And why would he? The whole world was his oyster.
‘Here we go,’ Patrick said quietly after we’d walked up two flights of stairs and he’d unlocked a door with a large 23 on it. ‘Home sweet home.’
He might call it home sweet home, but it certainly didn’t feel very homely. Honestly, the hallway had hotel lobby vibes more than anything else. There were no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks, no half-mangled umbrella by the door or myriad coats hanging up. It almost felt like no one lived here.
It also wasn’t the palatial cavern that I had kind of assumed it would be.
From where I was standing, as Patrick closed the door behind us, the hallway opened up into a kitchen–lounge thing, there was a bathroom just to my right, and then two other doors. Bedrooms, right?
That was it. No walk-in wardrobe, plunge pool or snooker table, like I always assumed a pop star’s home would have.
No cinema. No bar.
Just … a flat.
I mean, obviously not just a flat. The lights came on automatically and music started playing in the sitting room; there was definitely a sword – a sword? – mounted on the wall that I could see through the open doorway, and the furnishings were so high-end that I was a little worried about staining the upholstery with the lingering grease from the fried chicken we’d been eating earlier. I wiped my hands discreetly on my sundress.
‘So, I guess this is the bachelor pad,’ I said lightly as Patrick dropped his keys into a bowl that sat on the carpet by the door.
‘Yeah.’
‘Where’s the cinema, and the pool table, and the built-in bar?’ I raised one solitary eyebrow.
Patrick’s laughter filled the space and, instantly, the room felt more alive. ‘What, not meeting your high standards?’ he asked.
I grinned back. ‘Well, you just keep surprising me. I was expecting your place to be more of a –’ I gesticulated, looking for the right word. Patrick continued laughing. ‘I thought it would be more bachelor pad-like, I guess.’
But I shouldn’t have been surprised. All this time I’d spent with Patrick had proven he wasn’t the playboy, ‘pop star gone wild’ type. At least, not any more. Not for a long time.
He shrugged, half-self-deprecating and half-pleased. ‘Well, sorry to disappoint. If I’d known you had such high expectations, I would’ve made sure to get a hot tub built into the living room. Or maybe I should have gone full Vegas and found a tiger?’
I chuckled before letting a peaceful silence settle over us.
Here, the two of us … It was the first time we’d actually been alone. Properly alone. Somewhere we couldn’t be interrupted.
I swallowed as we stood, unmoving, in the hallway.
Two doors. Two bedrooms.
Which one was Patrick going to suggest that I sleep in?
‘I guess –’
‘Should we –’
Our laughter felt muffled in the hallway. ‘Sorry.’
‘Nah, it’s OK.’ Patrick shrugged his coat off and held out his hand for mine. ‘What were you going to say?’
WhatwasI going to say?I could hardly think. There were quite literally two doors, two options ahead of me, and I wasn’t sure, not really, which I wanted.
Well, I knew which I wanted – but I didn’t know what Patrick wanted. What he’d wanted when he invited me round.
If he showed me into the spare bedroom, I tried to tell myself, that was nothing – nothing – to do with how he felt about me.
It was the responsible thing to do. The respectful thing to do. After all, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him just assuming I would fall into bed with him – though after our photo booth moment, maybe I shouldn’t be that surprised.
And it shouldn’t matter, should it?
