“Who were you supposed to be meeting?”
He shrugged. He didn’t want to give in yet, not when he could see the possessiveness burning in Cheryl’s eyes. “You been thinking about me, KitKat?”
She took a step forward, her tits bouncing in their crop top. The material was so thin he could see her nipples. His cock throbbed. “That’s pretty sexy workout gear. You teasing me?”
It was her turn to shrug, making her perfect tits bounce again. “Maybe…”
“Then you’re gonna find out.” He kept his tone light, but there was no mistaking the weight under it.
Cheryl pointed a sneakered toe at the ground and rocked her hips from side to side. “What does ‘finding out’ involve?”
“I thought I showed you on your couch.” In contrast to his body, his voice had gone ice cold. He half-expected Cheryl to run, or at least tell him he was being a prick. Instead, her eyes gleamed.
“I’ve decided that was a fluke.”
So, she wanted him angry. That could be arranged. Patrick got to his feet. “Say that again.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanna make sure you mean it before I prove you wrong.”
A flush rose in Cheryl’s cheeks. “Are you seeing Lola Rabbit?”
“Why? You worried she’s coming all over my hand like you did?”
The flush grew darker. “You better not have touched her.”
“Or, what? You can think what I did to you was a fluke, but plenty of women don’t. And until you decide to give a shit, I can fuck all of them.”
It was a low blow and he wished he’d taken another tack—asked her to remember the times they’d talked, the times she’d trusted him. Loved him. But it was too late. Now all he could do was wait and hope he hadn’t gone too far.
She pushed the weights door closed with her foot.
“Show me,” she said, her brown eyes blazing. “Do it again.”
Time went still as he balanced his options. The blinds over all the windows were pulled and there was rarely anyone around this time of night, but if he got caught banging in the weights room, he could kiss any potential captaincy goodbye. But if he asked her to go somewhere else, his one chance might be lost.
He made up his mind. “Flip the lock on the door. Get your tits out and come sit on my lap.”
7
Two years before the yacht party
“We have to hurry,” Cheryl called down Patrick’s hallway. “Traffic’s awful and it’ll be even worse going into the city.”
“Fuck,” Patrick’s voice was all echo-y inside his en suite. “I’ve still gotta shave. Can you please see if we can buy tickets online? That way at least we’ll know we’ve got seats.”
She glanced at her phone. Thanks to her negative bank balance, her dodgy internet provider had locked her account. “I don’t have a lot of battery,” she lied. “Can I use your laptop?”
“Sure. Password’s ‘Normal1234.’”
“Oh my God, Patrick!”
“What? If some Russian wants to hack me, I can’t stop them. At least this way I remember my passwords.”
Shaking her head, she walked to the dining table and opened the MacBook. They’d decided to go to the Comedy Festival last minute and Cheryl hoped Sarah Custer had a few free spots. She opened Chrome and typed ‘Cu—’
It auto-filled.
