Page 28 of Patrick

CHAPTER 7

TRICK

Idon’t go home. I’m too tired to drive. Instead, I jog down the street through a residential neighborhood for about a mile to Bog’s place, cursing myself for not driving. At least the jog warms me up. It’s not late, so Bog’s probably not home yet, but I know where the key is.

When I get to the house he shares with a couple of guys from the team, I find they’re all home, chowing down in the kitchen on some cookies that look suspiciously homemade.

“Look who stopped by to freeload again,” Vaughn says.

“Where’d you get the cookies, Van?” I join them in the kitchen and reach for the half-empty Tupperware container. I call him Van because he calls me Patrick instead of Trick. He’s a transfer student with a chip on his shoulder, but he’s okay.

“We always share the cookies,” Bog says. “Your sister is a saint for sending them.”

“Kind of makes up for your free-loading,” Sully says.

I snag a cookie.

“Hey,” Vaughn pulls the container away too late. “You can get cookies any time you want.”

Addressing Bog, I say, “I’m staying over.”

“You’re welcome, Trick. My house is your house.”

I slap him on the back as I walk past him to his room. “You’re a good man.”

“Hey, aren’t you sleeping on the couch?” he calls after me as I walk into his room and close the door. He has two beds in his room, a twin and a queen. It’s the largest bedroom in the house and conveniently located on the first floor. The two upstairs rooms are smaller and have slanted ceilings.

I’m not sure what kind of deal Bog cut to get the prime bedroom, but I’m eternally grateful he did.

Sweeping the mess of clothes and books covering the spare bed to the floor, I flop down on the undersized mattress and close my eyes, not even bothering to undress. But I don’t fall asleep. Fifi appears behind my lids, and my mind tortures me with a replay of our evening’s activities on an endless loop until I groan, wishing I was anywhere else because there’s no way I can get away with taking care of business with my dick here with the guys all listening from the next room.

Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I tap in her name to text her because I’m a glutton for punishment. Apparently, I don’t do things halfway, even when it’s going to hurt me.

Me: Stat class will be a circus. Where do you want to meet?

Fifi: You’re home already?

Me: No, I’m on the side of the road jerking off.

Shit, I can’t joke about that. She’ll freak out and feel guilty.

Me: I’m in bed and lonely.

Fifi: Me too.

A few dots pop up and then disappear. I wait for more, hoping for some consolation phone sex, but there’s nothing, and I’m not sure where to go with this. Looks like I missed the opportunity. There’s no way I’m going to be the one to initiate phone sex. Not yet.

Me: About class—where do you want to meet?

Fifi: Let’s get there early and meet at the front of the room to get first row seats if we can.

Me: Are you shitting me?

I probably shouldn’t, but I hit send. She needs to know I’m not a first row kind of guy.

Fifi: Lol. I’m serious. The first row is the best. We get the prof’s full attention

I shake my head and laugh. It’s like we’re from different planets, ones never invented before. She’s from planet nerdy-hot & sexy-girl, and I’m from planet cool-sports-guy. And our planets may be in different universes with hers ruled by Leo, the evil tyrant.