Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

W hen they arrived at McCormick's store, Sandy cleared off the snow from his car and he and Chelsea went their separate ways. The odd thing was that driving to Patrick's house took longer than walking since the road that led to his home wound all the way around the park. When Sandy pulled up to the house, another car was taking up space in the driveway. Patrick's parents. Sandy draped his arms over the steering wheel and rested his forehead against them. Why didn't I think of this earlier? How do I face them? And now I'm going to have to drive all the way back to Chicago when I'm dead tired.

A knock on his passenger window made Sandy's head pop up. Patrick stood outside in a UW sweatshirt and jeans, with his hands tucked in his pockets. Sandy hit the automatic window. "I should go back to Chicago."

"Nah, let me in," Patrick said as he shivered.

Sandy popped the lock on the doors and pushed the button to make the window go up. "I didn't even think—really, I can go. It's not a big deal."

Patrick placed his hands in front of the vent, rubbing them together. "Don't be silly. My parents have the guest room, and I can take the couch."

"What?! No. If anyone is taking the couch it's me."

"Not on your life. If my mom sees you on the furniture in the morning, she'll yell at me. And I mean yell. She might be short in stature, but the woman can project her voice. She sings in her church choir. Trust me, you don't want to witness that. Animals run from that." Patrick smiled and turned to scratch Moonshine behind the ears when the dog popped her head between the seats. "If we're arguing about this, then you're staying?"

Moonshine barked in approval.

"You're the most unhelpful animal I've ever known." Sandy inhaled a deep breath. "We'll stay. But if I get in your way or your parents', then I'll skedaddle on out of here."

A flick of Patrick's hand brushed the idea away. "Pop the trunk so I can help you with your stuff."

As soon as Sandy hit the trunk release on the key fob, Patrick was out the door. "If this goes south, I'm selling you to the lowest bidder," Sandy muttered to Moonshine, who countered the threat with a sneeze.

Sandy grabbed the dog and her bed from the floorboard. They trekked up the path to the house behind Patrick who, naturally, carried all of Sandy's things with the ease of a pack animal. He had to admit that Patrick's muscles were exceptionally handy. Sandy squeezed himself in front of Patrick and swung open the door for him.

"My parents already hit the hay. They're early risers." Patrick's voice dipped low as he popped his boots off while balancing Sandy's stuff. He headed to his room.

Sandy unraveled his scarf and hung up his things before toweling off Moonshine. He was staying at Patrick's. Patrick who didn't know that he worked for the company that could essentially put him out of business. Why does this kind of stuff always happen to me? At that moment his phone buzzed from his back pocket. He looked at the text from Julia.

Tokyo is cool. So tired. Feel free to FT when you're available. Hope the elf gig is going well. Xoxo

It's almost as if she can sense the chaos from abroad. And if matters couldn't get any worse, he was going to take Patrick's bed. Sandy unclipped Moonshine's leash and hurried toward the primary bedroom. He couldn't take the bed. He'd lose his mind if he had to deal with his job secret and kicking the man out of his own room. Nope. That's not going to happen. As Sandy crossed the threshold, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Patrick turned, shirtless. "Thought I'd change into pajamas."

Sandy closed his mouth with a snap. He may or may not have made some sort of mouth noises, but he wasn't certain they were words. Sandy shook himself back to the moment and placed the doggie bed in a corner. "I really can't let you sleep in the living room. So . . . um, you need to sleep here. In bed. You sleep in bed. With me." What's wrong with me? Who talks like this?

Patrick slipped a Henley over his head.

Oh, thank Santa he covered up.

"Deal." Patrick unbuttoned his jeans.

In a panic, Sandy nodded as he searched the room for his bag. He needed to not be in the same vicinity as Patrick when his pants came off. "Point me to my bag?"

Patrick pointed to Sandy's bag on a folding luggage rack. He popped it open and grabbed his toiletries and pajamas. "I shall return." He zipped into the bathroom like roasted chestnuts hit him in the butt.

Sandy rested his palms on the countertop and closed his eyes. First, he concentrated on pushing the image of a bare-chested Patrick from his mind. But the problem was that his double-crossing brain decided to flash images of him mapping that territory with his mouth. The only way to fix this was with a very cold shower. And seeing as the house was already as cold as the North Pole, this would ensure that he froze all thoughts of the shirtless Patrick from his mind.

Sandy flipped the knob to start the shower and stripped down in record time. He hopped in, "Fuck!"

A knock came from the door. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Sandy shouted back. "Just freezing my guilty ass off," he mumbled to himself.

"The water takes a while to warm up. Do you need anything?"

"Nope. All good." Sandy grabbed his body wash and started to go through his routine. How am I going to tell Patrick about my job with the Lance Right Corporation? Although he didn't even know if he should. Technically, he wasn't working for them yet. But he couldn't quit the job. The last time he was in serious financial debt he'd sold photos to TMZ, which hurt Julia and her sister. I'll never do that, again.

He needed a stable job with health and dental benefits. He hadn't had that kind of security in years and the pay. The pay was amazing. Plus, the product placement gig would diversify his portfolio. Yeah, he couldn't pass on the job.

By the time Sandy stepped out of the shower he was no closer to a solution. As he performed the rest of his nightly routine, his nerves kicked in as he realized that he was about to sleep with Patrick. Well, not sleep, sleep, but actually close eyes and count sugar-plums. The handful of times he'd done this with other men it was usually after sex, which was different in this situation. There'd be no sex. "What the hell do people do in bed if they don't have sex?" he asked his reflection in the mirror. Sleeping shouldn't be this stressful.

He hung his towel up and squared his shoulders. It's sleep. No biggie. Sandy opened the door.

Patrick was already in bed reading a book. A lamp on the nightstand created a warm glow to the room and the handsome man.

Sandy crossed to his side of the bed. "Whatchya reading?"

Patrick held the book up.

"Blake Crouch. Upgrade ." Sandy pulled back the duvet and sheet and slipped under the covers. He adjusted the pillows behind his back before settling in. "Did you read Dark Matter ?"

"That's my favorite."

Sandy smiled at the fact that they liked the same book. "I, ah, have a confession."

Patrick placed a bookmarker between the pages and turned his full attention to Sandy.

"I've never really slept in a bed with a guy I haven't had sex with, so this is super crazy weird for me. Like, what's the protocol?"

Setting his book on the table, Patrick balled one of his pillows, and stretched out on his side, facing Sandy. "I guess maybe don't steal all of the covers?"

Sandy turned to face Patrick too. He kind of liked this intimate bubble they were creating. "Covers. Okay."

"No kicking."

"Uh huh. I can do that."

"No hair pulling,"

Sandy knitted his brows together. That's odd. "You're full of shit."

The corners of Patrick's mouth rose. "Yup."

"I might want to kick you."

Patrick snorted. He turned and clicked off the bedside lamp. "There are no rules," he said.

Through the soft, moonlit room, Sandy could see the contours of Patrick's face. His breath hitched. Sandy didn't know how he felt about the "no rules" rule. If he closed the distance between them, Patrick might reconsider his no-rule thing or maybe he wouldn't. Sandy needed to stop torturing himself. A change in subject was a good idea. "Do you get along with your parents?

Patrick shifted in the bed as if he'd rather not talk about his folks. "Most of the time but working together makes things more complex. If you had to work with your folks all the time, how would you feel?"

"First off, I could never work with step pops. He's a boring man of epic proportions. And my mom . . . I love her something fierce, but absolutely not."

"And add into the mix a brother who steals from the store. I don't advise anyone to ever work with their family if they know what's good for them."

"Then why do it?"

Patrick wiped a hand over his face and groaned. "Kinda don't know anymore."

Maybe this was a good thing. Patrick wasn't happy at his job, so Sandy working for the enemy might not be as horrible as he thought. Yeah. Sure. That's wishful thinking. "Seriously, what would you do if you didn't have the store anymore? First thing that comes to mind. Go."

"I'd be an athletic coach." Patrick covered his mouth. "Woah, I didn't know that."

"See. This is what happens when you allow yourself to want things . . . " Sandy hadn't meant for the subtext to slip out, but there it was in all its glory for Patrick to hear.

Patrick sighed. "It's not that I don't want. I do . . . want . . . "

And Sandy wanted something, too, but that would make things even more complicated. Maybe it was a better idea to stay away from that sticky conversation. "How about something easier? Why wrestling? Isn't that kind of gay?"

"Repressed homosexuality. Haven't heard that before," Patrick chuckled. "It's a great sport, and I had a lot of pent-up energy. And I used sports as a way to expend it. Plus, I love sports."

"Ugh, you're one of those guys who watches it on the weekends, aren't you? Reliving your glory days." Sandy couldn't stop himself.

"If I had the time, but the store . . . " Patrick shrugged. "I like participating more than watching. Speaking of work, we're going to move ahead with your upgrade to the site. It took a lot of convincing, but I think Dad gets it now."

Without thinking, Sandy squeezed Patrick's muscular arm. Or tried to. Damn, that's one hard bicep. "That's terrific news. I'll get started on it tomorrow. And I know this is going to sound cray, but I think Chelsea would be great on TikTok for the store."

Patrick's features scrunched up.

"They're young with a dry sense of humor and they're edgy. It might be a good idea to tap into the youth market." Sandy stopped himself. It was too quiet. "What? What is it?"

"This is a great idea. It's just, I dunno. I mean with everything online could we get that demo? Most of the time it's thirty-five and up for our store. Sure, kids come in with their parents, but that's the extent of it. The younger market doesn't willingly come to our store."

"Have you tried targeting them before?" Sandy accidently grazed Patrick's chest. "Isn't it worth trying?" Do not think about those defined pecks.

The mattress dipped as Patrick rolled closer causing their arms to touch. A tingling sensation ran through Sandy like an electric current.

Patrick didn't budge. In fact, he seemed content to stay connected to Sandy. "My dad wants us to attend the opening of the box store."

"No. That's not smart. Why would you? It's the competition. They're evil. Bad. And again, no." He stumbled, uncertain if it was because of the conversation or the warmth of Patrick's body.

"If I really thought we could compete with them then it'd make more sense, but I think he's worried and curious. That place does bulk. And I think they'll even have a service station. Customers will be able to get their tires rotated and oil changed while they shop. That's out of our league."

"Yes, see, no reason to go." Sandy wasn't completely relaxed yet. He didn't want Patrick to go to that super store. For some reason, it was too much of a risk if he did.

Patrick rested a hand on Sandy's thigh. "Aren't you curious?"

Yes, I'm curious. Curious how I'm going to sleep next to you all night. Ugh. "Not at all." Sandy hoped to put a pin in this conversation.

"Maybe I'll ask Chelsea to go with me. They'd like to see it, I bet." Patrick squeezed Sandy's thigh.

Son-of-a-Christmas-cookie. "I'll go. I don't think it'll be anything special. It's another warehouse full of stuff. Nothing I haven't seen before."

If Patrick and his parents were going, then he was going with them to play chaperone. It was the only way he could control the situation. Well, maybe not control it so much as prevent anything from happening. Not that it could, right? He didn't know anyone at the store and why would they know a random product photographer? The only people he knew were the HR folks and the product people from the corporate office. It would be fine.

Once Patrick removed his hand, Sandy released the breath he'd been holding.

"I'm glad you're coming. Besides photography and decent taste in books, what else do you like to do?"

"I watch way too much TV. I might actually have a problem because I love it that much. My best friend, Julia, and I attend Drag Race nights at our local watering hole. Oh, and I can't live without music and dancing."

"Your best friend's a girl? She's going to give you cooties." Patrick smirked.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I have a female best friend. I don't care what people say—adults can have BFFs for life. And I do, so there. You're just jealous."

It could have been his imagination, but he was pretty sure that Patrick intentionally snuggled his feet with Sandy's.

"I'm definitely green with envy. Maybe because this Julia character gets to hang with you."

Awe, he's so sweet. A warmth spread through Sandy's chest and into his manly bits. "I dunno, we're slayin' this job of chilling together."

"How'd you get into photography?" Patrick yawned.

Sandy saw Patrick's lashes blink like they were made of lead. "My mom encouraged it after my bio dad bolted when I was a kid."

"That's rough. Do you see him much?" Patrick closed his eyes.

"Nope, he lives somewhere in Korea or wherever. I say good riddance. His crap parenting skills and disrespecting my mom put an icicle through our relationship a long time ago. After he was gone, she gave me one of her old cameras, motivating me to look at the world around me."

"Good mom."

Sandy couldn't stop his mouth from turning up at the heavy-eyed Patrick. "We should go to sleep," he whispered.

"Not tired," came Patrick's warm minty response.

Sandy kept his gaze on Patrick until the man's breathing evened out. He slipped out of bed, carried his phone to the bathroom and closed the door. From the edge of the bathtub, hit the FaceTime icon, ringing Julia.

Her faced popped up on the screen. She wore a backpack as she moved through a market on the other side of the world. "I thought the town of Mayfield ate you, or you got stuck in a tree looking for WiFi service. What did I miss?"

"Besides my face?" Sandy crossed his legs, hoping to retain some warmth as he spoke in a low tone.

"That's a given. Seriously. Why are we whispering?"

"I don't want to wake up—let's not talk about that. I have a problem. The big job in the new year is conflicting with my current gig. How the hell do I fix this hot mess?"

Julia stopped walking. "Really? You're calling me for career advice? This is very unlike you, and now my concern is drifting into worried territory . . . I'll need more details."

Sandy dropped his face into a palm. "The people are so nice. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Yeah, now I'm full-blown worrying. You despise nice people. And you seem okay wounding a lot of your hook-ups. Downright nasty a few of them were."

"Okay, okay, I don't need a play-by-play on the ghost of hot bodies past. How do I do this whole get-what-I-want and not, you know . . . "

Throwing her head back, she laughed. "Have your cake and eat it, too? If you want the cliched version."

"Uh huh, that thing. I want that." He nodded. "This tiny store in this fucking picturesque town is struggling, and my boss is going to lose his store to corporate overlords."

"The lumberjack?"

"Yeahuh, so, hi creative person—spitball some ideas at me to save it."

A sly smile crossed her features as she resumed strolling. "You like this guy."

He snapped his fingers at the phone.

"Um, GoFundMe," she blurted as her eyes focused on something off camera. "Noodles." Julia detoured.

"Jingle my bells! We can raise money for the store."

Julia nodded, focusing her attention elsewhere.

Sandy sat upright. Maybe I'll be able to sleep tonight with Patrick and not feel like a shady Grinch after all.