Page 71 of Patrick

“Let me see your grade. Whatever you got, it’s okay. We can work on improving it together.”

I laugh and hand her my paper as we’re walking to the door. She stops short.

“Trick. I can’t—you got a 98? How did you do that?” She looks up, grinning, and throws her arms around me, forgetting the students around us.

At first, I resist, but it’s too late as I catch a girl flashing her phone in our direction. What the hell?

“Let’s get out of here.”

Outside, I appreciate the full force of her beaming sunshine face. It seems brighter than the sky and the snow, and I wonder if it’s one of those optical illusions.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says, her voice breathy.

“I can give you some private tutoring if you want.”

She looks around comically to see if anyone is watching while she shushes me.

“It’s too late to worry about people noticing us now, Fifi.” I lean in and whisper, “Everyone saw you hug me.”

“You’re right, but there’s no sense giving more people something to gossip about.” She tries to lean away, but I only lean closer and puff a breath in her ear to rattle her, to see her shiver the way she does. Consequences be damned, even if said consequences make my jeans uncomfortably tight in the crotch.

It's a mutual decision to skip lunch to go back to Fifi’s apartment. We sneak in the back door, though I don’t know why we bother sneaking—unless it’s because it’s more exciting that way.

In her bedroom, we peel off our jackets and shoes, then collapse onto her bed.

In between kisses, I ask, “Do you think this is more exciting because we’re sneaking around?” I nuzzle her ear while I listen for her answer, mildly curious.

She bolts upright, pushing me off her. “Why would you say such a thing? You think I enjoy lying? Because sneaking is just another name for lying⁠—”

“Hey, forget I asked.” I pull her back down, caressing her face. “It was just a random thought. Guess I watch too many cheap movies.”

She raises her brows. “And by cheap movies, I suppose you mean porn?”

I laugh, pulling her close again because I can feel her tension. “Nah. I haven’t watched porn since… I don’t remember when.”

“High school?” She arches one brow, and I’m glad to get her mind off her guilt and onto whether or not I watch porn. It’s an interesting subject.

“Earlier,” I say.

She laughs. “You were a sex maniac in grammar school?”

“How about you, miss naughty? You had to learn your moves from somewhere.”

“No porn, not unless you count the night the girls got together to watch Deep Throat on an old VHS tape we found in the basement.”

“That counts. It explains⁠—”

She laughs and covers my mouth. “Don’t you dare say it. Deep Throat has nothing to do with my… skills. I’ll have you know that’s all passion driven.”

“Oh yeah? I like that idea. But…” I whisper against her ear, breathing heavier, like maybe I’m out of shape, like I need some practice right here and now. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to prove it.”

She turns and catches my mouth in a kiss until we’re both breathless.

“Don’t be afraid, hockey boy, I’ll go easy on you.”

That’s when I know any fear I had, pretend or otherwise, doesn’t exist and doesn’t stop me from getting back in the saddle—so to speak.

Working up a sweat never felt so good. That’s what I’m thinking as I kick off the covers.