Seamless (33 page)

George sat at the end of the bar with Emanuel and let Owen pour him his fifth Jameson. His slumped shoulders conveyed his lack of sleep and complete weariness. He hadn’t heard one fucking word from Stella. She’d broken up with him via a note and left without another fucking word.
She promised she wouldn’t run. She lied. Again.

“She broke her promise,” he muttered, putting his head on the bar.

“What?” Emanuel asked, leaning closer to George.

George sat up quickly, too quickly, and almost fell from his barstool. Emanuel and Owen both grabbed him. “She broke her fucking promise.”

“I’m sorry, Will.” Emanuel shook his head. “Have you heard from her?”

“No.” He slammed the glass down after he guzzled its contents. Stella’s whereabouts were media fodder and reporters yelled at him every time he left his house. George got up and walked to the office. He needed a minute.

He slammed the door and gazed around the room. He could clearly see his first kiss with Stella. He’d pushed her against the wall and attacked her like he was a fifteen-year-old boy.
What do I do now? How could this be happening to me again?
He paced the length of the small office, trying to figure out his next step. Could he let her go? Should he let her go? They’d been doing well, or at least they’d been making a go of it, until this. They were going to get married. She said yes.

It always lead back to fucking Jamie. George was glad Jamie was dead, but pissed that he was still hurting her from the grave. A knock sounded on the door.

“What?” he barked.

“Will?” The door opened hesitantly and Hazel peered around the side.

He sighed. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking great. A big bundle of fucking awesome,” he answered sarcastically.

Hazel stepped tentatively into the office and shut the door. George stalked over to the desk and sat on the edge.

“What can I do for you? You know Owen runs everything now. I’m just up here…drinking.”

“I saw on the news she’s gone,” Hazel started.

He blinked.

“She left you? After everything, she just left?”

“Yep,” George admitted. “It appears she just left.”

Hazel walked toward him, closing the gap between them. She had her red hair up in a messy bun and a V-neck Finnegan’s shirt on, the neckline dipped low enough to bring in good tips behind the bar. George gazed past her, wondering why she’d closed the door.

“You know, I could help you get over her. No strings attached.” She licked her lips, watching his eyes follow her tongue across her lower lip. “It worked before.” She kept moving until her body was between his legs, pressing into him.

George looked at her and nodded. Maybe he should just do it; it would help him get over Stella and he did love redheads… But he saw the look in her eyes and knew it wouldn’t just be strings attached, it would be super glue. Hazel leaned in and took his lower lip in her mouth gently. George stood up quickly, putting much-needed space between them.

“Bad idea,” he said, walking past her and out the door, through the bar and out into the night.

They’d been at the house for two days, side-stepping anything related to Jamie and what happened. Stella had been throwing up constantly and Patrick was afraid to press her. She’d actually gotten in the water while Patrick was gone buying food—whatever the air temperature, the water was fucking freezing, even colder than she expected, and she had to pull Patrick’s hoodie on over her bathing suit
and
sit under a blanket until she’d warmed up.

Stella plodded back to the house and sat on the kitchen counter, watching as Patrick pulled food out of bags and set them out for her inspection. Her stomach had been in knots since Jamie; she’d hardly eaten anything. Patrick left an hour ago to get takeout and came back with chicken fingers and fries from one restaurant, pizza from another, and a salad from a third.

“Patrick,” she said, kicking him with her bare foot, “you didn’t have to stop at three different places.”

Cooper sat at Stella’s feet waiting for a bite of whatever they didn’t eat.

“I just didn’t know what you wanted.” He shrugged and pulled paper plates out.

“So I got a text from Millie,” Stella said hesitantly. “I thought things were going so well with you guys. I definitely didn’t see that one coming.”

“Yeah, me either.” Patrick stuffed a fry in his mouth. “She was right, though. She can do better.”

“Patrick,” Stella put her hand on her best friend’s shoulder, “you
are
better. Why would you think she could do better than you?” Stella turned her nose up at the salad and pizza, opting for the fries, which she poured onto her plate. “Mmm…these are good. Thanks.”

Patrick pulled out his iPad to check his emails, then turned on music. “What did the message from Millie say?” he asked, not looking at Stella.

“That she moved out.” Stella popped another fry in her mouth, then threw one at Cooper, who caught it with ease. “What’s going on?” She examined Patrick’s smooth features, his eyes betraying his cool façade. Stella knew he was hurting. “I know you’re so used to protecting me, but let me help,” she cajoled, “please.”

Patrick shook his head, put a piece of pizza on his plate, and walked over to the couch, turning on the TV. Stella looked at him, then his iPad, still playing music, and eased down from the counter. Her head was still killing her. She didn’t know which was worse, her head or her stomach.

Stella tried a different tactic with Patrick as she walked over to the couch. “I spoke with Harris today and said I just needed to clear my head and not be hounded by the media. I told him where I was and he could call my cell instead of Greg. He gave me a week to come back for our follow-up interview.”

“Fuck him,” Patrick said in between bites of pizza, not looking at her.

“Patrick, talk to me,” she pleaded gently, wanting him to talk to her about Millie. She knew he loved her. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I just want to help.”

Patrick shook his head and looked at her, her black bikini mostly covered by his unzipped hoodie, her hair, messy and wavy from the salt air, grazing her shoulders. Her eyes were bloodshot and she hadn’t put on any makeup since Friday morning.

Stella shrugged, giving up her attempt at conversation, and walked back to her plate of fries in the kitchen. “Did you get me—”

Stella didn’t get a chance to finish her question because Patrick was behind her, his body pushing her into the counter, his arms pinning her on either side. Stella gasped in surprise at his sudden touch. Shock coursed through her body. She tried to turn around, but Patrick wouldn’t let her.

He leaned down and kissed her neck. Stella, stunned, tried even harder to look at him. “Patrick?” Her voice was full of trepidation.
What the fuck was he doing?

“Shh,” he whispered in her ear.

Stella squirmed and tried to turn to face him, but he held her tight against the counter.

“I can’t look at you when I say this, El. Please let me say this.”

Stella stilled at the urgency in his voice.

“Millie left me because she knew I was in love with you, El,” Patrick admitted.

Stella closed her eyes.
No. No. No.
“Don’t.”

“You know she’s right.” His lips grazed her ear and Stella’s body felt electric from his touch.

No. Fuck no.
A buzz traveled through her and settled in between her legs.
What’s wrong with me
?
I love George. This was Patrick, her Patrick. He was like her brother. Not…

“El, I’ve loved you for a long time and I’m just going to lay it out here,” he said, his voice hoarse and full of emotion. “If you don’t love me back, its fine. I just need to taste you once, kiss you once, make love to you once…”

She froze. Stella couldn’t believe she was hearing this from Patrick, her best friend. “But you’re my best friend,” she barely whispered. He was all she had left; she couldn’t lose him too. “My person.”

His lips were at her ear again. “I’ll always be your person. I’ll always be your best friend.
Always
,
El.
” He sighed, his breath like silk on her hair. “I’ve been patient. I’ve waited for you. I’ve loved you while you loved George. Watching you not be with me has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Stella couldn’t speak with his lips so close. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see his eyes, didn’t know how to respond. “Pa—” she started.

“I’ll always be your person. You believe that, don’t you?” He was so close. He felt like comfort, like the calm she needed. He felt like home and she hated herself for it.

She nodded; she did believe him. In less than a second, Patrick had flipped her around and lifted her up on the counter, holding her legs around his waist. He used his right hand to pull her hair back, forcing her to expose her neck to him. She gasped again; she couldn’t wrap her brain around what was happening.

Patrick ran his tongue from her collarbone to her earlobe and Stella’s legs fell open around him, letting him get closer to her.

No. I can’t do this.
“No. Patrick,” she gasped, “we can’t.”

His lips crushed against hers, silencing her protests. The second time his lips met hers he stared into her eyes. He separated himself from her and pulled his hoodie down her arms to puddle behind her. “I promise I’ll always be your best friend, El. I promise.” He crashed his mouth into hers again and released the ties on her bikini top at the same time. Her top fell away, revealing her hard nipples, and he used the pad of his tongue on both of them.

Stella was having difficulty breathing, thinking. Her body was betraying her mind; she loved George.
George
.

Patrick separated himself from her for a breath and took her bikini bottoms off, leaving Stella completely bared to him. He got down on his knees and all thoughts left her head.

Stella woke up with thoughts of the night before, of Patrick carrying her to the stairs without separating his mouth from hers. Their bodies tangled with each other all night and she was exhausted. Nausea woke her up, though, and she stumbled to the bathroom to throw up. Lowering her face to the faucet, she took a big drink of water and splashed some on her face as well. The evidence of their night was crumpled in the trashcan. She was shocked that Patrick had even had condoms.

Stella examined herself in the mirror, taking stock of herself, and saw what she always knew—she wasn’t good enough for George.

She’d had sex with her best friend when she loved George.

She’d had sex with her best friend’s ex-boyfriend.

Emotions crept up her body like spiders and made her close her eyes.
Millie loved Patrick and Stella loved George, right
?
What have we done
?

When she opened her eyes, Patrick was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. “You look like your dog just died.” He cocked his head and smiled. “That does nothing for my ego, El.”

“What’re we doing?” Stella turned to look at him in all his beautiful naked glory; sleek, sinewy muscles etched in his chest and abs, skin tight and silken. His steely blue eyes pierced her.