Just one kiss (The Ashcrofts Book 1)
Page 7
When the band went on a break, Amy clung, panting, to Patrick, as he clapped and whistled. And Amy realized she was already tipsy.
But that didn’t keep her from asking for another beer and staggering toward the bar on Patrick’s arm. She sat down on a rickety stool and gasped for air, because the club had become hot and stuffy.
Patrick ordered another round and put an arm around her. When the bartender set their glasses down in front of them, Amy needed both hands to grab hers, because she was already experiencing tunnel vision.
Patrick’s husky laughter made her look up, but only after she had taken a large sip.
“What?”
He set down his beer and murmured in her ear, “You’re wasted, baby.”
Another endearment.
She tilted her head, feeling very happy. “Bullshit. I’m totally not wasted.”
“Yes, you are.” His hand snagged in her hair. “Does that mean I’m going to have to carry you up three flights of stairs later?”
“Yep, pretty sure it does,” she replied with a smile, grabbing her glass and drinking half of it.
She had barely set it down again when she heard a woman’s voice behind her. “Amy? What are you doing here?”
Curious, she swiveled her head and discovered Katie, one of her fellow tour guides. She had a hard time focusing her eyes on her coworker, however.
“Katie,” she said, only to realize she was slurring. “Hi.”
“Hi.” The short-haired history student, who led tourist groups through ancient sites just like Amy, giggled. “You are the last person I’d have expected to see here.”
“Why?” Amy blinked in confusion. “Why do you say that?”
“Because this is a grunge bar,” Katie said, nodding toward the stage, “and you never struck me as someone who listens to this kind of stuff?”
Amy made a face, trying to show her outrage. “Really! I … I love grunge. Though I didn’t know what it was before tonight.”
Apparently she’d said something both Katie and Patrick found hilarious. Amy didn’t know what it was, though, since her concentration was used up by her struggle to not slip off the stool. She shrugged one shoulder and reached for her glass again, but Patrick picked it up.
“Hey,” she protested, grabbing for it, but he shook his head.
“You’ve had enough for now, baby. You can’t even talk straight anymore. Do you want me to order you a Coke?”
She thought it was very cute of him to call her “baby” in front of Katie, but she frowned at the fact that he’d taken away her beer. “Patrick …”
He ignored her protest, holding out his hand in Katie’s direction instead. “Hi, I’m Patrick—Amy’s boyfriend.”
Amy’s boyfriend.
She could see Katie was at least as surprised as she was.
Amy opened her mouth, but her lips curved into a dumbstruck smile as she gave Patrick a look that she feared was hopelessly enamored and sappy.
“Uh … hello. I’m Katie. I work with Amy.” And she sounded amused.
“Nice to meet you,” Patrick said good-naturedly. “So, tell me, does my little boozehound get sloshed very often?”
Amy gasped. “Boozehound? My hearing is excellent, even if I’m slurring my words, sir.”
“Well,” he prompted Katie with a wink. “Should I be worried?”
“I don’t think so.” Katie, whose nose had two piercings, grinned at him. “So are you the one responsible for the fact that she’s interested in grunge all of a sudden?”
Patrick raised a hand. “Guilty.”
“Patrick is going to pose for a painting,” Amy confided tipsily. “In the nude. And though I’ve only had half a glass of beer so far, he tells me I’m sloshed.”
“No idea what made me think that,” he joked. “Next time I’ll know not to give you any alcohol. You can’t hold your liquor.”
“Party pooper.” She leaned away from him, straightened her arm, frowned in concentration, and then touched her finger to her nose. “There!” she said triumphantly. “I’d make it through any test easily.”
“Maybe you would,” Patrick conceded, “but I still doubt you could manage the three floors up to your apartment.”
“We’ll see.” Snorting, Amy swiveled her head back to Katie. She was glad Patrick was standing very close behind her, for she was swaying and might have fallen if it weren’t for his chest against her back. “And what brought you here tonight?”
Katie nodded at the stage as she leaned against the bar and shrugged. “My roommate works here and got us free tickets. After I quit today, I wanted to put it all behind me, go out, and have some fun.”
Amy blinked in puzzlement. “Why did you quit?”
Katie shrugged again and signaled for the bartender. “It was getting unbearable, don’t you think?” she said belligerently, tucking her short hair behind her ears. “My plan was to study history and gather practical experience on the side, showing and explaining Roman history to other people. But it was turning into a trafficking operation or-or fraud or something. It’s one thing to lead a bunch of bored tourists who couldn’t care less about Rafael through the Vatican Museums. Or take them to the Sistine Chapel when they only want to see it because it was in a Tom Hanks movie. But I’m not going to sell them worthless crap and tell them it’s antique.”
Feeling clueless, Amy took a deep breath. “But he told me today I don’t have to sell anything if I don’t want to.”
“A few hours ago, he sounded very different.” Katie rolled her eyes and took a beer and a shot from the bartender. “Just wait, he’ll be back bugging you to do it in a couple of days. But I’m out!” She nodded at them with a weak smile and pointed to her right. “I’m going to say hi to a few buddies of mine. See you.”
“See you later,” Amy echoed, disheartened. She watched Katie disappear in the crowd, seemingly cheerful enough, despite have just lost her job.
“Trafficking?” All of a sudden, Patrick was standing in front of her and placed his hands on her knees. “I thought you were doing guided tours of the Colosseum.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” She sighed, pursed her lips, and knit her brows. “It seems I’m going to need a new job soon.”
“You already have two of those,” he murmured, stroking her knee.
“But they’re not enough to pay my bills.” Amy leaned forward and pressed her head against his chest. “Oh, crap.”
“I know it’s not much help right now, but I think you’re right to quit if your boss wants you to do shady things.”
“I’m sure Rome needs another committed selfie-stick hawker, right?”
“Absolutely. Not enough of those.” He cleared his throat. “Amy, you know, if—”
“What the heck,” she interrupted with a happy-go-lucky laugh and sat back up again. “Let’s not spoil the mood with that kind of worry now.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” She leaned in to kiss him. “I’m just sloshed enough to go back to the dance floor with you.”
“Then let’s do that.”
Chapter 8
“Good morning, my sweet boozehound.”
Patrick stepped into the bedroom sounding all cheerful, breakfast tray in hand, but Amy only gave him a tortured look and pulled the covers over her head.
“Go away,” her whiny voice was muffled. “I just want to stay here and die.”
“First you’ll have breakfast, and then you can die,” Patrick replied good-naturedly and set down the tray on a stool. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, studying the groaning bundle of human under the covers with a mixture of sympathy and amusement.
He could imagine how she felt after she’d puked out everything she’d eaten last night. He could not understand, however, how she’d gotten so drunk so quickly. She hadn’t even had three beers. Before he knew what had hit him, she’d turned into a wasted, slurring, staggering woman, one he had a hard time dragging out
of the club at all. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to score a taxi, which had made the way home an interminable odyssey of sorts. The last stretch of the way, Patrick had carried her piggyback. And he still had no idea how he’d managed to get her up to the third floor.
But the horrible night hadn’t ended when they’d made it to her apartment. He’d struggled to get her out of her clothes and into bed, only to watch her get up with a groan a few minutes later and crawl into the bathroom. From there, he’d kneeled next to her, held her hair, and remained by her side as she vomited over and over again.
Since then, he’d been acting as resident nurse, ignoring her refrain about wanting to die.
“I don’t want to have breakfast,” he heard her sniffle. “Please, leave me alone.”
Patrick barely managed to suppress a delighted chuckle as he pulled away the covers very gingerly. “Is it that bad?” he asked as he studied her pale face with sympathy.
Amy nodded and avoided his gaze. “I’m not just terribly hungover. I’m also aware that you witnessed me puking like a crazy woman last night. That’s so embarrassing!”
“Don’t be embarrassed in front of me.”
“Especially in front of you,” she whined, with another sniffle. “You of all people shouldn’t see me like that.”
“Poor thing.” He reached out and pressed her hand. “Can I do anything for you?”
“Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose and closed her eyes. “Shoot me.”
Patrick chuckled and shook his head. “Why don’t you take two Tylenol instead, and try to sleep a little?”
“I’m not even sleepy,” she mumbled.
“Then you should eat something,” he suggested pragmatically.
She opened her eyes wide and wrinkled her small nose even more. “Very funny! You were there when I was puking my guts out! Have you forgotten that already?”
“I could hardly forget it,” he said dryly, “when I was the one holding your hair back.”
She groaned again and closed her eyes.
He ignored her visible embarrassment. “You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten something.”
“I’d only feel better if you hadn’t seen me lying on the bathroom floor last night!”
His thumb caressed her cheek. “If you hadn’t felt quite so terrible,” he whispered, “I might have thought it rather cute.”
That got her full attention.
She gave him a doubtful look and frowned. “Cute?”
“Oh, yes!” He pushed her aside a little and lay down next to her. “You were totally wasted, slurring every word, and extremely clingy. And you kept saying I need to pose for you. You kept going on about the nude painting.”
“What?” Her blue eyes widened in horror, and she shook her head. “I did not!”
“Ask your coworker,” he demanded cheerfully. “You tried to tell the entire club that I agreed to pose for you in my birthday suit.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned and then gave him a rueful look. “I’m so sorry!”
“Why?” He scooted closer and snaked his arm around her waist. “I can’t think of a better compliment than a beautiful woman telling everyone she wants to paint you in the nude.”
That finally brought some color to her cheeks. Patrick guessed that was because he’d called her beautiful. If Amy was anything, it was modest. She shyly dismissed any compliment, seemingly unaware of how enraptured he was.
“Patrick?”
“Yes?”
She gave him a hesitant look. “Did … Did you really tell Katie you were my boyfriend last night?”
His eyebrows rose. “Was I not supposed to tell anyone?”
“No … Yes … I just mean …” She interrupted herself with a deep sigh. “Am I your girlfriend?”
“Would I have sat there holding your hair back while you puked if you weren’t?”
“Patrick,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Please be serious.”
“I am.”
He could see her swallowing. She was obviously struggling for words. “Let’s face it: You and me … What does it mean to you? A summer fling?”
Patrick put his arm under her neck. “Do you really think that?”
She looked at him, vulnerable in her openness. “I think you’re going to fly back to the States pretty soon.”
He was silent, and that must have inspired her to go on.
“We’re having a great time together,” she whispered, but she didn’t seem convinced right then. She looked as if she wanted to run away.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” she replied dejectedly. “But if you call me your girlfriend, even though we both know you’ll be leaving soon …”
“Amy.”
She exhaled. “If this is only a fling to you, you can tell me, Patrick. I won’t be mad.”
“I’m afraid you have the wrong idea about me.”
“And I’m afraid that I’m well on my way to falling hopelessly in love with you, if you stay any longer.”
He was clueless as to how he should react. He was taken aback by her confession that she was falling in love, and all he could do was search for the right words. “Are you saying you want me to leave?” he asked in a hollow voice.
“No,” she said promptly, and with conviction. “Of course I don’t want you to leave.”
“But?”
“But …” She gave him a pleading look. “I don’t know how to explain myself, and I really don’t want to make you angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Patrick,” she murmured softly, “I want you to be my boyfriend, and I don’t want you to leave, but I know you’re going to go home at some point. Maybe this is nothing special, nothing extraordinary for you, but for me, it’s …” Again, she left her sentence unfinished.
She had opened up to him, and so he now he had to reply in kind. “It’s something special for me, too, Amy. Believe me.”
“Oh.”
“Amy.” Patrick gave her a thoughtful look. “What did you think this was all about?”
She took a helpless breath. “Sex?”
He rolled his eyes. “As I told you before: If it was only sex, I probably wouldn’t have stayed when you were puking everywhere.”
She bit her lower lip. “That’s the most romantic declaration of love ever.”
Ignoring her attempt at taking it lightly, Patrick swallowed and admitted, “I’m not very good at these things.”
“These things?”
Without meaning it, he nodded harshly. “I’m not a romantic.”
Amy smiled a little, her eyes fixed on his mouth. “You’re not? I think you’re actually very romantic.”
He snorted and made a face. “Yeah, sure.”
“I’m serious,” she protested warmly. “You’re so sweet to me. You buy groceries, cook dinner, let me paint you, hold my hair when I’m sick… You even make breakfast and bring it to me in bed.”
He snorted again. “If you think that’s romantic—”
“Yes, I do,” she said quietly, placing her hand on his chest, right where his heart was. “Plus, you always call me ‘baby’ and ‘darling.’ Nobody’s ever done that before.”
Right then, he realized how much power this woman had over him. His heart started to beat faster, and the thought that nobody had ever used terms of endearment like those with her made him unhappy and satisfied at the same time. Unhappy, because Amy deserved to be loved, and satisfied, because no other man before him had called her his darling.
He decided to let the satisfied feeling win the day. He pulled her face closer. “Alright then. I’m a romantic, and you are a boozehound.”
“Sounds sort of fair,” she murmured.
***
“I shouldn’t have let you persuade me.”
Patrick smiled smugly to himself and then glanced in the rearview mirror. “The rental company shouldn’t have rented me this shoebox on wheels either. We all have our burdens to carry, baby.”
/> The woman at his side started to giggle. “You’re suddenly so American, Patrick.”
“Hey,” he complained, wiggling in his seat to find a comfortable position. He felt like he were riding the bumper cars at a fair. “You’re an American, too, if I’m not completely mistaken.”
“I am, but I’m not whining about riding in a compact car.” She pulled her legs in and would actually have afforded him a delectable view of her bare legs if he hadn’t been forced to focus on the road ahead. “Are you really one of those guys who need lots of horsepower to feel like a man?”
He wrinkled his nose. After all, he was sitting behind the wheel of a tiny Fiat 500. He didn’t know where to put his long legs and was afraid the next pothole would bump his head on the roof of the car. “Horsepower is overrated, but a little leg room would be ace right now. When we finally arrive, my legs will be so cramped I’m going to need a wheelchair.”
“Have you noticed the other cars? I don’t think there’s a bigger car in the entire country.” She cleared her throat. “Where are we going anyway?”
“That’s a secret.”
“Patrick,” she groaned. “You’ve been saying that since we got up this morning!”
Instead of acknowledging her sighs and groans, he continued to steer the shoebox of a car down the Italian freeway going north, rather pleased with himself and the world.
Amy had quit her job. Aside from not having to peddle fake antiquities, it meant she also didn’t have to work for three days straight. So Patrick had rented a car very early this morning and practically dragged her out of bed to surprise her with this trip to Tuscany. Of course, she had no idea they were on their way to one of the most beautiful natural beaches Italy had to offer, or that they’d be staying there two nights. In the previous days, she’d valiantly tried to hide her despondency from him, but he’d felt the need to provide her with a respite from the constant worries about where she’d get the money to pay next month’s rent.
He also wanted to pamper her because his conscience was giving him hell.
Unlike her, he’d never known financial worries. And he was beginning to really appreciate that he’d never had to rack his brain to get creative about where to find money for rent and groceries and things like that. Granted, he’d never been lazy, either. He’d always worked hard. But he had just never known this persistent, existential worry Amy lived with.