Page 87 of Patrick

“He’s asking me to go to the Winter Snow Ball with him.” Her voice is incredulous, and she looks up at me.

Pammy says, “Maybe you should accept his invitation. If you went to the Snow Ball with George, it would create lots of new social media gossip and appease your dad and Vincent.”

“No fucking way.” I glare at Pammy so hard that her smile disappears like it was never there, and she shrinks back.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.” Shit. I unfist my hands.

Fifi says, “I understand your point, Pammy, but I don’t want to involve yet another innocent person in our big secret romance. I’d have to lie to him, and it would be mean to lead him on. I couldn’t tell him the truth; he’d definitely tell my dad. They seemed like old pals.”

She’s rambling, so I put an arm around her for reassurance. “Plus, there’s the fact that I would beat the piss out of him if he touched you.”

She grins at me. “There’s that.”

I don’t think she’s taking my threat seriously. Lucky thing she won’t need to find out how fucking serious I am.

“Give me your phone.”

“Why?” She hands it over to me as she asks.

“I’m going to answer his text for you so there won’t be any misunderstanding about where he stands.”

“That’s not necessary, Trick. I can handle—” She tries to grab her phone back, but I easily keep it out of her reach with my spin move.

“No, you can’t. You’re too nice. You don’t get how the male mind works. The idea of possible sex with a hot girl needs to be shut down with an ironclad move so final that their cock shrivels up for a week. Or more.”

“Ew,” Pammy says, putting her hands over her ears. “That’s harsh.”

“Sorry.” I hand the phone back to Fifi, who wears an expression halfway between annoyed and amused. “Not sorry.”

“This is a side of you I haven’t seen, Patrick,” Pammy says.

“Don’t worry, Pammy. This is his jealous side, and I doubt there’ll be too many occasions for⁠—”

“You mean no occasions, don’t you?” I arch a brow, and she laughs at me. I’m about to grab her and show her who’s boss by tickling her most sensitive spots when a knock at the door stops me.

Pammy jumps to her feet. “I’ll get it. I have no idea who it could be.” She sounds worried.

I resume eating the last bite of my sub when we hear Pammy open the door and then say loudly, like she’s on stage trying to project, “Kathleen, what a surprise to see you here.”

“Fuck.” I jump from my chair and drag Fifi to my room and shove her inside, giving her a quick kiss before I shut the door in her shocked face.

Then I turn and run into my sister standing in the kitchen. Fuck. I wonder how much she saw.

“Kathleen—”

“Where’s Fifi? I thought she’d be here,” Kathleen says as she leans on her cane, awkwardly removing her coat and hanging it on the back of the nearest chair.

“What?” It’s all I can think to say.

Pammy is silent, looking between us, her face growing redder and hotter than a chili pepper.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. In fact, I’ve been reposting the Instagram pics of you and Pammy and ignoring the ones with you and Sofia.”

“You called her Fifi?” How the hell does she know I’m with her and worse, knows my nick name for her.

“Your cute pet name for her was in one of the comments by a chick named Darcy.”

“Shit.”