Page 6 of Patrick

She looks up, almost surprised. “I heard rumors, but I didn’t think—where are you going?”

“University of New Hampshire.” I study her as her smile returns in full force. “Don’t get any ideas.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry. I’m going to Endicott.”

I laugh, but I don’t know why because it’s sad. She felt too good in my arms. Kissing her and holding her is no game, not like my usual flirty games with girls. I can’t even call whatever I’ve had with girls in high school relationships.

“My parents want me to live at home.” She rolls her eyes.

“Nothing wrong with that. I’m living at home.”

Her eyes widen in surprise for a blink. “Won’t that be difficult with your hockey schedule?”

I shrug. “What do you know about hockey schedules?”

“I just know.” She waves a hand. “Never mind. Forget I asked.” I note a slight blush and realize she’s embarrassed.

“The truth is I have no choice. My family can’t afford to pay for a dorm or apartment, and my hockey scholarship doesn’t cover housing.”

“Right. I’m sure you’ll make it work.”

“Sure. Lots of guys live off campus. Rye isn’t far from UNH.”

She nods, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable. She has no idea about budget constraints or doing without. Her dad is not only stuffed, he’s indulgent with his kids. Normally I resent that, but somehow, standing here staring at Fifi, I can forgive him for indulging his daughter. Maybe even understand completely. She’s gorgeous and dressed in an outfit that probably costs more than my motorcycle, but she doesn’t even realize it.

My pride kicks in, and I ask, “Living at home is good enough for you, isn’t it?”

She surprises me with a Cheshire cat impression that plays havoc with my pulse for no good reason.

“I’m not going to live at home. I’ll find a way to live in an off-campus apartment, I promise you.”

I want to tell her never make rash promises, but it takes a few beats for me to get my excited dick under control because I’m thinking about all the things we could do in her future imaginary apartment. As if. I reign in my imagination because we don’t have that kind of relationship—or any relationship besides a casual flirtation-with-the-enemy.

I clear my throat. “Not me. I’ll come home after practice and work at the market.”

“You will? How will you have time to study?” She seems so genuinely alarmed that I grin and don’t stop my hand from reaching out and tugging on her hair, then wind a curl around my finger because I can’t resist.

In fact, if I don’t stop now, I’ll pull her all the way into my arms and⁠—

“I’m going to give you a kiss,” I tell her, pulling her into my arms. She doesn’t resist.

“Again?” Her voice is breathy, and she didn’t say no. “I didn’t invite you, and there’s no one around to impress.”

“No one but you.” This time I have only one motive, and I’m not holding back because this very well could be the last chance I have.

She lifts her chin and flutters her eyes closed, waiting, and I oblige. Taking her face in both hands, I worship her mouth with mine, tenderly, slowly at first, brushing my lips across hers, pressing lightly, measuring, nibbling, licking my tongue across them, and then as she opens up to me, I delve in deep, losing myself as she presses against me, leaning in like she needs my support to stand and moans my name.

The sound, the feel of her, makes me dizzy with need as I bury one hand in her hair and the other runs down her back, pressing her close against me. My breathing turns ragged, and I lift my mouth for air and to steady my shaky hand as I remove it from her hair. Her arms are still wrapped around me as her eyes flutter open and her breathing is quick and shallow.

My dick is so hard, I try to back away from her because this is all too much. She’s a Rossi girl. The forbidden fruit that must not be touched. Unless I want to risk betraying my family and setting off the barely under-the-surface anger of her crazy dad and brothers. Frank’s earlier warning was mild compared to what Rossi senior would say. Or what he might do.

I don’t know all the reasons why our families are enemies, besides the accident involving my sister Kathleen and her brother Tony, but there’s more. And even though I don’t know any of the details about what happened in the past, I feel the divide, the anger and vengeance deep down every time we compete—which is every damn day on the ocean in the deep-sea fishing business, and most intensely on the ice during hockey season. Not to mention our restaurants—if you can call the Jennings Fish Market a restaurant. It’s more like a take-out fish shack. But still.

Whenever the town holds its annual clam chowder competition, we go up against each other with a vengeance. Our family’s market won this past summer. Maybe that’s why the Rossi’s seemed especially angry this past hockey season.

“That was…” she whispers as her eyes watch me.

I can barely talk with all the confused thoughts and emotions in my head and my blood barely returning from its rush to my dick. May the devil take me for the X-rated ideas flooding my mind. But I cool down because she’s too good for fooling around and too good for the likes of me—at least according to everyone in both our families anyway.

“It was.” I smile. “Still, nothing’s changed between us.”

She nods, and I notice the flicker of disappointment before she smiles. And then the devilish mischief returns, and maybe I shouldn’t be, but I’m more relieved than bothered.

“So I guess this means I’ll be disappointing Ricci and Nina Saturday night when I don’t show up on your arm.” Bravado lightens her words, and my mind goes blank. Nothing registers for a blink, and then it hits me. I told her friends I was taking her to that party. Shit.

“No worries. I won’t be going either.” I wink. “Might as well end our high school years with a mystery. Let them wonder what happened.”

She laughs. “Whatever you say, hockey boy.”