by Anna Rezes
“I’m gonna miss your birthday,” he says with regret.
“It’s not a big deal, and I’m gonna be busy with my family anyway.”
“I’ll still call you.”
“Forget about it. Go soak up the sun because who wouldn’t want to spend July in sunny, hot, humid Florida,” I tease.
“You know I’d rather stay here.”
“You’ll be back next Friday. It’s only a week.”
“Already counting down the hours until I come back from Hell, I mean vacation.” He gives me a grim smile. “We have a late flight on Friday, so maybe we can get together next Saturday.”
“Sure, now go before you miss your flight.”
“Yeah, that would be just awful.”
“Come on, Ben.” I tug him toward the door.
I hear Ashley’s footsteps behind me. She sets the bin on the counter. “Nice to see you again, Ben,” she chimes. The box is still a mess, clearly untouched.
“Good to see you,” Ben says, glancing in her direction.
“Have a good flight to Hell,” I say, wondering what it’s like to fly first class. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have their own private jet.
“Sure, it’ll be great,” he says with sarcasm and walks out the door.
“Damn, look at that hottie!” Ashley says.
I spin around to see her staring out the window. I follow her gaze and realize she’s not gawking at Ben. I feel the heat touch my cheeks. CRAP! Ben gives Patrick a curt nod as they pass each other. Patrick is heading toward the door. How did he know where to find me? I’ve decided to actively avoid him rather than confronting him with my many questions. I turn to hide from him, but it’s too late. He’s already in the door.
I make it a couple of steps before I hear his deep voice, “Emily.”
I freeze in place, squeezing my eyes shut as if that’ll make him go away, but it doesn’t work. Ashley’s jaw drops, and she looks at me in disbelief. I give her a worried look filled with screams for help. A look that says, “Be mean to this one!” She doesn’t catch on.
Patrick grips my shoulder and spins me around.
“What do you want, Patrick?”
“I have questions for you, love.”
I glare at his perfect sapphire eyes and hard jaw. He runs a hand through his blond hair as he watches me.
“Questions?” I ask, annoyed when he brushes a wisp of hair from my face.
“I’d like to know how old you are.”
Instead of answering him, I ask, “How did you find me here?”
“You’re easy for me to find, love.”
“Don’t call me that!” I jab a finger against his chest.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He backs up a step. “I asked Morgan where you work.”
“Why didn’t you just ask her how old I was?” I say, crossing my arms.
“I guess it was an excuse to see you again.”
“You said you’d give me some time.”
“Twenty-four hours is time,” he states. “Now if you would be so kind as to tell me your age.”
“How old are you?” I ask, more out of spite than curiosity.
“Twenty. You didn’t answer my question.”
I raise an eyebrow and remain silent.
“You think you’re clever, but I’m happy to stay here all day.” He mimics me by crossing his arms.
“I’m almost eighteen.”
“Eighteen?” He looks puzzled. “When is your birthday?”
“When’s yours?”
“August sixth.”
“Mine too. Now, what are the odds?”
“Are you always so evasive, love, or is it just with me?”
“Are you always so inquisitive, or is it just with people you’re currently stalking?”
“Why, are you jealous?” He leans forward. “When did you say your birthday was?”
“You need to leave. I have work to do.”
He spins in a circle looking around the vacant store. His eyes, full of humor, land on me. “I can tell you’re swamped.”
I glare at him. “It’s July third. Now, will you please leave?”
“When can I see you again?” he asks with a sense of urgency.
“I don’t want to see you again. And if you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”
“That sounds like fun.” He laughs at my threat.
“Seriously, I don’t want to see you.”
“You pretending you don’t want to see me is cute.” He’s scrutinizing my every move, making me uneasy. “Don’t you have questions for me?”
“No,” I lie. I have questions, but I don’t trust him.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
His tone turns serious, “If I told you your life depended on it, would you believe me?”
“No.”
“It’s adorable that you’re still trying to lie to me.” He’s suppressing a smile as he leans forward. “Listen, we are going to get together again. It’s simple, really, either we set a mutually beneficial date, or I will show up whenever I feel like it. It’s your decision. Take your time, love; I’ve got all day.”
As I stand seething, Patrick turns to move next to Ashley. “Hello,” he says in a seductive voice.
“Hi,” she breathes, wilting on her feet.
She is mesmerized by him. He reaches out to take her hand, and she happily obliges. He leans forward, touching his lips to her fingers. She looks like she might faint.
“My name is Patrick. It’s a pleasure to meet you . . .” He pauses for her name.
“Ashley,” she exhales, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Ashley,” he repeats in his deep sensual voice.
Does everyone react to Patrick this way? She’s acting as helpless as I feel around him. If not for my mistrust, I might also surrender to his irresistible charm.
“Stop!” I yell.
Ashley jumps.
“Stop what?” Patrick feigns innocence, but his smirk gives him away.
“You know what you’re doing,” I scold.
He turns to Ashley once more. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you. It looks like she is the jealous type after all. I think it’s time for me to go.”
“You don’t have to go,” Ashley pleads. “You should stay.”
“I’ll see you again soon, Ashley,” he promises.
I can’t stand it anymore, so I blurt, “If I agree to meet you, will you leave Ashley alone?”
“Yes, that’s excellent. When is your next day off?”
“Monday.”
“Great. I’ll meet you on Monday at your place. Shall we say, one o’clock? That should give you time enough to sleep in.”
“You know where I live?”
“I’ll find you,” he says with confidence.
“Of course, you will.”
He pulls my hand from my hip. His moist lips graze my knuckles, and I jerk away, slapping his angelic face. It’s out of character for me, but I can’t help myself. Ashley gasps. Patrick looks momentarily stunned. I hold my breath. He blinks once before he throws his head back with a burst of laughter.
“I can’t wait to know you, Emily Burk!”
My jaw drops and I simmer with anger. I clench my fists and my palm stings from the contact with Patrick’s face. He turns away laughing and opens the door to allow a little old lady and her flat-nosed pug to enter the store.
He’s still shaking with laughter as he walks to his car. Ashley doesn’t say anything, looking too stunned for words. I return to stocking shelves while Ashley remains behind the register twirling her hair, deep in thought. Once she locks the door at closing, she unloads on me.
“Emily, what the hell?” she scolds, without giving me a chance to explain. “You have not one, but two gorgeous hotties chasing you! You force one to get on a plane to Florida, and you slap the other one in the face! What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s way more complicated than you make it sound, Ashley.
Patrick isn’t even a friend. He’s a nuisance that won’t go away, and Ben is my best friend. I don’t want to ruin that.”
“So, like, you’re what? Just gonna remain friends?” She pauses before she starts her next rant. “I mean did you see his designer shorts. I bet those cost him three hundred bucks! He’s rich, he’s super-hot, and he’s willing to be just friends with you. That’s crazy, Emily! And then there’s Patrick, Oh My God! He’s perfect! And the way he looks at you, I’d kill to have him look at me like that.”
My words come quickly. “Okay, but when they find my body chopped up in a basement somewhere then maybe you’ll understand why Patrick is dangerous. And Ben can do whatever he wants. I want him to be happy.”
“You’re an idiot! He’d be happy with you! And I’ll take Patrick, basement and all,” she adds.
Ashley goes on and on about Patrick. He’s become her new obsession. I bet she can’t even remember the guy’s name she’d been obsessing over this morning. She’s so fickle when it comes to men. When I see Patrick again, I don’t care what it takes; I’m going to make sure he stays away from her.
Ashley and I close up the store, and I think about calling Morgan to find out what’s wrong with her crazy cousin, but I wouldn’t know where to start. The last time I tried, I’m the one who sounded crazy. Maybe I am, but at least I haven’t heard any voices since I told Patrick to stop.
The weekend goes by in a haze. I set a personal record for consecutive times hitting the snooze button, and despite all the rest, my eyes still have trouble staying open at work. The sleep must be contagious because I’m back in bed by seven on Sunday night.
eight
I wake on Monday with sunlight flooding my room. The alarm is buzzing, and I wave my hand around blindly until it finds the button to squelch the noise. My eyes begin to focus, and I see the clock. It’s noon and Patrick will be here in an hour. I can’t believe how long I’ve slept and I’m still tired. I cover my head with the blanket wishing for more shut-eye, but my bladder protests. I groan as I toss the sheets aside and stumble to the bathroom. I pass my reflection in the mirror and shudder. My hair has fallen out of its ponytail and hangs in tangled knots. Red creases imprint the side of my face and my eyes are bloodshot. My only option is to shower.
Once I’m out of the shower, I’m suddenly freezing. I blow-dry my long tangles on the warmest setting, hoping to ease the chill, but the warmth of the dryer almost puts me back to sleep.
I finally make my way into the kitchen. I don’t like coffee, but I need something to wake me up. I’ve often made coffee for Dad, so I’m familiar with the routine. Before the coffee finishes brewing, I hear a knock on the front door and Maggie lets out a warning bark. Good, my scary guard dog will protect me from Patrick. As I open the front door Maggie’s nub tail begins wagging as she nudges between my legs. She sniffs and nuzzles up to him.
“Unbelievable!” I gasp. She only has this reaction to one other person in the world and that’s me!
Patrick is composed and charming as always. “Hello,” he greets. “May I come in?”
“Why ask? You’ll just do it anyway,” I mumble, moving aside for him to enter.
Once inside, he kneels down to Maggie and strokes the sides of her neck. She’s like butter in his hands.
“Maggie, not you too,” I moan.
Patrick caresses the scars down her side where her fur never fully grew in. “How’d she get these marks?”
“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure a man caused them. She hates men. I expected her to be at your throat, but of course, you’re the exception.”
“Dogs like me,” he says, coming to a stand. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“Everything about you makes me uncomfortable.”
“If it helps, Morgan is aware of my presence here.”
“Your presence here? Who talks like that?” I sigh, too tired to argue. “Whatever.” I turn and move back into the kitchen with Maggie and Patrick on my heels.
The coffee finishes brewing, and I have a mug ready with a heap of sugar. From over my shoulder, Patrick laughs. “Are you going to have some coffee with your sugar?”
Too exhausted to come up with anything witty, I mumble, “I don’t like coffee.”
“So why drink it?”
While stirring my drink to dissolve the sugar, my eyes droop, and I complain, “I’m tired.”
“Haven’t you been sleeping?”
“All weekend.”
“Interesting.” He rests his hand on the small of my back. “Why don’t you sit down?”
He removes the hot mug from my hands and leads me to sit at the kitchen table. Leaning my arms on the table, I prop my head in my hands. In a small voice I say, “If I go to sleep, will you leave? I think I’m getting sick. Maybe I have mono. I feel like I’ve been in a coma all weekend.”
“It won’t last much longer,” Patrick says gently.
I’m irritated by his comment, but almost immediately my irritation floats away. I feel like I’m submerged underwater. I feel . . . peaceful. Everything is distant, dark, muffled.
Startled, I open my eyes to find Patrick shaking me. “Emily, you just fell asleep! Here, take a drink of your coffee.” He pushes the cup into my hands. I make a face as I sip the bittersweet concoction.
“Where is your mom?” he asks. He doesn’t know talking about my mom is taboo.
“Dead,” I whisper the painful truth. My eyelids become too heavy and I close them for a moment.
“How long?”
“Five years.”
“And where is your dad?”
“Work, always working.”
I’m strangely subdued, walking a fine line between wakefulness and sleep. The truth seems to pour out like tap water, so I ask the question I really want to know. “How do you talk to me without moving those lips?”
Only as my fingers graze his mouth am I conscious of my hand out in front of me. What am I doing? I pull back and fold my arms. I try to pull myself together, but it’s too hard to form a coherent thought. I imagine this is what it would feel like to be drunk, very, very drunk. I have no control over my thoughts, my words, or my movements. Did I just touch him? I giggle. I try to concentrate on my breathing. In and out. In and out. And once more I am back in the dark muffled water.
Disoriented, I open my eyes and search the room for something familiar. I blink at the white ceiling above recognizing the dark wooden blades of the ceiling fan in my living room. I feel the worn texture of the old couch I’m lying on, but I don’t know how I got here. The television is on mute and it’s dark outside the window. I feel something move at my feet.
Patrick is watching from the end of the couch while holding my feet in his lap. I yank my legs up, curling them to my chest. I wrap my arms around my knees and stare at him, trying to piece together my last lucid memory. “How did I get here?”
“You almost fell out of your chair when you dozed off. I thought the couch was a safer option.”
“Did you carry me in here?”
“Yes.”
I narrow my eyes. “What time is it? Why are you still here?”
“It’s nine-thirty, and we still haven’t talked.”
“You’ve been here for over eight hours!”
“Not the whole time. I picked up Chinese.” He motions to the collection of white paper boxes on the coffee table. “I didn’t know what you liked to eat, so I got a little of everything. I knew you would be hungry when you woke.”
The food was a nice gesture, but I’m still disoriented.
“Where is my dad?”
“He’s working late. He left you a message.”
“How do you know he’s working late? Did you listen to my voicemail?”
He smirks. “Your password was easy to figure out.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“One, two, three, four was my first guess.” I’m ready to rip him a new one when he says, “Your dad is going to explain everything t
omorrow.”
I’m thrown. “Explain what?”
“The truth. I’m baffled why he would wait so long, but I suppose he did his best with what your mom left him.”
“Excuse me!” I bolt upright. “You can stalk me, corner me, hack my phone, but you won’t say another word about my mother! Do you understand me?”
“Emi—”
“Not another word!” I shout, trembling. I can’t remember the last time I was this angry.
Patrick watches me like one would watch a screaming toddler. He’s patiently waiting out my tantrum. And I realize, I’m not finished.
“You are trouble! I can’t even keep my thoughts straight when you’re around! What are you still doing here? Get out! And stay the hell away from Ashley and me!” I demand.
Calmly, he soothes, “Emily, I’m not the problem. I know you’re confused, but you’ll understand soon.”
“Understand what, Patrick?”
He looks apologetic, as he answers, “The truth about your mom and about you.”
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. My anger crumbles and I sit down on the edge of the couch hiding my face in my hands. I rub my temples trying to dissolve the coming headache.
“How could you know anything about my mom?”
Moving closer, he answers softly, “Please understand there are so many things I want to tell you, but you have to talk to your dad first.”
I feel his eyes burning into my skin before I look up to meet his gaze. “Why are you here? Why did you wait eight hours to tell me to talk to my dad? Why didn’t you just leave?”
“I’ve never met anyone like you, Emily. I find you fascinating,” he says with reverence.
“You’re only interested in me because I don’t melt like butter when you’re around.”
He chuckles as he says, “That is intriguing, but it’s more than that. You completely captivate me.”
I wonder if he’s patronizing me, but his full lips are smiling seductively. His sun-kissed skin, strong jawline, and angled cheekbones are too perfect. His bright eyes gaze into mine and I’m mesmerized. He really is beautiful! He touches my knee and my pulse quickens. He leans into me and I can’t look away. I inch forward, enjoying his masculine scent. His lips are so close. If I lean in a little more . . .
