Page 9 of Patrick

“What? Since when? Never mind. Why?” I want to say Of all the colleges in all the world why did you show up here? But does the answer matter? She’s just dished me one hella problem and doesn’t even know half what a temptation she is.

But when the bright red strobe light warning me of imminent danger starts fading, I really look her over, and the spark of mischief in her eyes is unmistakable. She’d warned me of her rebellious streak once long ago.

Still, I don’t think she realizes how serious the consequences would be of anything happening between us.

More for her because her father is one tough son of a bitch, and saying he doesn't like me is like saying the Hatfields were annoyed with the McCoys. His animosity is mostly because I'm a Jennings boy, but not all. He’s notoriously protective of his daughters. And there's no way he'd want his daughter getting tangled with the likes of me. But what can he do to me?

Fifi, on the other hand, being his daughter, could end up in a world of trouble.

Even the Mayor of Rye is scared of her S.O.B. dad, though Rossi seems to rule the town with a velvet glove, taking an interest in everything and everyone with almost the same kind of pride he has in his family. Naturally, the mayor is beholden to him as his major—read only—campaign donor.

“Your father let you come here?” Knowing I’m here? I let those unspoken words hang silently between us as I flick a glance at her two friends. They’re listening like a pair of jackals ready to pounce. How did she ever become friends with them?

“Why not?” she challenges me, knowing I won’t say it out loud.

“I thought you were going to Endicott?”

“I decided to transfer. I’d rather take advantage of UNH’s entrepreneurship program than flit around at a pretty oceanside college with a subpar academic program.”

“I can see how you talked him into it. I’m surprised it took you two and a half years to convince him, but not surprised you want to be an entrepreneur.”

“Right?” Her face glows with a real smile, like she’s happy. Like maybe I made her happy because I get her.

She was always smart in school, involved in everything, and the prettiest, sexiest untouchable serious girl in our senior class.

I don’t bother hiding my smirk as I look her over. She’ll be a fish out of water among the serious entrepreneurs from what I’ve seen. Bog dated someone from the program, and I’ve seen them at work. There are a smattering of girls, and none of them were concerned with designer clothes or perfectly coiffed hair and nails. And they would never wear those shoes to an ice rink.

Fifi’s pink suede boots with chunky heels somehow look more sexy than cute. Maybe it’s because they’re directly attached to her long, shapely legs, which are perfectly outlined in her skin-tight jeans. Her jeans are the only item of clothing she’s wearing that might be considered even semi-normal on this campus. Her fluffy pink and white faux-fur jacket is definitely not standard-issue or to be found in a store anywhere near campus or any of the online shops that Google would feed to students here.

“You know you’re going to stand out like a fireworks display at a Sunday picnic.”

I only have a chance to glimpse her stormy expression before coach blows his whistle, calling practice. Shit. If she hangs around…

What? I’ll be forced to confront her like an adult and behave? I can handle this. There’s no need to cave into my urge to flirt with her. No need to—shit. Who am I kidding? This is Fifi, star of my X-rated dreams we’re talking about.

I skate away before she has a chance to unwittingly tempt me with another word.