Iwas supposed to be cool and calm when I asked Patrick to have dinner with me. Lola had given me a 15 minute lecture about how to come off less abrasive than my natural frigidness (my words, not hers). I have been hyping myself up all morning but he had to screw around and get me a gift that was equal parts practical and adorable.
The little shit.
I couldn’t stop myself from practically screaming and terrifying him with my question. I had stunned him stupid, his talented mouth’s opened slightly and I don’t think I’ve ever seen wider eyes on anyone other than my nephew’s when Mabel or his Nana sneaks him candy.
I bite on the inside corner of my lip, questioning all of my choices. “You know what, ignore me.” Something warm covers my mouth and Patrick shakes his head. “Don’t even think about it. Tonight? Can I have dinner with you tonight?” It’s his hand. His hand is covering my mouth. This dork literally put his hand over my mouth to stop me from back tracking. “My apartment, come to my apartment for dinner, please.” I can’t say anything with his hand on my mouth but that’s probably a good thing, my heart is racing and I need a moment to compose myself.
He’s looking at me with anticipation coloring his handsome face and I can’t help fucking with him just a bit. I part my lips and stick my tongue out, flicking it across the fingers covering the seam.
His hands whips back but he lets out a short groan. “Sweetheart, please. My apartment?” I cross my arms on my chest and raise a finger, pointing at him. “Thank you for accepting my invitation. Yes, dinner at your apartment would be perfectbutI asked you to dinner. So, I will be bringing dinner. What can I bring? What do you like?” His smile is dazzling.
“I’ll eat anything of yours. Or, crap, anything you bring, I’ll eat. No allergies, no preferences as long as you’re at my apartment tonight.” He’s like a kid on Christmas. Am I really worth this level of excitement?
I want to say no. I want to tell him to forget that I even asked. I should tell him to have Paul and Mabel take him out and find him a good girl who’s nice. A girl who doesn’t have to jump shuffle into jeans and only owns like two pairs because she hates the way she feels like a busted can of biscuits in them.
My grumpy ass isn’t worth the excitement from the man. He should be taking flowers to someone who deserves them. Buying gifts and following asshole rules like taking off his very heavy work boots anytime he has to come into the office.
While I’m spiraling, Patrick comes to my side of the desk and cradles my cheeks in his hands. “I’ll be ready for you at 6.” He presses a gentle kiss to my lips before backing away. “I’m going to be in a meeting with Lola for most of the afternoon but I will see you tonight.”
And then he’s gone. Out the door with Honey Cat trailing after him. The door shuts and I hear him let out a whoop. God, he is too fucking pure. His kiss short circuited my brain but the panic is slowly creeping back in. I grab my phone and shoot off a text to my sister group chat.
Me: SOS he said yes! He wants to have dinner at his apartment tonight! I should cancel, right???
Mabel: Absolutely not! You are going even if I have to hog tie you and drop you at his doorstep.
Lola: You can’t send this kind of message right before I’m going into a meeting! No canceling, you can dothis
Me: I can’t do this.
Paul: I am very confused but Nik has Henry so someone needs to catch me up. What can Grandma do? Or not do?
Fuck, I messaged the wrong chat. I did not want Paul knowing what was going on. Not only was he the one to catch me using Patrick as my personal pillow but he was the worst tease in the world. And he had absolutely no filter, I just knew he was going to spill the fucking beans. Probably in front of Mama who was the second to last person I wanted to know about anything that may or may not be happening with Patrick.
Mabel: I’ll tell you later. We still on for tonight?
Me: Don’t you dare tell him anything.
Paul: Hell yeah we’re on for tonight. I need Maybe to get me out of these feels…
Mabel: I got you baby brother.
Elle: Wait, no. Mabel, I swear you better not say anything! I will never tell you another fucking thing if you utter a single letter.
Lola: You three need to stop blowing my phone up. I’m going to look unprofessional in front of Elle’s boyfriend.
Me: He’s not my boyfriend!
Mabel: Yet
Paul: I am definitely three steps behind in this whole conversation.
Me: There are no steps. You are all the worst and I’m writing you out of my will.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
ELLE
Do you know how fucking hard it is to decide on dinner when the person who you’re supposed to have dinner with gives you zero opinions on what to eat? Really fucking hard. So damn hard, you’ll be forced to text your oldest sister—who you had just threatened with will removal—to get suggestions.
