“Fuck you!” she yelled and gut-punched him. They spent the next five minutes rolling on the floor wrestling like little kids. Eventually, Patrick conceded and let her have her phone. The photo he’d taken made her mouth go dry. She’d seen his cock before, many times, but the entire image, the deep groves beside his hips, the ladders of his abdomen, the way the lighting added shadow to every muscle… He looked like a God. Someone Michelangelo would have wanted to paint, though he might not have thought himself up to the task.
“It’s really for you,” he told her, his arms around her waist. “Don’t tell Wilsen.”
“I won’t,” she said, still unable to tear her eyes from the picture. “It’s perfect.”
“You can get a live viewing if you want?”
“Yes, please?”
But no sooner had Patrick tugged down his waistband, her phone buzzed. Their courier had arrived. Patrick ducked down to reception and returned two minutes later, grinning.
“I was ready to be all badass,” he said, holding his arms away from his body. “But it was this nerdy dude in a jumper. He just gave me the envelope and fucked off. Nobody cared.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“A little bit.”
“Next time I’ll make you go to a biker bar.” She looked at the envelope in his hands, her heart fluttering. “Should we do this?”
“Why not?”
“Okay. Let’s get super comfortable.”
They both changed into sweatpants and hoodies. She washed her face and brushed her teeth and was reminded of the times they’d hung out at her apartment. The way it had sometimes felt like they were playing house, settling in for the night with a movie like a married couple. She’d always denied the romantic undercurrent, even to herself. Now, it was nice to catch Patrick’s eyes as she pulled her hair into a messy bun and know they weren’t crossing any lines. That they did feel more for each other than just friendship.
You mean he loves you and you—
Stop.
She dimmed the lights and put some Lo-fi music over the suite’s speakers.
“This is nice,” Patrick said, his hands in his pockets. “Definitely a bunch of firsts.”
Cheryl felt a pang of nerves. She wasn’t scared of doing MDMA, but it did have a way of opening doors she had little trouble keeping closed the rest of the time. She was excited to do this with Patrick, but what if she said things she couldn’t take back?
Still, she wasn’t going to bail after all of their efforts.
She poured them both a glass of sparkling water and Patrick took the pills from the envelope. He held one to the light between his thumb and forefinger. “Crazy, how this all works. Something so small changing your whole body…”
“Are you worried?”
“Nah. I’m here with you.”
He said it so easily and meant it so sincerely Cheryl had to look away. She took her tablet, put it in her mouth, and chugged soda water. Patrick followed suit, looking a little sheepish. “This feels kinda anticlimactic.”
“Well, they might not work.” She climbed onto the hotel bed. “Why don’t we just wait and if nothing happens, we’ll go grab dinner?”
“Sounds good.” He lay down beside her. “I read a study about MDMA therapy with veterans for uni. It’s meant to help with PTSD. They can talk about bad things without the pain taking over.”
That was exactly what she was nervous about. “So, you smoked weed with your brothers?”
“Yeah, Ant and Jason, but only a couple of times. And I don’t think they showed me how to do it right.”
Cheryl laughed. “Were they trying to embarrass you in front of their mates?”
“Nah, they probably just didn’t want me doing it, even though they were. They’ve always been protective that way. What about you? You smoke weed?”
“At school. But not for ages after that. Sitting around talking about the universe isn’t my style.”
