15. Patrick

"Just listen!"

Katie was so beside herself that I'd gotten laid for the first time in recent memory that she refused to let me tell my story, interrupting with one question after another about Dane's body and, quite specifically, how large Little Dane was. As was the case whenever we talked, I left no detail undetailed. Besides, the soreness that pricked at my butt every time I sat reminded me just how large Mr. Walker's walking stick really was—like a small child's arm, but a child on steroids, maybe Arnold Schwarzenegger's child's arm.

Thinking about Dane's thick member made my butt pucker, and I shifted uncomfortably in Katie's puffy chair.

"Fine." She pretended to pout, sitting forward so far on her couch that I thought she might tumble off. "Go on. You had wild monkey sex in the kitchen, then over the island, then somewhere else. He's big, all veiny and shit. What happened after?"

"He held me."

Her apartment was still. Even Java sat frozen and staring at me, his head cocked in confusion.

"Did you hear me?"

She nodded slowly, and her eyes went from wide with excitement to narrowed in confusion faster than the Road Runner dropping an anvil on that other character, the wolf that always ended up flattened.

"I heard. He held you. Yay. Go cuddles. Is that it?" She was now bordering on sarcasm. I was teetering on offense.

"Katie, we had a great date, mind-bending sex, and then he held me. He didn't ask me to leave or kick me out or grab his phone to check guys on Grindr. Dane wrapped his insanely muscular arms around me and held me tight against his chest for a solid thirty minutes.""Then he kicked you out?" she asked, thoroughly unimpressed.

"Yes. No. No, he didn't kick me out. Yes, I left. I had to work this morning, and he had fireman things to do, I'm sure."

She snickered. "Like playing with his hose?"

"I'm pretty sure I drained his hose before I left."

That earned a full cackle and a clap. "So, are you seeing him again?"

"I think so. We didn't set anything definite, but he acted like he wanted to." I replayed every moment in bed right before he released me from his arms. "Oh, oh! I almost forgot. How could I forget this part?"

"What?" She sat forward again, eyes blinking rapidly.

"He said I'm awesome."

Her blinking slowed.

"Not sexually. I mean, I was, and he was. We were. But that's not what he meant, I think. He stabbed his finger in my chest and said, ‘You are awesome, Patrick Pierce.'"

She giggled at my failed imitation of his gruff, deep voice.

"It was awesome," I sighed and slumped back in my chair.

"Aww, look, Java. The pretty baby is smitten. Isn't that the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

Java flopped onto one side, utterly disinterested in my joyous occasion. Katie's hand drifted across the couch to scratch his belly.

Ungrateful beast.

"So, what's this lunch with Lady Godiva tomorrow?" That was Katie's nickname for Emily. I never fully understood the reference, but I was pretty sure it had to do with her being sophisticated. "She never wants to just have lunch. There's an agenda there."

"Em is sweet. Don't hate."

"Sweet is how a baby dolphin describes a shark right before—"

"Katie!"

"Sushi. That's all I'm saying. Remember the sushi." She raised her index finger like she'd just solved some problem related to gravity or relativity. "You should have that made into a T-shirt."

"Solid plan. Thanks," I groaned. "She probably wants to talk about a story or some feature she needs help with. You know how she likes to have me do her grunt work and call it training."

"Right. Exactly, little guppie. Keep swimming."

"It is training. I learn a lot from being her grunt."

She grunted, punctuating her fishy point.

"Anyway, I'll find out tomorrow. Em is too mysterious to figure out. For all we know, she's getting an editor gig and wants me to be her assistant."

"Would you do that? Just leave being a reporter to follow her around?"

I shook my head. "It wouldn't be following her around, but no, I wouldn't. I just want a shot at bigger stories, something with grit. She's helping me get that."

"Mm-hmm." She scooched back to lean against the cushions and crossed both her arms and legs in unison.

A double disapproval. Great.

I was about to excuse myself and return home when my phone chimed. Before I could glance down, Katie bounded forward and snatched it off the coffee table.

"Were you a ninja in a former life? What the hell?"

She grinned and made a chopping motion in the air. "No mess with me. Me chop you."

"Great, now you're an offensive imitation of Tonto. Lovely."

She flicked me a bird, then flicked open my screen. I should've never given her my passcode.

"Oh, it's from him!" she squealed.

I reached out. She bounced back. Java barked and leaped down.

"He says"—she held the phone away dramatically—"you really have a tight hole."

"Katie, give me that phone right now!"

Her giggles swelled and tears welled in her eyes as she doubled over. "Oh … my … god. I might pee all over this couch. My side hurts. Call nine-one-one!"

I stood and snatched my phone out of her hand, which only had her laughing harder.

Walkman:Great time last night. I have to work Friday, but my softball team plays Sat at 3. Wanna come watch then grab dinner?

I glared up at my treacherous friend, shock registering in my eyes, which only fanned her flames. I was starting to think she might actually need help breathing again. Rivers were pouring down her cheeks as she pointed and shook her finger. "You totally believed me. Now I know he said you have a tight ass. You left that out. Wait, no, he didn't leave anything out. He shoved it all in."

A new round of hyperventilation began, so I turned away. Everything in me wanted to do a happy dance around her apartment and shout at the ceiling, but her little prank had thrown me off my text-receiving celebration game. I stared at the screen, re-reading his message, then typed.

Me: Really great. And sure, softball sounds fun.

Walkman:If it sounds boring, just tell me. We can meet up after.

Me:Oh no. I wouldn't miss getting to see you in tight shorts playing with balls (grin). What's on the menu for dinner?

Walkman: Hmm. Sushi?

Katie had stopped laughing and snuck behind me to read over my shoulder. The moment Dane texted "sushi" she threw herself backward and rolled on the couch, howling like a banshee.

Between laughs and gasps for air, she squeaked out, "Oh, he didn't! Sushi? I'm dead. So freakin' dead right now."

"Great," I deadpanned, stepping to the other side of her den.

Me:Perfect.

Walkman:I'll text later. C ya.

I couldn't help staring. He would text later. My heart did a tiny somersault, then I read the last bit. C ya. Was that the bro-punch or fist-bump version of a goodbye? It sure felt like it. Then again, Dane was a rough and ready firefighter. That's how he talked. It was probably how he talked to his own mother.

The giddy teenager in me slapped the overthinking adult hard across the cheek and pecked out one last, very mature text.

Me:Totally. Can't wait. I'm excited. About the date, not texting later. Although that's fun too. Yay text.

With that idiotic, twelve-year-old-just-got-his-first-kiss sign-off, Katie lost the last of her control and bolted for the bathroom.