Off Limits

“Please,” Patrick’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, their warmth tingling along my bare skin. My gaze was locked on his hands, studying their width and roughness. He was so good with his hands—on and off the ice.

“Don’t leave yet.” His low voice broke my trance, causing me to look up at him. He looked so beautiful. A white sheet was draped across his waist, his torso bare and golden in the dim light of the room. His plump lips were slightly parted, the tip of his pink tongue darting out to wet them. His bright blue eyes were locked on my face, tracing my gaze with his own. And his mop of curls was disorganized across his forehead.

I reached out and ran a hand through his hair slowly, “You know I have to.”

He let out a low sigh and dropped my gaze, “I know. Jonny’s waiting for you.”

I nodded slowly and turned away, continuing the search for my discarded clothes. I pulled my jeans up my thighs and quickly threw my tee over my head, turning towards his mirror to examine my hair.

“Hell of welcome home, by the way,” he chuckled, as he reached towards me and slapped my jean-clad butt. I quickly jumped away from his reach and turned to him, sending him a playful glare.

“Grow up, Patrick.”

He rolled his eyes jokingly and slid out from beneath the sheets, pulling on the pair of boxers that were hanging on his nightstand. “You wouldn’t want me to, Ri,” he smirked at me, “This wouldn’t be as fun.”

I mimicked his eyeroll and continued fixing my hair, eventually giving up and throwing it into a loose ponytail. As I walked out of the bedroom, the light pitter-patter of his footsteps followed me to the front foyer. Under his gaze, I collected my possessions, stuffing my feet into my boots and throwing my jacket over my shoulders.

When I was done gathering everything, I met his soft stare and approached him. “Welcome home,” I placed a light kiss to his cheek before shuffling out of his apartment and back into the cold air of the winter night.

I dropped into my seat of Jonathan’s car and sighed, clicking the engine to life. As I maneuvered the vehicle through the city, back to the apartment that I shared with Jonathan, my mind wandered. I thought about my situation and how it all began.

Before I had even met Jonathan, Patrick and I were friends. We had met through work, since I was hired as an assistant on the decoration of his old apartment. We discovered that we shared many of the same interests—including clubbing and drinking—and he had asked for my phone number. Following my project at his apartment, we would occasionally meet up at bars and order a few rounds. But it was never anything more than that. It was a casual friendship; since we both had hectic schedules, we didn’t worry about when we were able to hang out or see each other.

When he finally mustered up the courage to invite me out with his teammates, Patrick introduced me to Jonathan and I spent nearly the entire night with him. We flirted constantly on stools at the bar; and by the time I was home at the end of the night, I had a text message from him asking me on a date.

After that, my friendship with Patrick became more involved with my relationship with Jonathan. I’d see him occasionally; but mostly when Jonathan was around. We didn’t hang out alone, unless Jonathan was preoccupied or we were in a fight.

Patrick had quickly become my go-to person when I fought with Jonathan. He knew enough about us to provide fair answers to my questions.

But one night, when a fight with Jonathan had gone out of hand, everything else got out of hand, too.

“I just can’t believe he’d string me along like that!” I exclaimed, downing one of the tequila shots in front of me. I winced at the liquor’s strong burn and reached for the lime on the bar, sucking on it for a moment before sighing loudly. “He’s an ass.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, placing another tequila shot in front of me. “He’s not an ass and he’s not stringing you along.”

“Oh yeah?” I threw my hands into the air, “Then why’d he make me think that he cared?” I grabbed the new glass and threw it down my throat, reaching again for the lime slice.

“He does care,” Patrick refuted, downing a tequila shot of his own and shaking his head at the burn. “He’s just an idiot.”

“Sleeping with someone else is being more than an idiot, Pat.”

I went to signal for another round of shots, but Patrick grabbed my hand and tugged at it, turning my stool towards him. “Look at me, Ri.”

I looked up into his soft, blue eyes, and nodded. “He didn’t sleep with another girl,” Patrick explained, “He just kissed her and—”

“How do we know that?” I growled, “He could be lying.”

Patrick rolled his eyes again, before giving me a hard stare, “Would he lie to you Ri?”

Instinctively, I shook my head. Jonathan would never lie to me; he praised honesty in a relationship. It was evidenced by the way he told me about the incident. The moment he walked into the apartment, after their long west coast road trip, he sat me down and told me about the kiss he’d had with another woman.

Patrick sent me a dazzling smile, “Exactly. So let me finish.” I nodded at him to continue.

“He only kissed her. And honestly, it wasn’t only his fault. She had been practically throwing herself on top of him and he wasn’t in the condition to fend her off,” he dropped his eyes and shrugged sadly, “I probably should’ve helped him. But y’know, I am a crappy friend, so I wasn’t much help.”

I shoved his shoulder playfully and got his eyes to connect with mine again, “Shut up. It wasn’t your fault, Pat.”

He gave me a small grin, “I know. But I’m just saying, it wasn’t all his fault either.”

I nodded. I understood that. Patrick and Jonathan were young and famous. They practically had girls on their knees whenever they walked into a room. I knew that those girls were hard to fend off, but I just had never considered the fact that Jonathan wouldn’t be able to.

“Let’s just drink,” I signaled for a third round of tequila shots, “I don’t want to think about it.”

As soon as the glasses were placed in front of us, Patrick picked one up and clinked it against mine, throwing it down his throat. He sent me a cheeky smile, “I’m in. Let’s get drunk.”

Soon, fourth and fifth rounds were delivered to our section of the bar; and they were tossed back without question. When our sixth and seventh rounds arrived, we decided to make things more interesting and started to joke around. We’d lick salt off of each other’s arms and hands, giggling at the awkward feel of our tongues.

But when our eighth and ninth rounds arrived, we started pushing boundaries. A line of salt trailed along his jawline to his ear, my tongue swirling around his lobe as I turned to take the shot. A lime was placed between my lips, his plump lips grazing mine as he retrieved the fruit.

Sexual tensions were rising and the idea of revenge was floating through my thoughts.

When the tenth round was delivered to us, Patrick plucked a lime off of the tray and placed it underneath his tongue. I licked a line of salt off of my hand, downed the tequila shot, and reached for the back of his neck. I pulled his mouth towards mine and my tongue swiped underneath his, pulling the lime into my own mouth. As I pulled back, Patrick reached quickly for his own shot and downed it quickly.

It was our last round, before he pulled me out of the club and hailed a taxi.

When we awoke in the morning, I quickly slid out of his bed and gathered my belongings. I left his apartment as hurriedly as I could, hailing a taxi in the morning air.

I returned to my shared apartment with Jonathan. I slipped into the front foyer and shuffled around quietly, as I placed my belongings in their assigned places. Dropping my key onto the front table, I turned towards the kitchen and maneuvered into the doorway.

When my gaze flickered to the kitchen island, Jonathan was standing there with a mug in his hands. His hair was disorganized, standing up in every which way, and dark circles ringed his dark eyes. He had clearly not gotten any sleep.

“Good morning,” he stuttered cautiously, his eyes raking across my face in search for any emotion.

I paused for a second, thinking back to the previous night’s events, before giving him a small nod, “Good morning.”

He gave me a questioning look, silently asking if I still held a grudge against him. In response, I lazily shuffled over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He looked down at me with bright eyes and a large grin, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. He understood that I had forgiven him for his mistake.

But he didn’t understand that I had made an even worse one.