Patterson shows up on Tuesday night with Thai food and a bruise forming along his jaw from his game. I pull him inside before he gets a hello out. We make it to the couch, somehow end up in the kitchen with me pressed against the counter, then stumble to my bed. The Thai food got cold on my counter, but by the time we eat, we’re both starving. He feeds me a bite with his fingers. I lick the sauce off his thumb, and we feed one another until it’s gone.
He stays that night, and the next, and the one after that.
By the weekend, his toothbrush is in my bathroom, and his running shoes live by my door, but neither of us mentions what’s happening. We enjoy every minute.
While he’s at practice, I finish my painting for the commission. Even after that, my hands won’t rest, and I find myself reaching for the same colors I always go to. My favorite is the greenish-blue, the color of his eyes when they are hit by a certain light.
The Secret Lover collection has grown from five to eight. They’re currently living in my closet because I can’t explain what they mean to anyone yet. If Addison saw them, she’d see straightthrough me. She’d know. And then all my secrets would be out in the open.
How do I explain that my hands paint him without permission? That his jaw, cheeks, mouth, hands are set to muscle memory in the same way as landing a triple axel. Every blank canvas begs me to paint him. Creatively obsessed. It’s the only way to explain it.
Sunday morning comes quick. He’s sprawled across my queen bed, hogging the blankets, looking obscenely good with his hair wrecked and pillow creases on his cheek. My phone vibrates, and I almost ignore it, but I know I can’t. I roll over and grab it off the nightstand.
Addison
Sara Janes’s at 10 a.m. Pancakes and gossip—don’t forget! NO CANCELING!
It’s been a week since I’ve seen her, and we’ve barely talked since the gallery.
Kendall
Don’t worry. I’ll be there. PROMISE!
I put my feet on the edge of the bed and pull my hair back into a ponytail.
“Where are you going?” Patterson’s voice is rough and sexy with sleep. He reaches for me without opening his eyes, fingers gently catching my wrist.
I grin. “Brunch with my bestie.”
“Cancel. Please?”
“Um … no. Besties before bros.”
He tugs me back down onto the mattress and rolls on top of me, pinning me with his weight. His skin is warm, and he smells like my sheets.
“Pretty please,” he mumbles as he kisses my neck—his scruff tickles.
“Nooo! I can’t! Seriously.” I’m laughing, shoving at his chest, but he’s dead weight and not budging. “Patterson, I have to go. Plus, I want to.”
He bites my earlobe, and I yelp.
“Not fair. You were supposed to be mine all weekend,” he playfully whines.
“Quit being greedy.” I shove harder, and he rolls off, grinning like he won something. “Are you going home?”
“Nah, I’ll be here. I’ll wait for you to get back so I can properly say goodbye.”
“You’d better be,” I say.
He catches my hand before I can stand and pulls me to his mouth, where our lips slide together.
“That won’t work.”
“Worth a try,” he says, smirking. “But you should go before I capture you instead.”
“Your sister would come searching for me,” I tell him. “Trust me.”
He chuckles. “True. Have fun.”
