The Space Between (17 page)

His eyes locked on me for a long moment while I studied him, and my body immediately betrayed me—my cheeks and neck flushed, my lips parted, and my nipples hardened—and Patrick noticed the subtle changes, smirking.

He dropped to his desk chair and motioned to Tom. “Are these it?”

I studied my plans—anxious to direct my thoughts away from crawling into Patrick’s lap to taste his scruffy jaw, and the way his eyes gazed right into me—and ignored their quiet discussion. They paged through the documents, pausing every few moments when Tom pointed, repeating “and sign here” until Patrick snapped that he could see the lines without Tom’s help.

“Any emergencies today, Asani?”

Looking up, I discovered we were alone and Patrick was skimming his email. “No,” I replied. “Everything’s fine. I sent you some notes, though. Updates.”

“Great, well…” He swiveled away from his screen to stare at me. “Thanks for taking care of everything. It’s been a long week. Head out for the weekend.” I nodded, overwhelmed with disappointment.

I wanted to go back in time, back to Shannon’s bathroom. There was the added benefit of reliving Patrick’s mouth on me, but I only wanted to retrieve my thoughtless, knee-jerk words.

Tucked into layers of outerwear, I waved goodbye and was at the threshold when he spoke again. “You really should join us tonight. Pomodoro, on Hanover Street. Eight.”

*

Between the food,
wine, toasts, and Tom’s incessant chatter, there was barely time to notice Patrick at the opposite end of the table. That wasn’t to say I didn’t notice—I did.

And Patrick noticed me.

I knew every time his eyes landed on me, and it wasn’t long until I started matching his gazes. They were momentary, and in the excitement of the celebration, no one picked up on the building tension. Shannon and Sam were busy gushing over the new properties while Patrick pretended to listen, and Riley invited himself into the kitchen to talk basketball with the servers. Tom regaled me with tales of Patrick’s endless string of assistants, and I indulged in his random questions about my interests.

“You need to try this,” Tom said, pushing a plate of tiramisu to me.

My eyes flicked to Patrick while my mouth closed over the tines of the fork. The warmth of his gaze did something to me—something electric that awoke every cell and nerve and muscle in my body, and made my insides feel delightfully restless.

At the sound of Patrick’s throat clearing, I slid the plate back to Tom. “Thanks. I’m not really into desserts.” Tom sent me a dubious look, and I drained my wine. I think it was my third but after a few hours at the table and an eager server, I lost track. Glancing around the tiny restaurant, I spotted the restrooms. “I’ll be right back.”

I felt Patrick’s eyes follow me from the table and down the narrow hallway. I wasn’t surprised to feel his hand wrap around my arm when I reached the cramped bathroom, and I was even less surprised when he locked the door behind him and turned to me, scowling.

While his gaze pinned me to the wall, I realized something.
None of it mattered.
The wrong, the inappropriate, the out of line. I invented all of those things, and maybe there were good reasons for them at time. None of it mattered
now
.

It only took one step to be in Patrick’s arms, his mouth pressing against mine with an urgency that matched the need screaming through my veins. His hands were in my hair, fisting around it and pulling, and I moaned against him.

Like clockwork, Patrick’s hands landed on my backside and lifted me, wrapping my legs around him. It was my favorite kind of predictable. When my fingers met his soft hair, I felt the remnants of my long-held tension liquefying and draining out of my muscles. He kissed my throat and jaw, and I arched into him with a whimper.

There was no denying there was something between us, something potent. It was bigger than us, and it was pulling us deeper as each day rolled by. It was intense and real, and I was finished trying to push it away.

“I want to know what you’re thinking,” he demanded.

My thighs squeezed around his waist and I brought his attention back to my mouth. Tasting and breathing him in sent tingles through my system. “I’m thinking I’ve missed you.”

“What else?” He pulled back, his head banging against the door, and stared into my eyes. “I want to know exactly what’s in your head right now.”

“And…” I studied the tendons of his neck while I attempted to bring order to my thoughts. “This is the worst idea I’ve ever had, and it is beyond irresponsible and unprofessional, but…”

“But what, Andy?”

I licked my lips and met his eyes. “I’m risking everything here… You know that, right?” He held my gaze, finally nodding and dropping his eyes to my throat. “I have sex with you in my mind. Frequently.”

Patrick angled his head and I watched him absorb the weight of my words. Eventually he asked, “Is it any good?”

I nodded vigorously. “Incredible.”

Patrick blinked twice, his eyes searching mine, before locking his arms around my waist and kissing me. The tension between us was shifting—one form of pressure released while another started building. His mouth was hard and demanding, and I dug my fingers into his shoulders to feel more of him.

“Why doesn’t this change things?” he asked against my mouth.

“You tell me what this changes,” I murmured, my lips leaving wet kisses along his neck and throat. “You’re in control here, Patrick.”

“If you only knew.” A humorless laugh escaped Patrick’s mouth, and he dropped his forehead to my shoulder. “Everything,” he breathed into my hair. “It changes everything.”

“Then it has to stay between us,” I said, my nails scratching along the nape of Patrick’s neck. “They can’t know.”

“Whatever you want. I’ll give you whatever you want.” His nose and lips teased the corner where my neck and shoulder met. “I’ve missed you too, fuck, so much, but we don’t have the best track record with bathrooms. Or Fridays.”

I laughed against him, and pressed a series of kisses to his lips before dragging his bottom lip into my mouth and biting. He wasn’t the only one with teeth. “Tell me what you want to happen next, Patrick.”

“I’m going to leave, and you can come with me, or you can stay. I’ll text you my address. I live three minutes away. I want you, but you have to decide how it’s going to be. I want you to come to me.”

Patrick brought his hand to my hair and crushed his lips against mine, our mouths moving together until I started unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled my wrist away and folded it behind my back with a pointed look, and set me on the countertop.

“It’s your decision.”

He slipped through the door, and I was alone. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I saw out-of-control hair, swollen lips, and the faint redness of stubble rash riding along my neck, all complemented by a wide smile that represented exactly how I felt.

PATRICK

I
f I hadn’t
racked up enough points to earn a padded cell yet, leaving Andy in another bathroom surely put me over the edge. After sprinting to my apartment, I killed time picking up dirty socks, filling my dishwasher with the wreckage in the sink, organizing my refrigerator, and sorting the industry journals piled on my kitchen table.

I spent weeks believing I was a pervy creeper who leered at his young apprentice, and her admission in the bathroom felt like absolution. I wanted to celebrate the removal of my creeper status, and I wanted that party in my bed with Andy.

My pulse pounded against my temple while the minutes ticked by, and I glared at my phone as I begged for some confirmation Andy received the texts with my address and door code. More than an hour passed before I flopped to the sofa, dejected and doubly miserable.

I was fast-forwarding through the most recent Premier League games and devising a plan to transfer Andy to Matt’s projects and bring Riley back onto my projects when her chime sounded from my phone.

00:47 Andy:
I once heard someone say that if something is equal parts amazing and terrifying, you should always pursue it.

Rolling my eyes, I stopped the game and scowled at the phone. She was a never-ending trail of breadcrumbs.

00:48 Patrick:
I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again: you don’t give me much.

00:49 Patrick:
and you are beyond confusing when

00:49 Patrick:
A) you go radio silent for 2 hours

00:50 Patrick:
B) you send me wildly ambiguous texts that require several more questions to understand when you could have just told me what you’re trying to say

00:50 Patrick:
and C) I can’t read you at all unless your legs are wrapped around me and my tongue is in your throat

00:51 Patrick:
and believe me, I’d like to do that ALL fucking day, but I can’t so you need to give me a little more if you’re going to keep dragging me into bathrooms

00:52 Patrick:
please, save me the trouble of interpreting your commentary, and tell me what the fuck you’ve decided because I’m two seconds away from an aneurysm

A sharp knock echoed from my door, and I glanced back and forth between my phone and the door, knowing that I’d either find a sibling too drunk to make her way home and looking to crash, or Andy.

00:53 Patrick:
if you’re not on the other side of that door…

00:53 Andy:
you’ll never know until you look

A ripple of joy mixed with absolute panic flowed over my body when I found Andy leaning against the doorframe, her head bowed over her phone.

She gifted me with a small smile and raised eyebrow. “You seem angry.”

“You’re impossible to read.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in reading me,” she countered with a shrug.

I pursed my lips and closed my eyes with a tight groan. She was going to drive me to a new level of insanity, and I’d be arriving there very soon.

“Get your ass in here,” I said, and she rewarded me with another smile as her shoulder brushed my chest.

She lifted her phone. “I’m here. Even though it’s amazing and terrifying.”

“I see that,” I said, leaning against the door. Her words started feeling mischievous, almost like a flirty game that we were playing except I didn’t know any of the rules. “Would you like to tell me why?”

Andy rolled her shoulders and tucked her phone into her bag. “You invited me.”

I paced toward Andy, my frustration and arousal blurring together until I couldn’t separate the two. “It took you two hours to decide.”

“But it’s not Friday anymore, and as you pointed out, we’re tragic on Fridays. I was chatting with your sister. She’s hilarious, and we had some wine, and we’re going to yoga next Saturday.”

“She’s afraid I’m going to scare you off.”

Unbuttoning Andy’s coat, I tossed it to the sofa before plucking her gloves from her fingers and unwinding her scarf. Taking layers of clothing off of her, even outerwear, was an exquisite seduction, and I barely restrained my desire to throw her over my shoulder and charge for the bedroom.

“Hardly.” Her fingers brushed down the row of buttons on my shirt and settled on my belt buckle. “A few weeks ago, at the bar?” She glanced at me, and I nodded for her to continue. “I’ve been thinking about it. I wish I had worn a skirt.”

“Other than the fact your legs are amazing, and I would have spent the entire night staring at them, why is that?”

“Well,” she whispered, her fingers releasing my shirt’s buttons. “I’ve had this…fantasy.”

Her eyes met mine when the word ‘fantasy’ rolled off her tongue, and they were wide, dark, and deviously twinkling. I swallowed a growl and fought to keep my expression flat. It was stay serious or fuck her where she stood, and I was doing my best to be slightly more evolved.

Slightly.

At least for a few more minutes.

“I’m expecting you to start explaining that comment, kitten.”

Andy tugged my shirt loose, and let it hang open with her hands stilled against my chest. The flame in her eyes brightened and she licked her lips. Maybe bearded hipsters weren’t her type anymore, which was good news because I really wanted to get rid of the overgrown stubble, and I did not want to start shopping for skinny corduroys.

“I had this fantasy about having drinks with you, and talking about minimalistic modern and preservation legislation—”

“You are so weird,” I interrupted. Only Andy would have talking points in her fantasies.

“Maybe.” She smiled, slipping my shirt from my arms. “But we didn’t get to my opinion of laminate, and we didn’t have an aged whiskey, and I would have liked your hand up my skirt, making me come under the table.”

My eyes widened, my mouth hanging open in stunned silence. The oxygen seemed to vanish from the room. She was in my apartment, telling me about her public orgasm fantasies for fuck’s sake, and we both knew the gray area between mentor and apprentice long ago faded to black.