Page 96 of Patrick

CHAPTER 27

TRICK

After texting our friends to make sure everyone is okay, we settle down, lying on top of the bed covers, still fully clothed. I take the icepack off my eye.

“How does it look?”

She looks pained, scrunching her forehead. “Like you got punched in the eye. It’s starting to turn colors and it’s still puffy.”

I nod and loosen my tie. “Don’t worry Fifi. It looks worse than it feels.” It’s a lie, but it’s for a good cause. She gently kisses my cheek. I hold in the wince and take the bottle of Tylenol from the bedside table and pop a couple.

“What a night. That’s not how I envisioned the Ball would go.”

“No, but at least we ended up here. And we’re alone. That was nice of Pammy to invite Ricci and Nina back to her place.”

“She’s a romantic—her words, not mine—she wanted to give us alone time.”

“Time alone before you get thrown in the slammer?” She’s teasing more than serious

I laugh, loving the tease in her.

“Don’t joke about that. If I go, you go. I’ll claim you were the brains behind everything. And they’ll believe me.”

She giggles and then sobers up. “I hope Vincent is okay.”

Before I can start an apology for punching out her brother, she stops me.

“I know it wasn’t your fault. I’m impressed that you held back from punching him as long as you did.”

“You saw the whole thing?”

She nods and my chest expands so hard I’m afraid I’ll pop the buttons of my only dress shirt as a small smile blossoms on her face that I could swear is pride.

I gather her in my arms and nudge her dress further off her shoulder.

“I wish I didn’t miss your fashion show. I bet it was cinema.”

“It was epic cinema.”

I laugh. “I do like this dress, but…” I push the neckline down further and discover she’s not wearing a bra. My entire body reacts instantly like I’ve turned into a fourteen-year-old looking at my first porn.

But before I can do more than cup her breast in my hand, she asks, “Didn’t you say you had a gift for me?”

I’m partly deflated, partly excited in a new way, like a little kid bringing an apple to his first-grade teacher he’s crushing on.

“I do.” I haul myself out of bed, adjusting my pants. She giggles at that.

And then I remember I left the gift in my jacket pocket—the one I left at the MUB in our rush to get out of there.

“What is it?”

I tell her.

“No big deal. We can call tomorrow and ask about their Lost and Found. I left my coat there too.”

I nod, but the prospect of tomorrow brings some heavy subjects to mind. And one good thing.

“You know why I was late getting to the Ball?”