Sharing Space (The Complete Series) (17 page)

“I know, but I don’t want to drop that kind of bombshell on my parents without proof.  What if I’m wrong?”

“Um, better safe than sorry. I guess I’m a little sensitive right now when it comes to family secrets. So, what are you going to do?”

“Not sure yet. I was going to call Charlotte before you came in and set up a little one-on-one intervention. I’ll try her tomorrow.”

“Don’t let me stop you if—”

“No, the way I feel right now it’s probably best to call her tomorrow.”

I was glad he decided not to end our conversation.  I hadn’t felt this comfortable in the presence of a man in a long time. It’s funny how I had all these reservations about living with a man, white or otherwise, but now I couldn’t imagine being in the apartment without him. Not just because of the sense of security he brought with him, but also because he was so easy to talk to and sexy as all hell. 

Whoa, where did that come from?

“Did you hear me?”

I was so caught up in my lustful thoughts that I didn’t hear a word Patrick had said.

“I asked if you were hungry. My mother insisted I bring home enough Sunday dinner for the two of us.”

Realizing that I had skipped dinner, I agreed to join Patrick in a plateful of his mother’s specialty: roast beef and mashed potatoes. We ate in the living room, laying off the wine and switching to water.  When we were done, we carried the dishes into the kitchen and worked together to load the dishwasher.  He rinsed. I loaded.

“Thanks for this.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Talking with me, calming me down.” We loaded the last of the dishes into the machine and Patrick dried his hands on a dishtowel.

“Well, you did the same for me, so I guess we’re even.” 

What happened next was one of those moments where two people share something significant and feel the need to cap off the moment with some sort of touching. Like, a
there, there
shoulder pat or a half hug.  Patrick reached out to touch me in what I think was supposed to be a shoulder pat.  I, in turn, stepped forward to give him a totally platonic, completely friendly hug. 

What resulted was this hug/wrestling-maneuver hybrid which left us both looking—and me feeling—pretty ridiculous. To save us both further embarrassment I mumbled, “Goodnight,” and tried to finish the hug. Our faces were inches apart and the last coherent thought I remember having was,
What the hell?

We kissed, and I stopped breathing. 

Patrick’s hand, which had been resting on my shoulder, moved to the back of my neck, bringing me closer to him and deeper into the kiss. Not to be outdone, my arm misunderstood the brain signal that said “
Hug him around the neck
,” and took it to mean “
Wrap around his waist
.” 

Bad arm. 

The kiss had started off as awkward and chaste, but what with all the neck caressing, pelvic pressing, and tongue, it soon became exploratory and, in a word, hot.  I was very much aware of how good it felt to have my hand pressed against the small of his back.  My legs felt like they were dissolving and, for fear of passing out on the kitchen floor mid lip-lock, I gathered the bottom of his tee shirt in my hand and held on for dear life. 

In doing so I pulled some of his shirt free from the waistband of his jeans.  Patrick held both sides of my face with his hands and started to kiss down my neck.  Things got real hazy after that.  I could faintly make out the hum of the dishwasher, but realized quickly that the noise was actually my moans. The dishwasher kicked into rinse mode just as Patrick’s hands found their way under my shirt. The sudden noise jolted us and we broke apart, both breathing heavily.

“Wow.” That was all he said and, even though there were dozens of thoughts rushing around my brain, “wow” seemed to sum things up quite nicely. 

“I’m sorry.” I was not sure why I apologized and apparently neither was Patrick. He reached out to take my hand.

“Why?”

I pulled my hand away.  “That shouldn’t have happened. I… had a little too much wine and I was upset, and you know, you were upset, and we just… this is the part where you saying something would really mean a lot. Like, save me from myself because I’m embarrassed and when I’m embarrassed I tend to babble—”

In my head I could hear my own voice and I wanted it to stop. I was sober enough to know I was making a fool of myself, yet the words kept flowing. Patrick was looking at me with the oddest look on his face. Afraid that I’d discover the look to be a mixture of disappointment and pity, I tried not to decipher it.

“So yeah, saying something right now would be great.”

“Are you done?”

I was so done he had no idea. I wanted nothing more than to run from the kitchen and pretend that the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Actually, if I could have gotten a do-over on the whole day that would have been perfect. All I managed to say was, ‘Yes.”

“Good, but I’m not.”

Chapter One

Not So Shining Moments

Patrick

I must have set some sort of record for quickly going from feeling pretty damn good to feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. I wasn’t sorry that Chloe and I had kissed, and I was certain that kissing had nothing to do with having too much wine. I kissed her because she was beautiful. I kissed her because I’d just had one of the most relaxing and comforting nights I’d ever spent with a woman and I wanted to feel her. I kissed her because we were both hurting and she looked like she needed it. I know I did. I wanted to tell her all of that, but her eyes had darkened and she was looking at me as if I was insane.

“What do you mean you’re not done?”

Realizing what she meant, I tried to clear it up. “No, no, not that. If you want to stop this, whatever this is, then of course we’ll stop. I just meant…”

I was at a loss for words. I knew what I felt. I didn’t want the night to end. I could have stayed up all night talking to Chloe, touching her, laughing with her, just being with her if she’d let me but, from the expression on her face, it seemed that was quite possibly the last thing she wanted. Even if I could manage to put how I was feeling into words, Chloe looked as if she didn’t want to hear it.

“You’re right. We just had too much to drink and… we’re both kind of needy right now.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I’m sorry. I… I’m going to bed.”

Chloe turned and left the kitchen. I watched her go. I didn’t want to, but I did.

***

The next few weeks passed without a single word between us—at least not verbally. The morning after the hottest time I’d ever spent in a kitchen, I awoke to find Chloe already gone and a note on the fridge.

Patrick, I know you’re probably tired of me saying this, but I’m really sorry about last night. You were right. We were both needy and hurting, and this whole living arrangement is still new to both of us. I hope what happened won’t make it uncomfortable for us to continue living together. I’m happy you’re here. C.

She was right about one thing. I was tired of hearing how sorry she was that we kissed. I also didn’t like how she kept referring to
it.
It was kissing. Okay, so it was a bit more than kissing. Any time I allowed myself to remember what it felt like to have Chloe’s body pressed against mine, I had to admit that things were definitely headed in the exact opposite direction of innocent kissing. How far it would have gone will forever be a mystery, but I know how far I wanted it to go. And I knew enough about women to know Chloe wanted it too.

She avoided me for the next few weeks. Her new project at work kept her working late most evenings, but even on the weekends she managed to find reasons to be out of the apartment. The few times we were home at the same time I was tempted to confront her, force her to talk to me, acknowledge me, anything. We didn’t have to talk about what happened between us, but did we each have to pretend that the other didn’t exist?

Then I became angry. We’d done nothing wrong and if she wanted to act like she lived alone then I definitely wasn’t going to force her to pay attention to me. We were both too old to play games, but my ego refused to let me be the first one to break. I was doing a good job at living in my own little fantasy world where I didn’t miss the company of a woman I could not stop thinking about, when just the mention of her name was like a kick in the gut.

“So I met Chloe yesterday.”

I glanced over at Kelly Kennedy. I slowed my pace on the treadmill a bit but Kelly, running on an identical machine next to me, didn’t miss a step. There was really no reason for me to be so surprised. I had mentioned to Kelly a few weeks ago that Chloe’s company would be contacting her representation with an offer from
Raven Cosmetics
. Due to a combination of a great offer and my assurance that she’d be in Chloe’s capable hands, Kelly had signed a contract a few days prior.

“Really?” 

Yeah, I know, but it was all I had.

“She’s very nice.”

“Yup.”

“And smart, too. I just signed on to do a guest spot on
Shannon’s World
and—” Realizing I had no idea what that was, Kelly explained. “It’s a cable show for teenage girls. It stars Shannon Becker.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

Kelly sighed. “She’s like Lindsay Lohan before all the bad decisions. I was originally hired to play a fictional model-slash-actress who comes to Shannon’s town to judge a local modeling competition that Shannon and her enemy both want to win.”

“Fascinating.”

“I know, but listen to this. Chloe came up with this idea where I would instead play myself judging a competition for
Raven Cosmetics.
They took the idea to
Raven
and the network and they loved it. I’m so excited!”

Kelly had every reason to be excited. Her star was on a steady rise. She was also from Roman Glen and we had gone to high school together, although I was a year ahead. I was vaguely aware of who she was, being such a small town and all. She was the pretty popular captain of the dance squad and a member of the drama club. We hadn’t gotten to know one another until years later when we were in the same acting class. Kelly had a successful three-year run on a popular soap opera,
Shining Moments
, before leaving to try her hand at the big leagues—movies.

“Puh-lease,” she’d said when I asked her at the time if she was sure she wanted to leave a sure thing for the uncertainty of the big screen. “If things don’t work out,
Moments
will take me back like that.” She had snapped her fingers for emphasis.

“But they’re killing off your character,” I reminded her.

“Patrick, no one stays dead on a soap opera,” she said.

Kelly was right. I shouldn’t have worried. Within six months of being off the soap she was cast as Bruce Willis’ lover who gets killed in his latest action film.  Due to that role, plus a scorching hot spread in
Maxim
magazine, Kelly was on everyone’s “It” list. The changes had worked in Kelly’s favor. She was always a pretty girl with a nice body, but once she decided she wanted to spread her wings one of the first things she did was hire me to become her personal trainer. She’d looked like the typical girl next door with her straight blonde hair, sky blue eyes, and round face, but after working out with me for the past two years she now looked leaner, more sophisticated, and sexier, yet not too sexy. This is what made her perfect for the new
Raven
campaign.