"You wanna go?" Patrick asks.
"Please," I say.
"To the party?" he asks.
"If we can have sex first," I whisper.
"No. After," he whispers back. "Now. Do you want to get dinner? Or do you want to go back to my place?"
"Is that even a question?"
ChapterSixteen
PATRICK
Is that even a question?
Imogen's voice echoes through my head as we walk down Main Street. I barely notice the hip restaurants, the string lights, the mix of tourists and locals.
I want her so badly I can't think. It's ridiculous.
She stops in front of a French restaurant and studies the yellow glow of the lights. "I have no idea what kind of food you like."
"You know I like chai," I say.
"Who wouldn't like my chai?" Her lips curl into a small smile. It lights up her gorgeous face. It makes my heart thud against my chest and my stomach do flip-flops.
She's beautiful. She really is.
"Are you okay?" She tilts her head to one side. "Don't tell me you're still drained?"
"Huh?" I ask.
"From Sunday," she says.
"Sore, but not drained," I say.
"Yeah." Her smile widens. "Where?"
"Are you gonna rub it better?" It's easy, keeping this to sex. It's what I do. I hide from heaviness.
"Here? On the street?" Desire flares in her eyes.
"Behind the restaurant." I nod to the French bistro.
"In Santa Monica? We'll get arrested," she says.
"Once we cross the line into Venice," I say.
She laughs. "That will do it."
"Against the matcha shop on Abbot-Kinney."
"ScrewI love you so matchawhen you haveI need to screw you so matcha," she says.
"Is that on your Instagram?"
"It should be."