With a glance to him that said, ‘Good luck, mate,' Bryon headed straight for the nearest bar.
“Ah, men,” Beth said fondly. “Ready to rock, Patrick?”
The interlude had given his nerves time to skyrocket. He wished he could join Byron at the bar. “I don’t think this is gonna work.”
“You’re scared. That’s good.” Beth nudged his side. “Go, say ‘hi’, and everything will take care of itself from there.”
“I dunno. What if it makes things between me and Cheryl go to shit?”
“That’s a risk you have to be willing to take.”
“But you said—”
“I have magic powers and I know Cheryl wants you, but I’m not writing the screenplay of your life,” Beth said firmly. “No risk. No reward.”
“Shit…”
“But,” her bright brown gaze held his own. “Are you seriously happy to leave your relationship with Cheryl as it is now? As it’s been for the last four years?”
Patrick remembered Cheryl fake-laughing with the old man. The millions of times he’d watched her give affection to someone else, wishing he had the guts to tell her, just once, how he felt. Beth was right, it was time. He ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall the way girls seemed to like.
“Wish me luck,” he told Beth, then headed across the dance floor to where the corporate brunette was sitting.
2
Three and a half years before the yacht party
Cheryl’s phone buzzed. Patrick had sent her a photo. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure her boss wasn’t hovering, then checked the message. When she saw it, she pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Patrick was wearing the bedazzled crown she had sent to his house and he was holding her card.
Happy International Best Friends Day! it screamed in rainbow glitter. Let’s keep slaying like the sexy pigs we are!
Scowling in his too-small crown, Patrick looked like a Chihuahua that had been forced into a Halloween costume. Cheryl pressed her hand harder against her mouth. Bridgette was really on one today and when Bridgette was on one, even laughing too loud got you unpaid overtime.
Wow, bestie! she texted. You’re such a glam hog!
Patrick’s reply came at once. Cheers. Why do we call each other sexy pigs again?
Because it’s like calling your friends ‘hot bitches’ but funnier! So, where’s my present, fuck-swine?
Shit! Can I get you something tomorrow?
Cheryl took her hand away from her mouth. She was disappointed, and it was embarrassing to be disappointed. After all, International Best Friends Day was barely a thing, and she hadn’t spent much money on Patrick’s gift. The crown was thrifted, and she’d made the card from the side of a cardboard box.
All good, she wrote back. See you tonight for popcorn and Slaughterhouse Symphony. Unless Bridgette loses her shit and keeps us here past midnight x
She returned to her computer, trying to ignore the lump in her throat. The bell rang as someone opened the door to reception, but Cheryl didn’t look up. She had fifteen emails to respond to by mid-afternoon and—
“Um, Cheryl?”
She looked up to see her co-worker Devon and a huge, alive teddy bear holding a bunch of silver balloons.
“Oh my God! What!?”
“He says he’s here for you,” Devon explained nervously.
“Why?”
The teddy bear, chestnut brown with a pink tie, handed her the balloons. “Cheryl Karalis-Walker?”
