Page 10 of Patrick

CHAPTER 2

FIFI

When coach Winnick blows his whistle for a second time, Trick takes off, thank God, or I might have burst into tears at his insinuation that I’m all fluff and no substance. That kind of overreaction would have been hard to explain to my two friends. Okay, so Ricci and Nina are good friends and they might understand, but they’re not aware of the whole Jennings-Rossi family feud and how serious it is.

As far as they know, the family rivalry is all about hockey, and that’s why my brothers hate the Jennings, especially Trick, because Vincent still plays against him. And that’s fine by me.

The girls have embraced me here at UNH, and they’re fun and loyal and mostly harmless. Plus, they’re from home, and sometimes, I have moments where I miss Rye and my family since I went away to college.

Now at UNH, I hope I can get away with keeping the whole thing about the Rossi and Jennings families being enemies low-key—or no-key.

All three of us watch Trick skate to the bench for some kind of post-practice analysis or pep talk. I move nearer, trying to eavesdrop, but it’s hard with the Zamboni chugging onto the ice, droning as it glides by, laying a stream of hot water to freeze up like magic. As usual, the contraption mesmerizes me, and I get momentarily distracted.

“Look at all those juicy guys in one delicious huddle,” Ricci whispers in my ear.

I barely nod, but when I look, I don’t notice the huddle, delicious or otherwise. My eyes zero in on the one guy who I find a hell of a lot more than juicy. Trick is downright magnetic. He’s like some cruel trick of fate because what I thought was a girlhood crush—that I’ve tried desperately to ignore all these years—has turned out to be an obsession.

Possibly a very dangerous one.

But it’s one of those cases in life where you have two impossible choices to make, and you need to pick your poison.

If I get involved with Trick, get serious enough to sleep with him, I go against my family, in particular Dad and my brothers, who are practically his clones, betraying and crushing them.

But if I end my flirtation with Trick and date the guy Dad wants to fix me up with, I go against my independence, my heart and soul, betraying and crushing myself along with my crush on Trick.

The hockey huddle breaks with a shout and gloved hands raised. The players race for the nearby gate, and they start storming through, tall in their skates and sweaty as they rip off helmets and shake out their hair like dogs. I jump back.

Catching Trick’s eye as he approaches the gate, his broody vibes and the flash of banked thunder make my heart skip a beat.

Right now, in this moment at least, I’m choosing option B, to go with my heart and choose Trick.

The choice instantly sends a zip of something sharp through me that feels like fear, the flip side of excitement.

What if he’s not on the same wavelength as me? Maybe I should call this flirtation a test.

Shit. I’m not scared of his rejection. I’m scared of consequences. And being able to stand up to them.

But after going to the crazy trouble of getting my father to let me attend UNH, though not at all so I’d have a chance to see Trick, am I seriously so wimpy that I still can’t commit fully to flirting with him?

It’s hard to shake the notion instilled in me all my life that Patrick, because he’s a dreaded Jennings, is my family’s enemy, my enemy.

Fuck that. Shaking my head as if to shake the enemy notion from its roots there, I raise my chin as he steps off the ice with his helmet in his hand, his hair wavy and dripping. He smells like ice and leather and sweat, a combination that shouldn’t be so powerfully sensual, the kind of smell that swells my lady parts like some crazy chemical formula, an aphrodisiac designed specifically to lure me to him like a dagger to a magnet.

He stops, towering in front of me, his sharp blue eyes focused on me, his heat blazing through the cold air reaching me, scorching through my fluffy coat and getting straight to my core like his breath is lava flowing and incinerating everything in its wake.

Ricci nudges me from behind, and Nina giggles. “Hi there, Patrick.” It’s strange that Nina, the quietest of the four of us, is the first person to speak. “You look good out there.” She giggles again, but Trick barely glances at her, flashing a lightning-quick smile. It’s enough for her to suck in the kind of breath that would make a lesser flirt swoon.

She leans against Ricci, who leans against me, and as the last domino before the final trap, I refuse to fall into Trick.

“Let’s have some hot chocolate,” I say as if I’m rehearsing a line when I should be ready for my live performance. As my smile wavers, his eyes shift to my mouth, and I automatically lick my lips, feeling dry and thirsty like I need a drink of him.

“I have to shower, and then I’m going to need more than hot chocolate. I’m fu—really hungry.” He darts a look at Ricci and Nina, who hang on his words, watching and listening like he’s about to impart the guaranteed answers to the final exam for Bio-Chem, the hardest class in all of undergrad.

“Sounds great. I’ll wait for you.” Quickly turning to Nina and Ricci, I add, “It’s too bad Ricci and Nina won’t be able to join us for lunch. They have to shop for groceries.” Nina is about to protest, but Ricci shoves her in the ribs hard enough for me to feel the ripple effect.

Detaching myself from them, I walk with Trick towards the locker room. He arches a brow from his lofty position, looking down at me, like this is awkward for him.

I stop. “Sorry. Am I invading the team-only no girls allowed zone?”