Chapter Six

Holly

It’s been a few days and I still haven’t heard from Patrick. I was sure that the dinner we shared together went well. Now, I’m not too sure. His silence makes me nervous. It makes me wonder if I’ve read the entire situation incorrectly.

I might have done something wrong, though not intentionally. I’m admittedly out of my element. Maybe there’s something I should have said before we parted. I guess I could have offered to return the favor, but I didn’t think that it was appropriate. At least not in the booth. Since I don’t know anything about pleasuring a man, I’d need some sort of instruction. It wouldn’t have been as discreet as the way Patrick had worked me over.

I suppose that I could have invited him to somewhere more private, but I hadn’t even been thinking about that at the time. Honestly, I was too stuck on the question of what he was hiding from me to consider it. Maybe that was where I went wrong. I was too distracted to give him the attention that I should have.

Calling him would likely alleviate my worry, but I don’t want to come off as clingy. I don’t know the protocol here, and I’d hate to do something that would make the situation even worse. It’s probably best that I wait for him to say something.

I’m thankful for my midday shift today. On my second day off, I couldn’t get anything done. All I did was worry about Patrick’s silence. At least now I’m able to distract myself with customers and cards and the incessant hum of the slot machines.

Unfortunately for me, none of my patrons were particularly talkative. I guess it makes sense. The people coming in during this shift take gambling seriously. This isn’t a social hour for them. For some of them, it’s their livelihood, for others it’s their vice.

Honestly, I should probably walk away from working in casinos. My dad gambled away every penny he made. The only reason I applied back home was because he taught me all of the card games. He told me it was an important skill to have, and when I was younger, I took everything he said as the truth.

I think most people feel like that about their parents. They seem so infallible when you’re a child, then as you get older, you realize they’re just people too. The first time our power went out because of my father’s gambling addiction, my worldview collapsed. I wasn’t old enough to go out and get a job at that point, and I just felt so helpless.

My mom tried her best, but she had a breakdown and refused to go to a doctor. I’m sure that if she got herself medicated or even went to therapy, she would have been able to pull herself out of the hole she fell down. Instead, she ignored the problems in her head, telling everyone she was just having a bad day. She’s been having a bad day for nearly a decade.

I shake my head, focusing on the customers in front of me. It doesn’t do well to dwell on things like that while I’m on the floor. It isn’t my job to judge them, it’s my job to provide them with an enjoyable gaming experience. And I’m good at providing that. The tips I bring home every night prove that.

Finally, the end of my shift rolls around. And, while I’m relieved to be off the clock and off my feet, I dread being alone with my thoughts. I consider stopping by a drive through, but I don’t really have much of an appetite.

When I get home, I immediately change into something comfortable. Then, in an attempt to dispel some of the stress that’s built today, I put on a clay face mask before flopping onto my couch and throwing on a movie. It’s the most basic level of self-care, but at the moment, I can’t really bring myself to do much more than this.

My mind still wanders as I watch the romcom I picked at random. I find myself wishing that I’d taken the time to make friends when I was still living in New York. I could really use some advice right now, and it would be nice if I had a girlfriend on speed dial that could talk me through the mess in my head.

I sigh, staring down at my phone screen. I haven’t gotten messages from anyone all day. It’s nothing new, I’ve always been a loner, but in my defense there’s never been anyone that I wanted to hear from the same way I want to hear from Patrick.

The movie was a bad idea, I realize that now. It’s doing nothing to distract me from my own love life or lack thereof. Watching two people fall in love isn’t really lifting my spirits the way it usually does. It’s kind of doing the opposite.

“I’m hopeless,” I mutter to myself, throwing my head back against the couch cushions. I groan so loud that it echoes off of my ceiling. I cringe at the reverberation and mutter, “This isn’t helping.”

It hits me that maybe getting myself off would help. So, I let my eyes fall closed and run my hands up the inside of my thighs, repeating the teasing motions that Patrick used yesterday. That’s counter-intuitive, though. Seeing his face, feeling the ghost of his touch, just makes me feel worse about not hearing from him.

Still, I try, slipping my hand below the waistband of my pajamas shorts and into my panties. Slowly, I drag my fingertips through my folds. It’s nice, but it’s nothing like how Patrick’s fingers felt. Then, I circle my clit, but I didn’t give myself enough time to work up to it. It feels wrong, and not at all sexy or relaxing in the way I hoped it would be.

I try to fantasize about some faceless, handsome man doing this to me, but Patrick’s forest green eyes are the ones that look back at me. His voice coos in my ear. There’s no escaping him. Ever since I met him, he’s been haunting my thoughts. I can’t get away from him, no matter how badly I want to.

I give it up as a bad job, and take my hand away from myself. Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. It kind of just feels like I’m grasping at straws for some kind of mental relief.

Maybe I should just suck it up and reach out to Patrick. But after I eat dinner. I didn’t really have much by way of breakfast, and the only other thing I’ve eaten was a bag of chips in the break room during my downtime. I’m probably just not thinking clearly.

So, in an effort to get my head on straight, I stand up from the couch and head to my kitchen. After washing my hands, I go through my cabinets, looking for something fast to make. I settle on pasta, since there are some veggies in my fridge that desperately need to be cooked. I’m guilty of buying produce and letting it go bad before throwing it away. Then, on my next trip to the grocery store, I buy the same fruits and vegetables so I can repeat the cycle. I’m trying to get better about it.

I’m in the process of painstakingly chopping an onion, my eyes red and watering, with a pot of water slowly working its way to a boil on the right front burner when there’s a soft knock at my door. Confused, I set down the knife and glance at the clock. It’s a little late for one of my neighbors to be asking something, but stranger things have happened. So, I yell that I’ll be there in a minute while I go to the sink to wash the juices off of my hands.

On the way to the door, whoever’s out there knocks again. I sigh, gripping the handle and saying, “I said I was coming.”

As soon as the doors open, I freeze. While I wasn’t sure it was one of my neighbors stopping by, I wasn’t expecting to see Patrick standing on the mat out front. His hands are behind his back, and he has an apologetic smile on his face.

He’s even more handsome in person. His face is clean shaven, and his hair is tucked into place. In his dark red button up and pressed slacks, he looks dashing. All of a sudden, I feel woefully underdressed.

“Patrick,” I breathe, realizing I’ve been staring for too long.

“Hi, Holly,” he says, relief evident on his face. “Sorry I haven’t been around over the past few days. I know I have some explaining to do. Do you mind if I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” I step back so he can come inside. “Do you mind closing the door? I need to turn the stove off.”

While I’m turning off the burner, something churns in my stomach. The latch of the door clicks, and I suck in a deep breath. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know that things between us are about to change.