Just the reminder he didn’t need. Patrick put down his sandwich. “I don’t know if I can talk about what happened.”
“You can.”
“Okay, what if I don’t want to talk about it?”
“Too bad. You lost that privilege when you made me know the Heavenly Stays motel exists.”
“Ah.”
“I can try and guess,” Willow warned. “But shit’ll get more awkward that way.”
Patrick’s insides churned and he wondered if he was going to chuck. He didn’t want to hear Willow’s theories on why he’d done what he’d done. Especially when what he’d done was a million times worse than anything his friend could dream up. He ran his fingers through his still-damp hair. “Me and Cheryl hooked up.”
Willow’s composed, fatherly expression cracked. He palmed his hands on the counter, his blue eyes almost bulging out of his head. “Seriously?”
“I mean… didn’t you see the condoms?”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you fucked Cheryl! I thought you sent her photo to a bunch of escort agencies and the aftermath made you binge-drink. You hooked up with Cheryl?”
“Yes.”
“Cheryl Karalis-Walker?”
Patrick’s temples throbbed. “Yes.”
“Eden’s mate, Cheryl?”
“Yes.”
“In that shitty motel?”
Patrick glared at him. “You know, Willow, if I wasn’t hungover and in your house, and wearing your clothes, and eating your food, I might start to think about hurting you.”
“Sorry, it’s just… Cheryl. Seriously, Cheryl?”
Patrick rose out of his chair and his friend took several steps backwards. “Sorry. I’m done. I’m done. So… you guys fucked?”
He didn’t want to lie, but agreeing was easier than explaining what he and Cheryl had actually done on the mattress Willow had helped clean. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” Willow said, clearly still fighting to keep from expressing his disbelief. “How… How was it?”
He saw a flash of Cheryl on all fours, her tits against the bed, her asshole full of that shiny purple jewel. His worn-out body stirred, getting hard for the millionth time.
Willow smirked. “That good, huh?”
“Yeah. And no. Everything’s kinda fucked now.”
Willow gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and rocked backward. “So, forgive me for sounding like a prick, but what’s the issue here? You got one in Cheryl, which means she definitely doesn’t see you as just a mate. Isn’t this, like, all your dreams come true?”
“Except for the fact it’ll never happen again. And we’re not friends anymore.”
Willow let go of the counter so fast he almost fell. “What the fuck?”
It took him almost an hour to tell the whole story. The yacht, Cheryl being sick, him breaking her couch, the weights room, him saying he loved her, the conversation that led to the motel. He kept the sex talk as PG13 as he could, telling Willow it had been ‘pretty hardcore’ and that after Cheryl left, he’d felt paralysed.
“… I just got stuck,” he said. “I couldn’t feel anything. I just lay there all day getting drunk. If I hadn’t texted you, I’d still be there. I have no idea what to do or how to make anything right. I think I’ve fucked it all up, man. Forever.”
Willow was leaning against his oven door, drinking coffee from a Little Mermaid mug. “So that’s everything?”
