Hot Under His Collar - Andie J. Christopher Page 0,10
that could grow to be more. And maybe she could stop thinking about Patrick and how he’d sound grunting and saying dirty things and doing under-her-skirt things.
Probably not. But that wasn’t going to get Hannah home and taking care of herself. Even if Patrick didn’t like her, and her crush on him was out of control, she needed to do this for her best friend and the only person who really seemed to understand her. Her ride or die.
“Anyhow, it doesn’t matter.” Sasha straightened up as much as she could. “I will go over to the church to meet with Patrick, and you will go home and go to bed.”
“We have too much work to do.” Of course they did; they owned a business.
“You are allowed to answer e-mails if you are feeling better this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Mommy.” Hannah must already be feeling better if she was calling her names.
“That’s your new title.”
They made it out of the bathroom, out of the gym, and onto the sidewalk to wait for a car before Hannah picked up the earlier thread from their conversation. “So, how was the date?”
Sasha shrugged. “It was just a beer at Dooley’s—and your husband joined us for the second half.” She didn’t want to say too much, because he probably wouldn’t call again. “No big.” Wanting to change the subject, Sasha said, “Jack did mention wanting to talk to us about a favor, but he didn’t say anything about it having to do with Patrick.”
“Was he cute?” Hannah wasn’t going to let this go, and Sasha wasn’t going to put her in a car alone if she was still feeling terrible. “I need details. All Jack said was the douchebag thing.”
Sasha understood the prodding. She used to get excited about a new prospect and spill all the details. But—for a while now—she hadn’t felt like sharing a whole lot because it wasn’t like anything permanent was going to come from her endless dates. It used to be fun to meet new guys and flirt and wait to see what kind of freaks they would reveal themselves to be.
Now . . . now it was just tedious. Hannah, more than anyone, should understand this.
“He works in the front office for the baseball team we don’t like.” She left out the part where Nathan had said that he’d seen Sasha at a couple of events before asking her out. She knew that would put up Hannah’s creep antennae.
“Did you make out with him?”
Sasha made a face. For some reason, she couldn’t imagine making out with Nathan because she’d been on a date with him in the same room as Father Patrick. The whole time, she’d felt his gaze on her back. The little hairs there had stood up. She had barely registered Nathan as a sexually viable entity because Patrick was there.
She was sort of mad at herself for ruining what could have been a perfectly good date for a cheap thrill. By all accounts, she should be into Nathan rather than Patrick. He’d been into her before her date, and it was her fault that it was awkward.
“If he calls again, will you go out with him?” Hannah’s question made things clear.
“Of course. He was perfectly nice.”
The car they’d called pulled up to the curb, and Hannah rolled her eyes before getting in. “Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”
* * *
—
WHEN PATRICK WALKED INTO his office, he expected to see Hannah. He stutter-stepped when he saw Sasha sitting in the chair across from his desk—prim, as always, with her ankles crossed. How was it possible that she had sexy ankles? Jesus, her ankles? He really needed to say more Hail Marys.
She must have heard him padding across the ancient blue carpet because she stood and turned to him. He took a deep breath, which was a mistake because her smell got in his nostrils. If he still bet on those kinds of things, he would bet that her skin tasted like a ripe piece of fruit.
He cleared his throat and motioned for her to sit down. If she was sitting, maybe he wouldn’t think about wrapping his hands around her nipped-in waist while she wrapped her mile-long legs around him.
“I’m sorry that it’s me.” She looked down, flushed. And the part of him that he tried to forget existed got a thrill from that. “Hannah is feeling under the weather.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. He cleared his throat. “That is—I hope it’s nothing serious.”