Patrick’s tongue was heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. The only sounds in the barn were the horses shuffling in their stables and Patrick’s unsteady heart. Nash didn’t say a word, just stared at Patrick with those pretty brown eyes, which made things a whole lot harder. All he had to do was tell Nash to keep his distance, so why were those words so hard to get out?
“I don’t know,” Patrick finally blurted, face burnin’. He looked off to the side and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I want,” he said softer.
“That’s a’right. I can work with that.” Nash stepped closer then grabbed Patrick’s chin the same way he had before. Patrick’s heart felt like it would burst right out his chest. “If you wanna stop or go further than what I give you, you tell me, a’right?” Nash ran his thumb across Patrick’s lip, pullin’ it down slightly. “You’ve gotta be a good boy for me and use your words, you understand?”
“Yes sir.” The response came automatically, and it made Patrick’s face even hotter.
“You are gonna be a fun one, Baby.”
Patrick swallowed. Lord, what was he gettin’ himself into?
5
Patrick’s mind and body spent the next few weeks fightin’ with each other. His body craved every touch it could get from Nash, but his mind was constantly torn between the instinctual desire to cave and knowin’ better. It didn’t make any sense to keep on doin’ what they were doin’, leadin’ each other on like things would go anywhere other than brief, fleetin’ touches that never lasted. But Christ almighty, Patrick wanted more: more than a brush of a hand across the small of his back, more than a quick kiss to the side of his neck, more than a slap on the ass.
Then there were days that Nash didn’t touch Patrick at all, and those were the days he hated the most. He spent those days tryin’ to figure out what he’d done or if he everhaddone anything at all to warrant the shift. Most of the time, he came to the conclusion that he hadn’t done a damn thing and Nash was being an ass, but there were nights it gnawed at him like a dog with a bone. Mainly because he didn’t understandwhyhe’d getso torn up over Nash not showin’ him any attention. Nothin’ was gonna come of what they had, whateveritwas, so what did it matter, and why did it make his chest hurt so awful he couldn’t breathe?
“What’s the matter?” Nash asked halfway through dinner.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been flighty ever since we turned in for the night.”
“Don’t mean nothin’.”
“Mhm. So the way you’ve been poutin’ ain’t got nothin’ to do with me not touchin’ on you lately?”
“I ain’t poutin’.”
“And I ain’t blind, Baby.”
“Quit callin’ me that.”
“Why? Thought you liked it.”
“You thought wrong.”
Nash smirked. “It ain’t polite to lie, Baby.”
“You sure do like pressin’ buttons.”
“Maybe your buttons shouldn’t be so easy to press.”
Patrick shoved away from the table and grumbled, “I need a fuckin’ cigarette.”
He was barely out the door before Nash shoved him against the side of the house. Cold seeped through Patrick’s jacket and shirt but didn’t soothe the fire boilin’ him from the inside. Nash leaned in close, pressin’ their bodies together. “Where you goin’, Baby?”
“Tryna get away from you.”
“Why? You couldn’t get ‘nough of me the other day.”
“Maybe cuz I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Patrick snipped, voice crackin’ ‘round the edges. “Comin’ in, fuckin’ up my way of life. Messin’ with my head. Makin’ me feel things I ain’t ever felt before.” His face grew warm, and his throat got tight. “You twist me up so bad inside I can’t hardly breathe. And it ain’t fair cuz none of it matters a damn to someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“Someone who don’t gotta stick around and clean up the mess they made.” Patrick shoved Nash off. “You get to go home, Nash. This hereismy home. So where does that leave me, huh? Well I’ll tell ya, stuck figurin’ out what all this meant and what it was all for and whether or not I can go back to who I was.”
“Oh, Baby…don’t tell me you’ve gone and caught feelin’s now.”
