Hot Under His Collar - Andie J. Christopher Page 0,36

have run screaming, and the pre-K program would be doomed. Besides, the flush on her cheeks and fast-beating heart had been all about the adrenaline.

None of it had been about him.

“About time you arrived.” Sister Cortona smiled when she said it. “We’re just about done setting up.”

Patrick nodded his head. “Thank you.”

“Who are you looking for?”

Patrick hadn’t even noticed that he was looking for anyone, but sure enough, his head was on the swivel. Luckily for him, Jack arrived. Patrick looked at the sister and winked, even though his charm never did any good with her. “I have to make sure my heathen friend spends plenty of money as penance.”

The sister rolled her eyes and walked away, sharply telling one of the volunteers to “keep her filthy mitts off the petit fours.”

Patrick approached Jack, who embraced him in a backslapping hug. “Hannah couldn’t make it. Apparently, the thought of baked goods is enough to make her ‘ralph’ these days.”

“I thought we left the term ‘ralph’ in the 1980s?” At least, Patrick hadn’t heard it in a while. Not that being a priest kept him up on the current slang. Latin phrases for a whole lot of shit, yes. But dead languages yielded no slang.

“So did I, but it seems pregnancy has caused all sorts of regression.” Patrick would have been concerned if Jack hadn’t been smiling while he said that. “She hasn’t been able to keep down anything but blue-box mac and cheese in weeks.”

Patrick was confused by his friend. Jack had always been sentimental when it came to love. Even before he’d met his wife, he’d been a relationship guy. He’d never gone more than a few months between serious girlfriends and had always seemed to be happy to arrange his whole life around a ladylove.

The one time Patrick had tried his best friend’s tack, everything had gone disastrously and he’d ended up swearing off relationships for good, with emphasis. Patrick couldn’t even pretend to understand the depth of love that Jack had for his wife. It was really quite something to see how they revolved around each other—as if each were a planet and the other was the sun.

He didn’t think about it very often because it made him feel weird. He liked Hannah, but she also scared him—partially because of how twisted up his best friend was over her after years together and partially because Hannah was very formidable. “She’s okay, though?”

Jack shrugged, a little bit of concern clouding his sunny disposition. “I hate that she feels miserable, but it’s supposed to pass in a couple of months.”

“And then you’re going to be a dad.” Patrick had baptized babies for people that he and Jack had gone to school with for years. But this was the first time that one of their core group was going to become a parent.

Patrick had never thought much past making sure that he was never in the position to become a dad. He’d never thought past the practice portion of the program. And thinking about that now made him think of Sasha—again—and blood rushed to his pelvis—again.

She was five-foot-six and weighed about sixty pounds less than him, but she was breaking him in pieces all the same.

“Good thing I have such an awesome one to live up to,” Jack said. And it was true. Sean Nolan was a lion among men. Patrick’s dad was cool and laid-back but had always left the mushy stuff to his wife. Mr. Nolan had always been dialed in—especially after his rocky divorce.

Patrick put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’re going to be just fine, man.”

“Put in a good word with the big guy, won’t you?” Jack cast his eyes to the sky. His best friend had never been particularly religious. His church attendance was sparse, but Patrick wasn’t going to point out that he could stand to chat up “the big guy” one-on-one. It just wasn’t his place.

But then Sasha walked in, trailed by five people in white chef’s jackets, and Patrick forgot all about ministering to his friend through sarcasm. He had been about to say that he wasn’t sure if the big guy was listening, but that statement was no longer accurate at all.

Looking at Sasha, he knew that God had forsaken him for sure. She was just wearing another of her prim, pastel dresses, and yet he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Were the dresses getting tighter? Or was he just more in tune with the way her curves