That arrogant smile flashed out like a lighthouse beam. “Yeah. Only now we fuck.” He jerked his head toward her bedroom. “At least I’d be keen. How ‘bout you?”
Cheryl gaped at him. He was saying it. The thing they were never, ever supposed to say. “No!”
His grin didn’t go anywhere. “Because you don’t like how you begged for my dick? Or some other reason?”
“Whatever I said last night, I was drunk.”
“You mean telling me you’re my sexy little kitten and you want to climb all over me?”
Dear God, Drunk Cheryl, what is your problem? She buried her face in her empty coffee cup, trying to buy time.
“You are my sexy little kitten,” Patrick said quietly. “Now you’re sober, why don’t you come over here and let me play with you?”
Fucking hell, who was this person? Her best friend’s voice was a low rasp, his bossy energy pulsing toward her in a way that was as terrifying as it was sexy. Cheryl remembered kneeling at his feet in the shower, his hands massaging her scalp.
No, no, no.
She threw back her shoulders and scowled at him like he was a particularly difficult work client. “Don’t talk like that.”
Patrick’s eyes flicked to her tits. “Like what?”
“Dirty.”
The corner of his lip pulled up. “You don’t like dirty talk?”
Cheryl ignored the heat wrapping itself through her. “Stop it. I’m sorry for flirting with you—”
“Is that what you were doing?”
“—and of course, I think you’re hot,” she babbled. “You are hot. But we’re friends—”
“Friends who grind on each other in town cars?”
“—besides, you’re too young for me.”
Patrick recoiled like she’d slapped him. “Too young? You think I’m too young?”
That was it. The hand grenade. The other thing they were never supposed to say, no matter how obvious the subtext. They’d spent years looking away from one another whenever anyone mentioned MILFs or age gaps or Sam Taylor-Johnson.
“Yes,” she said primly. “You’re too young for me.”
She expected the last of Patrick’s confidence to wilt. Instead, he chuckled. “Okay, KitKat.”
“I mean it!”
He looked her up and down, assessing her like some asshole in a bar. Cheryl hated the way she shivered. “I’ve never slept with anyone nine years younger than me, Patrick. I’m not starting now.”
But her best friend’s eyes were hungry. “Yeah, my age wasn’t an issue when you were begging me to root you.”
Cheryl pressed her thighs together. He’d never talked like this before. And doing it flicked some new lens over the man she thought she knew. Part of her wanted to gasp in outrage like a precious little virgin. The rest…
Patrick moved fast. They were suddenly face-to-face. She could count the freckles on his nose. His hand slid over hers, taking the empty coffee cup and putting it on her side table. “KitKat…”
Had his voice gotten deeper?
“Yes?”
“I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. And I know you want me back. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t think we have a shot?”
