The heat of his anger suddenly iced into fear. “What?”
She lifted her head and tilted it toward him coquettishly. “Oh, Patrick, like you haven’t known!” She ran one hand down his chest, which he noted was now bare. What had happened to the shirt he had worn to the gym? He checked quickly, noted that at least he still had his shorts in place. He had loved that shirt, damn it. He and Anita had picked it out in Tokyo.
“Seriously, Kim, just let me go.” His impassioned plea would probably have benefited from some water.
She sneered at that, her face turning on a dime from blushing rose to Annie Wilkes. “Why?” She thrust a hand against hisbruised ribs and pressed hard, like squeezing water out of a zucchini. Pain lancinated through him. “So you can run back to your little blonde whore?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patrick gasped. The pain, oh my fucking God, the pain. “Please, can I just have some water?”
“Poor baby!” The insipid debutante had returned, all solicitous and cooing. She slid off the bed, grabbed a bottle of water, and inserted a straw. “Here, baby.” She held the straw out for him, and despite his misgivings, he drank as much as he could tolerate. Poisoning seemed better than thirst. “Baby needs to drink.”
Gross.“What did you do to me?” At least his voice was better, buoyed by the water. He tested the handcuffs as quietly as he could.
Kim laughed, tossing the long blonde ponytail behind her shoulder. She had changed into a bright-yellow sundress with little bows on the shoulders, and she tucked her bare feet underneath her as she perched next to him on the bed. “Sweet, silly Patrick,” she cooed, running her finger down his cheek. “I’m saving you.”
“Saving me from what?” Patrick hated the thrill of desperation in his voice. He tugged again at the handcuffs. The last time he had used them, they had been covered in neon pink marabou, and the experience had been far more pleasant. Less fraught with peril. “Kim, I have to get back. I have to compete tonight.”
A storm crossed her features, darkening them. She leapt from the bed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Back toher?” Her eyes spat fire. “Why? Because she’s so pretty and smart. All the boys likeher.” She turned on her bare feet, stomped over to an open suitcase, and started shuffling things around.
Had he stumbled into a horror movie after he had left the gym? Patrick needed a different strategy, needed to get his mind working properly. Where was his phone? Probably useless since he couldn’t use his hands, but still…
She was still throwing items of clothing, lingerie, black rubber tubing on the floor from her bag of crazy.
Patrick cleared his throat. “Kim?” She whipped around, her loam-colored eyes now murderous. “I’m sorry, Kim.” The tension visibly released from her body. “Look, I know you’re a really nice person.” She approached the bed again, quietly this time. “I’m just, um, having trouble understanding why you’ve tied me up.”
She had calmed. She climbed onto the bed beside him again, put a hand on his cheek. “Isn’t it obvious?” She bent close to him and brushed her lips gently against his. “I’m in love with you.”
****
“Stop jiggling the table.” Rodrigo rolled his eyes.
She stilled the rhythmic tapping of her knee with her hand.
“What’s with you today? I would have thought last night’s showcase success would have calmed your nerves, not made you into a knotty ball of them.” Rodrigo had a low tolerance for frailty.
Patrick still hadn’t called, and she had run out of excuses to leave the ballroom to check her phone. “I don’t know. I just feel like something’s wrong.”
The announcer called out a new heat, and Rodrigo smirked. “The only thing wrong is that you and your students have been mopping the floor with mine. And this program is going too quickly.” He grimaced. “At least we should be able to break early for lunch, right?”
It had been nearly five hours since she had argued with Patrick. Five hours was enough to cool off, right? Her leg resumed its rhythmic tapping.
She noticed Rodrigo staring at her closely. “What?” she barked. A few of her students were seated at the table near them, watching the performances and chatting, but they all turned to stare at her. “Sorry.” She needed to get a grip on herself.This was not the professional behavior she needed to display.
Anita picked up her phone and strode quickly out of the ballroom. One more call, that was all she needed. Just one more call. Patrick couldn’t avoid her forever.
“Anita, wait!”
She turned to see Rodrigo following closely behind her. He put his arms over his chest and stared at her. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She fixed a small wrinkle on the plain black dress she wore for pro/am competition. She wished she could talk to her mom, or even her dad. But they wouldn’t understand. Her mom would tell her she was being an idiot, and she should just be with Patrick, like it was an easy decision. Her dad would probably tell her this never would have happened if she had gone to medical school. “I just, um, I just haven’t been able to reach Patrick, that’s all.”
Rodrigo’s face softened. Though he had at least a couple of decades on her, he had few wrinkles to speak of, likely due to his fondness for retinol and sunscreen. But despite his affected sneer, his eyes had always been kind. It was why Anita had hired him.
“Look, Anita.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Patrick is the very definition of a good man. He is not going to leave you high and dry.”
“But, I—” Unbidden, the tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t do this, not now. She most definitely did not have time to fix massive mascara mistakes. “You don’t know, Rodrigo. I—I said some things to him.”
“You two have been friends since you were teenagers. You’ve never fought before?”
