Page 2 of Patrick

“No worries,” I say. “There’s nothing between me and Marilyn beyond a few kisses. Don’t make a thing about it.”

“Sure, easy for you to say,” Nina says. “But Marilyn is over the top for you.” She darts a glance at Fifi. Then they all look at me.

“I’ll talk to her,” I say. “Make sure she knows there was nothing going on between us.” Shit.

Ricci smiles, and both girls look pleased. “Well, this is great,” Ricci says. “See you at the next party on Saturday.” She’s looking at both me and Fifi, and I nod. Shit.

Fifi nods and smiles like she’s playing along, but now I’m not sure if I’ve gone too far. Then she squeezes my hand, and any concern I had vanishes.

When Ricci and Nina leave and I look around the empty hallway, I realize three things.

One, I still have my arm around Fifi. Two, she doesn’t seem to mind. And thirdly, I think we have a date Saturday night.

Which I absolutely need to break right now.

“So you know we’re not really going out Saturday, right?” I say, meeting her eyes.

Her smile transforms everything like it’s some kind of superpower that makes a guy’s blood turn to fire and his mind blow up. Or it could just be me.

“You’re not serious?” She scoffs like I’m absurd, like she didn’t just kiss me back and enjoy it.

I’m about to confirm that she actually enjoyed that kiss—since my mind has blown and is incapable of rational thought—when a very loud voice behind me gets my attention.

“Jennings.” It’s a very angry male voice, and the look on Fifi’s face tells me who it is even before I turn around to confront him.

Her oldest brother Frank barrels toward me, and I swear I see smoke flaring from his nostrils. Shit.

“What’s he doing here?” I whisper to Fifi in a rush. She shakes her head, and I notice her face go from pale and surprised to determined.

As I move to separate myself from her when he reaches us, she holds on. Shit.

“Get your hands off my sister.” Frank growls at me like we’re a couple of wolves in a forest fighting over a piece of meat.

Fifi hisses, “What are you doing here?” She doesn’t move away from me like a guilty girl ashamed to consort with the lowly enemy. No. Instead, to my shock and horror and the delight of my dick, she moves closer, and I get a whiff of her scent, an intoxicating mix of candy and spice—like the nursery rhyme girl, only grown up and dangerously sexy.

“I’m here to give you a ride home.” He glances at her arm clutching mine. “Let’s go. Now.” His voice gets loud and threatening.

She flinches, and I automatically tighten my arm around her.

He glares at me. “I told you to let go of her.”

I meet his glare, and it’s all I can do to control my rising anger as I feel Sofia’s tension. She whispers something to me, but I don’t hear it as I hold onto my temper and breathe, silent and staring at her big brother, feeling his outrage burning me like he’s a fire-breathing dragon.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” He lays a beefy hand on my shoulder and shoves me.

I immediately disengage myself from Sofia and face him, keeping her behind me.

“Your sister doesn’t need your protection. I’m not⁠—”

He snarls, which is enough warning just before he throws his punch, but I can’t side-step him or he’ll end up hitting Sofia. Instead, I lower my shoulder and push into him full force, knocking him back. He takes that as an invitation to brawl and shoves me away so he can take another swing.

This time I’m more than ready to duck and parry, though I have no intentions of actually hitting him. The last thing I want to do is give him any more reason to hit me. Not that it’s likely he’ll make contact because he’s apparently from the advertise-your-moves-loud-and-clear school of fighting. Not a winning method no matter how much power he packs.

He is powerful, and I have to be quick and watch his left uppercut because he’s bigger and has full-grown man muscles backing up his fists. I dodge another right haymaker, and he ends up punching a locker, probably breaking some bones if that awful crunching noise means anything.

Sofia, who’s been quietly horrified and angry from my glimpses, lets out a heavy sigh now and goes to Frank as he cups his injured hand, mumbling curses in Italian.

“Serves you right, Frank. You had no business starting a fight when I’m perfectly⁠—”