“Not sure what you’re talking about.” I grab my sketchbook, then strut across the room to sit.
“You’re trying to impress someone.”
“Oh? So, this outfit works? I have a date. Thanks for confirming I’m dressed appropriately.” I keep my voice casual, like it doesn’t matter, but I can feel the possessiveness rolling off him. “With that being said, I’d appreciate it if we stayed on schedule today.”
He faces me. “A date?Really? With Damien again?”
“Someone new.”
“Who?”
“That’s none of your business.” I glance up and catch the storm brewing behind his eyes.
“Is it another player? That seems to be your type,” he says.
“Sit so we can get started.” I bite my bottom lip, proud that I’ve broken him down faster than I thought was possible.
I set down my pencil and cross my legs, watching his eyes track the movement before snapping back to my face.
“You go on five dates a week. Why does it matter?”
He laughs in my face. “You’re watching what I do online.”
“Pfft.”
His smile is almost contagious. He’s been on my mind since I saw him at Billie Calloway’s party on New Year’s Eve, but I could never admit that.
“Did you forget who my bestie is? Your sister loves telling me what and who you’re doing. You know, the other day, I was so close to telling her you’d kissed me all those years ago.”
“You kissed me while you were dating my twin brother. That’s fucked up,” he says, rolling his eyes and shoving his hands into his pockets. “But what’s even more fucked up is, you said yes when he proposed. Even though you wished it were me fucking you instead of him.”
“That is not true,” I tell him, questioning myself. Was it?
The silence becomes unbearable.
“Your hate isn’t working today. Try harder to stop eye-fucking me, okay? Your mouth says one thing, but your body says another,” I tell him, acting unfazed even though my insides are trembling. “Now sit down, pretty, pretty please?” I ask, blinking up at him, staying completely calm even though my walls are shattering.
That’s the problem with Patterson; I never expect what he’ll say or do.
Thankfully, he huffs, then drops into the chair and sprawls back with his legs spread wide, but there’s nothing relaxed about it. His body is tight, like he’s going to snap at any second.
I flip open my sketchbook and start working, listening to the lead of the pencil scratch against the paper. A few minutes pass before he speaks again.
“You call Jameson back yet?”
The question shouldn’t affect me as much as it does—because the answer is no, and the reason is sitting right in front of me, looking at me like he wants to either kiss me or strangle me.
“I’ve been busy, focusing on my work.”
“But you can go on a date?”
I don’t look up. “Exactly. I’m searching for something new this time. I’m not intrigued by looking into the past.” I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he gets the hint.
Jameson and I are over. Patterson and me? Well, that can never begin.
It’s almost as if he relaxes, and then I notice something flicker across his face.
Now I tilt my head at him. “You do know I can read you like a book, right? There were some advantages to almost marrying your twin. Your mannerisms are the same. Even if you try to hide how you feel, I can still see your emotions in your eyes and on your face.” I point to his mouth. “Sometimes the edge of your lip lifts. And your pupils focus and unfocus. I see you, Pattycakes, and youhatethat.”
