nonplussed. His dimple crinkled, and he walked back to the bar.
That whole exchange made her wonder what it would be like for her to be able to introduce him to her family as a boyfriend. She’d never been excited about doing that before. It had always been a complicated operation that filled her with dread. But Patrick was so different from anyone she’d ever dated. He was magnetic, and left her mother—a woman who was rarely without words—without anything that could make a direct hit.
“I think I want to go to bed,” Madison said. Sasha begged her sister with her eyes not to leave her alone with their mother. “I’m grabbing a car back to Sasha’s.”
“You’re just going to abandon me?” Moira was back to the wailing again, but Madison was out the door faster than Sasha had ever seen her move.
Sasha tried to think of a way to get them all back to where they were supposed to sleep in one piece without saying anything they would regret. She was coming up blank.
Patrick came to her rescue. “I’ll call you a car, Mrs. Finerghty.” His beneficence shone down upon her like divine light.
Her mother’s whole being bristled, but she said, “I suppose that would be acceptable.”
Thankfully, she was only drunk enough to be mean, not enough to need to be carried out of the bar. It wasn’t a chore to get her out.
But then Sasha was alone with Patrick. The rest of the patrons had cleared out when her mother was at about a martini and a half.
This was very bad.
She should have left that very moment—actually, she should have dragged Moira out when her sister had announced that she was going to leave.
But she hadn’t. Part of her had wanted this from the moment that she’d suggested that they come here. She hadn’t seen Patrick, but she’d felt him with her every day. He was in her mind, her fantasies, and he was starting to burrow his way into her heart. It didn’t matter that it was hopeless. That they had no future. That her feelings for him were sinful.
She wanted it, and that was all that mattered. She was everything her parents told her she was. She was selfish, lustful, craven, and had all the wrong desires.
But Patrick stood there looking at her—not like a priest looked at a penitent or a friend. He looked at her like a man looking at a woman he wanted.
It was so much more real in that moment. She was filled with power and lust and regret all at the same time.
“Want to stay for a drink while I clean up?”
She should obviously say no, but how could she turn him down?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SASHA DIDN’T SAY NO, and part of her wanted to celebrate her good luck at Patrick playing into her fantasy. “Sure. I’d love to keep you company.”
Patrick started turning over chairs and putting them on top of the empty tables. Without words, Sasha joined him. They worked in silence until they were done, and Patrick returned behind the bar and started making her a whiskey sour.
Burning, sweet, and tart. Just like she felt around Patrick Dooley.
“Your family is a trip.”
Sasha didn’t stifle her laugh. It was a relief to not suppress her emotions after spending hours with her mother. It was so automatic that she didn’t even realize she was doing it half the time. “That’s an understatement.”
“How’d you—”
“Not end up being a total bitch?”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“But that’s what you meant.” She leaned toward him and the danger of being too close to him.
Patrick shrugged, respectful enough not to deny it.
“I guess it’s because I try to do the right thing even though I want to do the wrong thing. I pretend to be the good girl they want me to be.” He put down her drink in front of her and she took a sip, meeting his gaze. “Even though I want to be my own person and live by my own rules.”
“Is that what this . . .” he said, motioning between them, “. . . is?”
The fact that he’d noticed there was something between them was a cataclysm. His words made her want to throw everything she’d just said to the wayside and jump over the bar to kiss him. She wanted to forget all about trying to be good and just allow herself to be fully bad.
But she stopped herself. If only to dig in to what he’d said before