Feel the hard bud of her nipple against my tongue.

  All I can see is the smooth curve of her ass under my hands as I lift her hips to meet mine, her legs spread wide while the thick, blunt head of my cock rubs against the soft, wet folds of her pussy. Teasing her until she moans before driving into her in deft stroke, fast and hard...

  She’s going to catch me but I can’t look away. My cock is throbbing, pushing against the unforgiving fabric of my shorts. There’s no hiding it. If she looks now she’ll see.

  She’ll see that maybe I’m not such a nice guy after all.

  Con was right. Asking Cari to move in was a mistake.

  “Fuck you, Conner,” I say under my breath, standing to limp my way into our tiny kitchen. Across the hall, I can see directly into Cari’s room—no mirror required. Instead of letching, I turn my back on what’s going on and reach into the fridge to pull out a beer. Twisting off the cap, I plink it into the trash before taking a long, hard swallow while I contemplate dumping the contents of the ice cube tray down the front of my pants.

  Like it would help.

  I take another, longer pull from the beer in my hand and drain it before tossing the empty in the trash.

  Looks like another Friday night filled with MLB and masturbation.

  It doesn’t have to be that way, you know. Text Sara, she’d be over here, panties in hand, before you even hit send.

  Thinking about Sara makes me feel guilty. After she gave me her number that night, I didn’t call but she was more persistent than I gave her credit for. She showed up at Gilroy’s night after night until I finally asked her out, out of some weird sense of obligation. We ended up dating for a few weeks before I broke it off. She was nice girl and deserved better than me fucking her while I’m thinking about Cari.

  Yeah? She made it pretty clear she isn’t interested in better. She’s interested in you.

  “Hey, bring me one,” Cari says, pushing all thoughts of Sara out of my head. Just the sound of her voice, soft and husky, is enough to make my cock twitch.

  “Comin’ up,” I say, jerking the fridge open to grab two more beers, twisting the caps off before turning around. She’s just shimmying into the dress, black lace and silk, sliding up long, lean thighs. I catch a glimpse of more lace. Cherry red this time, a thin strip of it strung between the cheeks of her tight, round ass. I can’t imagine the one covering her pussy is much bigger. My cock isn’t just twitching, it’s throbbing and straining against the front of my cargos. There’s no hiding the raging hard-on I’ve got going.

  Shit. Please don’t turn around.

  I clear my throat to let her know I’m coming but the sound doesn’t do much to hurry her along. It never does. As far as Cari’s concerned, I’m about as anatomically correct as a Ken doll. “Here,” I say, touching the frosty glass against her bare shoulder just as she hooks her arms into those uselessly thin straps. For a split second, I see myself slipping my finger beneath one of them, snapping it with the slightest crook.

  “Thanks,” she says, aiming a wide grin at me over her shoulder before taking the beer.

  “You’re welcome,” I mutter, turning to leave. I have to get the hell out of here. Away from her.

  “Zip me up?”

  Fifteen

  Patrick

  Zip me up?

  “Sure thing,” I say, tilting my half-empty bottle in her direction and she takes it, setting both of them on her dresser.

  Her hair’s come undone from where she’s put it up. It falls against her bare shoulders in soft, loose waves that smell like her—gardenias and vanilla, mixed with something darker. Deeper.

  I’m losing my fucking mind.

  I scoop it out of the way, the silk of it shif
ting through my fingers as I brush it over her shoulder, exposing her nape. My hands are shaking and my dick is doing push-ups inside my pants but I manage to grip the delicate tongue of the zipper, pinching the tail of it to anchor the dress in place while I drag it up, slow so I don’t snag the lace. She turns her head just a bit, giving me a glimpse of her perfectly angled jaw, the curve of her mouth. She seems to be waiting for me to say something, but what?

  I’m gonna jerk off to this moment as soon as you leave.

  I’ve been dying to fuck you ever since the night you kissed me in my car.

  I’ve got an idea… cancel your date. We can order pizza and you can sit on my face.

  I don’t say any of those things. “There you go...” I say instead, feeling ten different kinds of lame. Mr. Nice Guy strikes again.

  “Thanks...” She takes a step backward. It’s a small step... not even a step, really. More of a sway. She swayed backwards, grazing her tight, lace-clad ass across my erection. I know she can feel it, rock hard and hot between her ass cheeks. Hear the hissing intake of the breath I’m too stunned to swallow. I should step back. It was an accident. She didn’t mean to—

  And then she bends over.

  Her ass is not grazing anymore. It’s grinding against me. Massaging my cock in a lazy, circular motion that has me seeing stars. The friction between us is so sweet and hot the tip of my cock starts tingling. My balls tighten in anticipation. It’s all I can think about. The feel of her ass pressed against my throbbing cock. That strip of cherry-red lace running right up the center of her. It’s almost enough to have me coming right here, right now.

  Before I know what I’m doing, I drop my hands to her hips, gathering black lace in my fists, ready to jerk it up, to drop to my knees and bury my face in her pussy to lap at all that smooth, dark honey I can smell between her thighs...

  Someone’s knocking. Probably been knocking for a while. The thud of knuckles on wood sounds impatient. Like it didn’t like being kept waiting.

  My cock and I can totally relate.

  Cari straightens her spine, flipping her hair over her shoulder. It falls, sliding across my face, a silken snare that cascades across my cheeks, shifting slowly, her face disappearing beneath the fall.

  I’m still holding her hips, her ass snug against my hard as a rock dick. The hem of her skirt riding high against her thighs, the short length of it gripped tight in my fists. I have to let go. Problem is, I’m not sure I can let go.

  The knocking again, fast and agitated, makes up my mind for me. I jerk my hands away and take a step back—that’s when I realize why she bent over in the first place. She was pulling on her shoes. While I’ve been busy dry humping her, she’d been putting on her cherry red heels.

  They matched her panties perfectly.

  “Patrick...” she breathes my name, her sky-blue eyes wide. Trembling lips parted, gaze cloudy. Confused.

  Fuck. Shit.

  “Sorry.” I go palms up, feeling like the biggest asshole alive. “That was totally uncalled for,” I say, taking another step back and then another and another until I’m in the living room, heading for the door. I swing it open just as Tim/Travis, starts another flurry of impatient pounding.

  I don’t say anything, just fling the door open and let it hang while I bee-line my way to the kitchen. I snag a beer out of fridge and twist the cap of before setting it aside.

  Beer isn’t gonna cut it. Not even close.

  I rummage around in the cabinet above the fridge, shoving bottles aside until I find what I want. Unscrewing the cap, I toss it in the sink before tipping the bottle of Jameson to my mouth. There’s about a fourth left in the bottom of it and I’m guzzling like a man dying of thirst. The booze hits my empty gut like a nuke but I ignore the wildfire spreading through my abdomen and cut a glance at the douche in my living room. Another James clone—expensive watch. Expensive haircut. Trendy clothes. Probably drives a Porsche. There’s been a steady parade through here since Cari moved in but none of them stuck until now.

  I want to kill him almost as much as I wanted to kill James.

  The front door is still hanging open but he’s now standing by the coffee table, watching me. He looks a little scared of me and to tell the truth, I like the way that feels.

  “Sorry, my manners are for shit—want some,” I say, lifting the hem of my t-shirt to wipe at the rim of the whiskey bottle before holding it out to him.

  “Ahh... no. Thanks anyway,” Tim/Travis says, giving me a head shake along with a look that says he thinks I belong in a zoo. “Is Cari ready?” He looks down at his watch, “Our reservations are for...” He trails off, when she walks into the room. “Damn, baby—you look hot.”

  “Thank you,” she says, giving him a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s hates it when they call her baby.

  I take another dying-of-thirst guzzle, this one draining the bottle. Tossing it in the general direction of the trash can, it bounces off the rim and clatter onto the floor. I grin like an idiot for about two seconds before I catch her looking at me. Cari doesn’t look confused anymore. She’s clear-eyed and she’s looking at me like she knows exactly what happened in her room. Like she did it on purpose.

  Now I don’t feel like grinning. Now I want to punch myself in the fucking face. Or maybe in the dick. That stupid thing still hasn’t figured it out. She’s just messing with us. Like that night in my car. Like every time she changes her clothes with her door open, or puts her hand on my leg while we’re watching TV. This whole time, here I was, thinking it was my problem. That I was the one making things weird. Perverting everything. Taking advantage of our friendship and the fact that she had nowhere to go so I could be closer to her.

  But I was wrong.

  It’s been the other way around this whole fucking time.

  “Wow…” I laugh, bracing my hands on the kitchen counter and lean, letting my head hang between my shoulders for just a moment before I lift it, looking right at her. “Have fun,” I say, cutting her a look that says something else entirely.

  I watch Tim/Travis help her into her coat, shooting me quick looks like he’s trying to hurry and get her out the door before I hulk out and rip his face off. So, maybe he’s not as stupid as he looks.

  Coat finally on, Tim/Travis guides her through the open front door. “See you later, man,” he says, dropping his hand to her waist to push her along.

  “God, I fucking hope not,” I say out loud, lifting the beer I opened and didn’t want to my mouth, draining it dry. I get the stink-eye from Tim/Travis and I give him a smile.

  Fuck him. Fuck ‘em both.

  “Goodnight, Patrick,” Cari says, reaching for the door to pull it closed behind them. I can feel her eyes on me. Watching me. She knows she’s finally pushed me too far and is probably wondering if she’s going to need to sleep with a can of mace and a steak knife from now on.

  Probably wouldn’t hurt.

  As soon as she’s gone I head down the short hallway to my own bedroom. There, I change my clothes, pulling on a crisp, white cotton button-down and a clean pair of jeans. In the bathroom, I do a quick assessment. My dark brown hair is about 2 weeks past a haircut and I could use a shave. In the end, I settle for running my fingers through my hair and brushing my teeth before I head out the door.

  If Cari wants to fifth-date fuck her latest douchebag, that’s fine by me. I didn’t need five dates. Hell, I don’t even need one.

  No more Mr. Nice Guy.

  Sixteen

  Cari

  Have fun.

  As soon as he said it, I knew Patrick figured it out. He’s knows I’ve been chipping away at his self-control on purpose and he’s not happy about it. I want to tell Travis to leave. That I don’t want to date him anymore. That I never really did. With him gone, I could explain things to Patrick. Apologize. Tell him how I feel. What I want.

  Instead I run like a scared rabbit.

  For months, Tess and I have been working on getting Patrick i
nto my bed. Curling up next to him on the couch while we binge-watch Real Housewives. Sneaking my panties into his laundry basket. That ridiculously thin excuse for a bathrobe. That was all her.

  But hanging a mirror in the living room, directly across from my bedroom door? Forgetting to close it when I change my clothes? Asking him to help me into my dress and then bending over so I could grind my ass into his cock?

  Those were my bright ideas…

  Why am I going out of my way to help Tess with this stupid bet?

  Because this is one bet I want to lose.

  I feel a hand land on my knee and I look up. We’re stopped at a red light, cross traffic whizzing through the intersection. I can feel Trevor looking at me so I tilt my head in his direction and smile back. “I’m thinking sushi,” he says, giving my knee a squeeze before sliding it higher on my thigh. “How’s that sound, baby?”

  It sounds disgusting. Almost as disgusting as the prospect of listening to him call me baby all night. “I’m not a fan of sushi,” I say, clenching my thighs together to slow the process of his wandering hand. “Why don’t we just go for a burg—”

  “I got us a table at Zen 88.” His gaze dipping to my breasts while his tongue darts out to run along his lower lip. Zen 88 is a trendy, downtown sushi bar. He hadn’t heard a thing I said. “After dinner, I was thinking we could go back to—”

  The light turns green and I shift in my seat, pulling my leg from beneath his hand. “The light’s green,” I say, softening my rejection with a smile. As if to prove my point, the car behind us laid on its horn.

  “Is there something wrong?” He shoots me a quick look while shifting the car into first. “You’ve been acting weird since I picked you up.” He skips seconds and shifts into third to sling-shot around a minivan. “Did something happen with your roommate? You guys have a fight or something?”