Page 17 of Patrick

CHAPTER 4

SOFIA

As soon as he’s out of sight, because of course I turned around to see if he was watching me, I take off running, mildly disappointed that he wasn’t standing in the same place I left him, staring after me. I need to run to get rid of the totally inappropriate adrenaline rush that’s been with me, forcing my heart to beat too fast and frantic, like a ghost is chasing me.

But it’s him, Trick, or my dreamy idea of him, the one I’ve cherished over the years, of the boy who rescued me from mean girls, or the boy who picked me up off the ground where I’d fallen as a kid when I’d been chased for real by some dogs. He held them off and helped me home.

To this day, every time I look at the tiny scar on my knee, hoping it won’t fade completely, I smile remembering how kind he was, how brave and unafraid of the dogs. He didn’t judge me for my fear of dogs like my father always did.

Now I’ve learned to hide the fear because I know it’s irrational. I don’t remember where it came from, but my mother does, and she understands.

I reach my building at the Hamlet apartment complex and let myself in the back door of the townhouse. I’m not surprised that Ricci and Nina are in the living room gossiping with a group of girls, our fourth roommate and two of the girls from next door. I’m prepared for the possibility that they’re gossiping about me.

They both jump up with twin guilty smiles that quickly morph into delight because it’s not like either of them to feel real guilt over doing something they love—talking endlessly about people.

“How was lunch?” Ricci asks in her usual sly voice paired with a giddy grin, forcing me to squelch an eye roll.

I address the room in an exaggerated breathless voice. “It was everything I’ve ever dreamed of. We’re hopelessly in love, engaged to be married, and planning to elope to Las Vegas tomorrow.” I grin as Ricci frowns and the others’ expressions go from shocked to disappointment in two slow blinks, recognizing my cinematic sarcasm.

Nina throws a pillow at me, and I catch it. She and Ricci sit back down in their places on one of the two couches.

“Seriously,” Ricci says as the official gossip-huddle spokesperson. I step into the huddle and sit on the coffee table, surrounded by five girls, glad that I know all their names, though I just met three of them yesterday.

“We had a serious talk,” I pause, allowing a naughty smile. “And we did some flirting.”

“That’s it?” Ricci says.

“They were in the middle of a dining hall,” Nina says. “What did you expect?”

“I’m not surprised.” My third roommate, a tall girl named Darcy with impressively long blond hair hanging loosely down to her backside, sounds like she disapproves. I’m not sure why since the only thing I’ve learned about her in the short time since I moved in is that she wants to go into fashion design because she washed out as a fashion model. She’s pretty enough, but I think her fatal photographic flaw is her eyes. They’re set a smidge too close together to be ideal, and unfortunately, that’s all it takes with the killer competition in that business.

“I looked him up on Insta, and his posts are lame, mostly hockey reels and old pics, a few from the summer. What’s with that? Is he trying to be private?”

I laugh because I found out the embarrassing way that his sister Kathleen runs his Instagram account for him because he can’t be bothered. But I’m not telling Miss judgmental that. “Something like that.”

“Are you hooking up?” Ricci presses.

“We left it that I’ll call him.”

“You’ll call him?” Darcy says.

“Yes. I don’t mind being in control. He asked me for my number, but⁠—”

“You didn’t give it to him,” Nina says with a glint of admiration in her eyes. “Doesn’t surprise me in the least. You’re the most confident, in-control girl I know. And it doesn’t hurt that Trick obviously has it for you bad.”

I smile at her and reach a hand out to touch her knee. I don’t bother telling her how wrong her impression is. I’m scared silly right now that he’s not really into me, but taking the chance is better than the torture of never knowing—or that’s what I’m telling myself.

The other girls start talking, asking questions, but mostly they ramble about Trick and what a hot hunk he is.

“So why didn’t you date him in high school?” Darcy asks. “Ricci was sketchy on that part.”

Nina jumps in, “She told them you were too serious for him back then and he was a…not serious.”

“I told them he was a fuckboy,” Ricci says. “Still is.” She looks around the group for confirmation. The others nod.

Darcy says, “Though not in a bad way since any one of us would jump at the chance to do him.” They all nod again, looking from apologetic to eager.

“Not anymore,” I declare like it’s the law. It sort of is, though, because if I’m going out on a limb to test out a real romantic relationship with one of my family’s hated rivals, then I’m going to need him to be one hundred percent all-in with no side dishes.