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

by Megyn Ward

  One second Declan is sitting behind the desk, the next he’s in my face. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

  “Nah,” I say, shaking my head, the corner of my mouth, jerking upward even though my jaw is so stiff I think it might be close to cracking. “You treated her like shit, remember? You have no right to get pissed if someone else comes along and wants to help put her back together.” Even as I’m saying it, I know I’m talking to myself just as much as I’m talking to Declan. This isn’t about him and Tess. Not really. This is about Cari and me. The way I’ve been treating her. Because let’s be real—I’m just as guilty of what I’m saying as he is.

  A muscle in Declan’s jaw flexes. “Is that right?”

  “Sure is,” I answer. “And fuck you for thinking you do.”

  Declan doesn’t answer me. The two of us stare each other down and I’m thinking this is really gonna happen, we’re really going to start throwing punches. I’m about to ask him to step outside because the office is where we keep liquor shipments and there’s about twenty grand worth of booze stacked on shelves behind him. I want to kick Dec’s ass, not bankrupt the bar.

  “Are you guys gonna kiss?” Conner pipes up from the doorway. “Because I can come back…”

  I look over to see Con, his hand latched around Alisha the pinch hitter’s wrist. Despite what he said, he knows what’s happening, even if he doesn’t know why, and he wants to tie this shit off before it gets out of control. The idea of Conner playing peacekeeper is ridiculous enough to cool my blood a bit. At least enough to keep me from throwing the first punch.

  “No,” I say, keeping my tone easy but I don’t back down. Because that’ll never fucking happen, no matter how ridiculous this situation is. “I think we’re done here. What do you think, cousin?”

  Declan bares his teeth before he takes a step back, putting a few inches between us. “Enjoy your pancakes,” he says, moving back behind the desk. “And shut the door—you idiots are wearing me thin.”

  “Whatever you say, boss,” I say because suddenly I’m the kind of asshole who has to have the last word, before I sail through the door, slamming it closed behind me. I pick up my laundry basket and head down the hall.

  “What the fuck was that?” Conner calls after me but I don’t answer. Walking through the bar without stopping, I head upstairs.

  After dropping off my laundry in the apartment, I head out to my truck and grab my tool belt and head back up. Strapping it on, I go to Cari’s room. The painting Chase gave her is still sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed.

  My bed. The one I bought. The one she sleeps in without me.

  The urge to put my foot through it is still there but I keep it in check. Instead, I survey the room, looking for the perfect place for it. She sleeps on her side, facing the alcove where she keeps her paints so I decide on the wall directly to its left. That way, she’ll see it every morning when she opens her eyes.

  I pull out my stud finder, running it along the drywall until it lets out a beep. Marking the spot with my pencil, I dig out a nail and sink it in with a few light taps with my hammer. Lifting the painting, I drag it down until the nail in the wall hooks around the wire strung across the back of the wooden frame. Using my level, I make sure it’s as straight as an arrow.

  Stepping back, I keep going until I bump into the bed and I sit down, imagining the way she’ll smile when she wakes up and sees it.

  Perfect.

  I look at the stack of finished paintings Cari keeps covered with a canvas drop cloth. She caught me snooping once, the first day she moved in. She’d been bringing in a box from her car and I’d just hauled up the stack from her trunk. I’d started to lift the drop cloth off the top of them when she walked in.

  “Please don’t,” she said from the doorway, dropping the box on the floor before rushing over. As soon as she said it, I stopped, holding my hands in the air.

  “Sorry,” I said, giving her a sheepish look. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face. “You don’t want to look at those anyway. They’re terrible.”

  “No peeking,” I say, crossing my index finger over my chest. “Promise.” And I meant it. After that, I never looked. No matter how curious I was about what she was hiding from me.

  Since then, I’ve seen a few of Cari’s finished paintings. That’s how I know that whatever she’s hiding under that drop cloth is anything but terrible. If they’re even half as good as what I’ve seen her do, their worthy of just about any museum in the world.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here before I realize I’m not alone anymore but when I do, my heart stutters a bit in my chest. I turn around hoping it’s Cari. I want to tell her I’m sorry. That what she did doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I want to tell her that I love her. That I want to be with her. I start to turn around to tell her all of it, even though I’m not sure I can but when the doorway comes into view, it doesn’t matter.

  Because it’s not Cari standing behind me. It’s Sara.

  “Tess is passed out in a booth and Con and Alisha are…” She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I think we’re finished downstairs,” she says and the way she says it tells me she knows how I feel about Cari. She’s known all along.

  “Alright,” I say, standing up to unhook my belt. “It’s pancake time.” I shoot her a smile, heading toward her and she moves out of the doorway to let me pass. Bypassing the kitchen, I drop my tool belt on the dining room table. “Feel free to order a side of hash browns with your pancakes,” I say, joking because I don’t want to talk about Cari. Not with her. “You earned it.”

  Sara laughs and the sound of it chases away the awkwardness between us. She doesn’t want to talk about it anymore than I do.

  We make our way downstairs to find Alisha sitting at the bar alone, playing with her cell phone while Conner sits at a table by the door, Tess cradled in his lap. Declan is standing two feet from them, jaw clenched, keys in his hand.

  “You were snoring less than thirty seconds ago,” Conner says, in an exasperated tone. “No pancakes. Not tonight—come on, Tessie, just let me take you home. You put in a full day at the garage and then you came here and worked your ass off. You’re wiped.”

  “Why are we even talking about this?” She smiles and reaches up to cup his beard-stubbled cheek. “We both know the only place you’re taking me is Benny’s,” she says, her expression turning set and stubborn. “For pancakes. And I don’t snore.”

  “You are a pain in my ass,” he tells her, fighting a grin. “Seriously, I can’t even deal with how much of a pain you are. And yes, you do.”

  Tess narrows her eyes at him, the hand on his cheek reaching up to grab his ear to give it a jerk. “Just for that, you’re buying me pancakes and a side of bacon.”

  “Don’t,” he says, widening his eyes at her, tucking his ear into his shoulder. “You almost pulled it off last time.” Finally noticing me and Sara standing over them, Con gives up, sighing as he stands with Tess still in his arms. “I’ll throw in a hot chocolate if you take tomorrow off.”

  I sneak a look at Alisha, worried that Con and Tess’s antics might be making her uncomfortable but she’s not even paying attention. She’s standing next to Sara like she’s ready to leave, still fucking around with her phone like we’re not even here. Like she couldn’t give a shit that Con had her bent over the bathroom sink less than fifteen minutes ago and here he is with another chick in his lap. Granted, that chick is Tess. But still.

  From the doorway, Declan clears his throat. He’s got it propped open with his foot, his message clear. Get the fuck out. He looks annoyed with the lot of us and it reminds me of when we were kids. He’s only two years older than us but he’s always been surly as fuck. He can usually handle the sexual innuendo that is 99% of their usual banter. What he can’t handle is watching Tess and Conner take care of each other. He never could.

  Tess shoots Declan a look tha
t seems to pass right through him before focusing on her negotiations with Con. “Pancakes, bacon, hot chocolate and pie. And I’ll come in at noon.”

  “Alright—noon.” He grins at her. “That’s probably for the best,” he says, heading for the door, still carrying her. “You gotta come in and feed your cats, anyway. All forty-three of them.”

  “I hate you,” she sighs, winding her tattooed arms from around his neck. “You’re the biggest bastard I’ve ever met in my life.”

  “Well now, we both know that’s not true.” Conner laughs, throwing his brother a look on his way out the door. “Later, bro.”

  Ouch.

  Once we’re all standing on the sidewalk, Declan shoves his key in the lock and gives it a twist. “Goodnight,” he says to no one in particular before heading toward the parking lot on the side of the building.

  “You sure that’s a no on the pancakes?” I call after him and smile when he flips me the middle finger. Things will still be tender between us tomorrow but the worst is behind us.

  A car pulls up to the curb in front of us and a guy who looks like my eighth-grade math teacher gets out. “Someone call an Uber?”

  “Yeah,” Alisha pipes up, finally shoving her phone in her purse. “I’m heading to that party in Allston, you want to come?” she says. Allston is another college town a few miles from here.

  Sara looks at me for a second before shaking her head. “No, I’m gonna stay here.”

  “Suit yourself,” Alisha shrugs, opening the door to her getaway car. “Call me,” she says to Con who makes a non-committal sound while giving her an awkward wave. She’ll never hear from him again and they both know it.

  Alisha and her Uber pull away while Con, Tess and Sara make their way down the sidewalk. They get about fifty feet ahead before Sara stops and turns back to look at me. “Are you coming?”

  The last thing I need is to do is buy Sara breakfast because that’s just going to give her hope when there is none.

  But it’s 1AM and Cari still isn’t home. Regardless of what I need, the last thing in the world I want is to lay in bed and listen for her key to hit the door. Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do to her when it finally does.

  “Yup,” I say and jog to catch up.

  Thirty-six

  Cari

  It’s 3AM and I’m sneaking into my apartment like I missed curfew. I’m trying to be a considerate roommate. That’s what I tell myself. That Patrick has a game in the morning and making noise when he has to wake up in a few hours would be rude. I’m sneaking around like a rebellious teenager because I’m a good person. Not because I feel guilty about staying out so late.

  I shouldn’t have bothered. I know he’s awake and in the living room the moment I shut the door. Knowing that he’s sitting on the couch, a prime seat from which to watch what he thinks is my walk of shame, waiting for me like a disapproving older brother, makes me angry. Like he has the right to criticize anything I say or do.

  Sighing, I cross the living room, toward my room. The hall light is on, the soft glow of it splashed across the floor, casting the couch in shadows. I can’t see him but it doesn’t matter. I know he’s there. “I didn’t mean to keep you up,” I say into the dark, tossing my clutch onto the coffee table between us. “I lost track of time.”

  He doesn’t answer me but I think he laughs. I can hear the quiet push of it, disturbing the air between us. He’s as angry and confused as I am. I need to remember that. I need to go to bed and not make things worse. I need to ignore the fact that right now, there’s no such thing as worse when it comes to me and Patrick.

  “Good night, Patrick,” I say, my high heels clicking across the hardwood floor.

  “You could’ve just asked me, you know,” he says from the dark, stopping me cold. “I would’ve been glad to show you.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about but it doesn’t matter. It’s not his words that affect me. It’s his voice. The deep hum of it shoots through me, down my spine to seat itself between my legs. I think listening to Patrick read the phone book would make me wet.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell him, reaching out to steady myself on the back of a dining room chair to take off my shoes.

  “The heels stay on.”

  It’s not a request. It’s an order. Hearing it, delivered from the dark, in that calm, rational voice of his makes my pulse race. I should finish taking the shoe off and throw it at his spot on the couch, where I know he’s sitting. I should but I don’t. When I straighten myself, my heels are still on my feet.

  “Turn around.” Another order from the dark. I do it and come face to face with my refection in the mirror, illuminated by the slice of light from the hallway. The mirror I hung to give Patrick a perfect view of my room from where he sits on the couch. “Take off your dress.”

  I don’t even bother wondering why I keep doing what he says. It doesn’t really matter. Why is a question I can’t answer. All I know is that I’m going to do it.

  Whatever Patrick tells me to do, I’ll do it. I want to do it.

  Reaching for my side, I tug the hidden zipper down until it stops at the top of my hip. Shrugging out of the bodice, I let it pool at my waist. I look at myself. The soft white lace of my bra plunging between my breasts, my nipples tight and swollen against it. The dark stain of my birthmark on my chest, almost black I’m so aroused. I can feel it. Damp heat tingling between my legs. Soaking through the lace of my panties. Looking past my refection, I find the shape of him. The dark shadow of Patrick sitting on the couch behind me. “What did I do?” I say softly. “What should I’ve asked you?”

  “Take of your bra.”

  Reaching between my breasts, I find the front closure of my bra and open it. My bra slides off my shoulders and drops to the floor. My breasts sway slightly, my nipples throb in time with the clench and release of my pussy. “Patrick…”

  “Are you wet?”

  My fingers grab onto the skirt of my dress and twist. The only thing I want more than to touch myself it for Patrick to do it for me. What the hell is he doing to me? “Yes.”

  My answer pulls a growl out of the dark and I can hear him shift on the couch, sliding lower in his seat to accommodate the hard-on I know he has for me. “Show me.” He growls the words. The rumble of it going straight to my clit. “Lift your dress up over your ass.”

  Leaning forward just a bit, I pop my ass out before lifting the full skirt of my dress to settle it around my hips. Cool air hits the damp stretch of lace between my legs and I have to lift a hand to brace myself against the wall in front of me to keep myself upright. “What should I have asked you?” My voice is strained. Breathless. “What did I do?”

  “Jesus…” He groans the word, the sound of it harsh and guttural. “Pull your panties down.”

  It’s awkward with one hand but I manage it, rolling my hips and tugging until my panties are around my knees. “No more until you answer me,” I tell him even though I know I don’t mean it. Whatever he says, I’ll do it and we both know it.

  “Touch yourself, Cari,” he tells me, the calm tone of his voice cracking, want and need bleeding through.

  My free hand grips my skirt again, pulling it between my thighs. “No,” I say, somehow resisting, stopping myself from doing what we both want. “Not until—”

  “You had Tess ask my ex-girlfriend what I was like in bed.” He finally answers my question, his tone solid again. Calm and sure. “Now, put your fingers in your pussy.”

  His matter-of-fact command, and the dirty words he uses to give it to me, surprises me. I’m not sure why—nothing about Patrick’s behavior should surprise me anymore. But it does. Almost as much as it turns me on.

  I let go of my skirt to slide a hand up the inside of my thigh. “I didn’t—” The moment my fingertips make contact with the wet seam of my pussy, my brain shuts off. My fingers slip past my slick entrance to bury themselves, the heel of my hand pressed against my
clit. “Patrick…” His name shutters its way up my throat, tumbling out of my mouth on a moan.

  “How wet are you, Cari?” His calm is crumbling again, his voice broken and uneven. In the dark behind me, I hear him breathing, the sound of it ragged and heavy. “Tell me,” he breathes, his tone strained.

  “So wet…” I moan the words, forcing myself to keep my eyes open and focused on the mirror in front of me so I can see the shape of him behind me in the dark.

  He groans again, the sound of it shaped into a curse. I can feel his eyes on me, the heat of his gaze narrowed on my throbbing center. The fingers I have buried inside of it, as far as they’ll go. Waiting for him to tell me what to do. Tell me what you want.

  Like he’s reading my mind, he tells me. “Fuck yourself while I watch.”

  I withdraw my fingers almost to their tips before burying them again, stroking myself slow and deep. The heel of my hand grinding against my clit in lazy circles.

  “Let me guess what she said…” His words come out in short bursts between ragged breaths. “I’m sweet and tender, right?” Even though I can’t see him, I know what he’s doing. He’s doing the same thing I am. He’s touching himself. Getting off on watching me as much as I’m getting off on listening to him. “She said that I’m considerate. That I always let her come first. That I never made a mess. That I’m gentle and caring. That when I fucked her it was nice. Predictable.” He laughs, breath heaving and shuttering in his chest. “Is that what she told you? That I’m predictable?”

  He knows. I’m not sure how but he knows about the unflattering nickname Tess gave him. The one I’ve used like a shield to defend myself against the fact that I want him. No matter how boring and predictable Patrick seemed to be, I wanted him. I still want him.

  But this isn’t sweet, predictable Patrick. This is the Patrick no one knows but me. The Patrick who orders me around and takes what he wants without asking for permission. There’s nothing gentle or considerate about him. His question echoes off the cool brick walls, hanging in the quiet between us. I don’t answer him. I’m too far gone, the only sound between us is our ragged breathing and the wet sliding of my fingers fucking my pussy. I close my eyes, opening myself to the orgasm barreling down on me.