Patrick
THE party was dying down. The music had switched from the band playing to a playlist as they loaded up. “Go shoot your shot.” Chase nodded his chin in the direction of the woman with that long, thick, curly hair and the sweetest hips Patrick had ever seen.
Patrick playfully rolled his eyes at his friend. He’d had a crush on Roz in high school, one that matched the grin on his face—big and goofy. She looked even better in her thirties.
Patrick ran a hand over the trim light-brown scruff on his face. He wound his tall-and-husky frame through the straggling partygoers, over the fallen yard decorations, and around the card tables to where Roz sat, drinking with Hannah, heads pressed together conspiratorially—and alternately thrown back in fits of laughter.
Patrick placed his hand on the back of Roz’s chair. Catching a whiff of her soft scent, an immediate flutter of butterflies stirred in his stomach. “Hey, it’s been a long time.”
She looked up at him over her shoulder with those shining dark eyes. Why did he dig that assessing glance of hers so much? Her full lips quirked up in a half smile, but her face was void of any recognition. That stung. Though, maybe he was just that much more handsome these days?
“Patrick Roman.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake. She didn’t. She glanced at the chair next to her, and Patrick just knew to take a seat. He did.
“It’s nice to meet you, Patrick.” She slid him an unopened beer. “She doesn’t need another.” She nodded at a very happy, very flushed-looking Hannah. “Her Uber is on their way.”
“Hey, Patrick.” Hannah wiggled her fingers in a wave.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“You two know each other?” Roz motioned between them with her beer bottle.
Patrick threw his hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
Hannah gave a riotous laugh. “Of course we do. You know Patrick. Ope!” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her buzzing phone. “My ride is here guys. Buenas noches, bitches.” Hannah wobbled when she stood and then giggled about it.
“Is she good?” Patrick laughed.
“Do you need me to walk you out front?” Roz called after her and then turned to Patrick with, “We were supposed to go out after this. She can’t hang like she used to.”
Hannah gave a wave but didn’t bother turning around as she let herself out the gate that led to the front yard.
“Text me tomorrow. Let’s compare hangovers.” Hannah was long gone and didn’t answer back. Roz sighed, turning back to Patrick. He beamed at her. She brushed her thick hair over her shoulder. He caught that subtle scent of hers again. He curled his fingers into his jeans, itching to dive into those thick curls. His heart lurched when he caught the dawning of recognition pass across her face. “Patrick, Chase’s friend, Patrick—right?”
“You certainly know how to humble a man.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No. That is my official title—middle name actually—Patrick Chase’s-friend Roman.”
Roz chewed on the inside of her lip, looking as if she bit back a laugh. God, did he want to hear that laugh…and sink into those lips.
“Is the band your whole thing? Or do you have a day job?”
“I wish it was my whole thing.” Patrick made a face. “Are you telling me I need a day job?”
Humor danced in her eyes but all she gave him was a, “Just curious.”
“Those who can’t become rock god sex symbols teach apparently.” Patrick lifted his broad shoulders. No big thing.
“You’re funny.” She cracked a smile, but hadn’t granted him a laugh yet. He needed one, had to weasel one out of her. It was driving him nuts.
“I heard you’re a cop.”
“Detective, actually,” she corrected.
“Are you packing heat right now?” Patrick eyed her outfit and wondered where she could be hiding it. Those jeans fit her like sin.
Roz tipped her head back and let out a playful noise of frustration. “Seriously, everyone always asks that.”
“And the answer…?” Patrick leaned in.
Roz leaned in too but still crooked her finger. He came closer. She glanced around conspiratorially. He sensed she was kidding, but she was very serious about it. He liked a woman who could take a joke seriously. “The answer is almost always yes.”
His mind raced with possibilities. His lips twitched with a grin at the thought of patting her down to find it. “Don’t take this the wrong way but…it’s kind of hot.”
Roz cocked an eyebrow. “The gun?”
“No. Knowing you could totally kick my ass…without the gun even.”
There it was. It started as a small hesitant smile and blossomed into a laugh that softened every feature of her face.
“Do you dance, Chase’s friend?” She coiled a springy curl around her finger. It was distracting. She had pretty hands, soft-looking—not the ones he expected a cop to have.
“I’ve been known to bust a move from time to time.” Patrick twisted the top off the beer and then took his first swig.
“This is my jam.” Roz pointed a finger in the air and closed her eyes through the first refrain of Warrant’s “Cherry Pie.”
“Noo shit?” Patrick took another long swallow. This was his playlist, so he felt pretty good about that being her song.
Roz took a drink herself. She shook her head as she swallowed, peeling the label with her thumb nail. He knew what she was getting at but was too amused watching her play coy to give her a break. “Do you want to dance?”
Patrick shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure.” When she stood and headed toward the dance floor, he did a little victory air-drum solo.
She turned around and curled her finger at him—c’mere. Patrick downed the rest of his beer and then followed her onto the dance floor. They weren’t the only two on it. Most of the people left were either still dancing or playing cards. The other dancers were plastered all over each other. Patrick was just fitting in when he grabbed Roz by the hand, spun her out, and pulled her back toward him.
Her laugh reverberated through her back against his chest. She granted him a full, wide smile over her shoulder. “Smooth.”
Patrick fit his hands against her hips. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
She swayed against him, moving her hips in time with the beat. Her thighs were tucked against his, her perfect round ass rubbing against him—teasing and taunting him out of his damn mind.
This was the best song. The greatest song. He loved this song. Whatever song it was. This was his new favorite.
“You really don’t remember me?” Patrick asked near her ear.
Roz spun around to face him, quirking just one eyebrow sternly. “You want to ruin this by talking?”
Patrick grinned but shut up, pulling her back into the dance. He pushed and pulled her around the dance floor, keeping her real close. By the time the song neared a close he had worked up a little bit of a sweat, his heartrate was through the roof, and he wasn’t sure if it had been from the exertion or her close proximity. With the final bars of the song ringing in the air, and because Patrick was a go-big-or-go-home kind of guy, he dipped her.
Her long curtain of black curls nearly swept the floor. She clutched on to his shoulders until he righted them again.
“You’re good at this.” Color had risen high in Roz’s cheeks. He liked how it looked on her—how he looked on her.
“There are a few things I’m good at.” The song had ended. His break was up and he had to start helping tear down.
“I got to get back to it. Thanks for the dance, Rozalyn Abrams.” Patrick held on to her hand as he walked away, until the distance was too great, and he had to let go.
“Hey!”
Patrick turned around to catch her brush her thick hair from her face and smile almost bashfully at him.
“You aren’t going to ask for my number?”
Yes! “You want to give me your number?”
Roz bit her lip. “Only if you want it.”
Patrick crossed the expanse between them holding out his hand. “Let me see your phone.”
She unlocked her screen, pulled up her add contact screen, and handed it to Patrick. He typed in his contact information and then sent himself a text message before handing it back.
On the walk back to his band, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent her a text back. I certainly fucking did—his answer to her last statement.
Glad I asked then winky-face emoji beeped in almost immediately.
Patrick grinned to himself as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. She’d used the winky-face.
* * * *
“It’s been a week,” Chase said as they jammed together at Patrick’s house. Chase on the guitar, Patrick in his natural habitat behind the drums. “Stop bragging about having her number if you’re not doing shit with it.”
Patrick feigned offense. “Excuse me, funny memes are a perfectly acceptable flirtation device.”
“No. No, they’re not. It’s sad, man. Just tell her you want to see her.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Like that will work.”
Chase leveled a stare at him.
Patrick pulled his phone out and texted exactly that. They got back to jamming and Patrick didn’t check it again until long after Chase had left.
His phone buzzed in his pocket while he moved his laundry along. Patrick looked at his screen, realizing he had a text from Roz a couple of hours ago.
What are you going to do about it?
And a recent one that read, Come over now or forever hold your peace.
Patrick sent back, Now? Like right now?
Now.
Text me your address, he shot off while turning the dial on the dryer, and then went and grabbed his keys.
Patrick followed her directions. He parked in the street out in front of the yellow house she’d grown up in. He walked up the drive and around the back of the garage. There was a wooden staircase that lead to a deck around the apartment above it.
He walked to the sliding glass door, and before Patrick could knock, he saw her through it. Black bra. Black underwear. Fuck. All that tan bare skin exposed for his eyes. She took a sip from her beer before pulling the door open.
“You’re late.” She sat her drink on the table.
“You’re half-naked.” Thanks, Captain Obvious.
She made a thoughtful noise. “You’re overdressed.”
Patrick pulled the door closed behind him. He might have been about to say something like maybe they should slow this down but Roz pressed herself against him. She was tall for a woman, but she still had to go on her tiptoes when she pressed her lips against his.
Patrick made a hungry sound and wrapped her in his arms. She tugged at his hair and bit his bottom lip. Her mouth was bitter and sweet like the hints of grapefruit in the beer she had been drinking. He fucking loved it. He dug his fingers into the soft, hot skin of her hips before caressing possessively up her back to tangle in her thick, silky hair.
Roz pushed against his chest and moved away. Her eyes were glassy, her lips swollen and red. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, letting the black material fall from her skin. Sweet mother of god, she had beautiful tits. He could not take his gaze off her. Her breasts were full, and her dusky pink nipples were hard. His mouth begged to be on them.
Is this really happening?
She crooked her finger at him—c’mere. Patrick downed the beer from the table and then prepared to follow her anywhere.