by Jerry Cole
“I was thinking,” Isaac said, eyes darting around the room and not looking Patrick in the eye. There was the start of another blush on his face and Patrick found it endearing. Nervous was a good look on him. “Maybe I could show you my favorite place in the city?”
That – actually Patrick didn’t know what to feel about that. Not to be cliché with himself for the millionth time, but nobody had ever wanted to do that with him. Realizing just how pathetic that was, he shoved the feelings down and grabbed the towel Isaac had dangling from his fingers. Patrick’s hair was starting to drip down his neck and it was irritating. “Where would that be?”
Isaac hesitated, before padding back toward the bed, to where he’d discarded his clothes the night before. He looked apprehensively at his pants.
“Here,” Patrick said, tossing Isaac a pair of his own briefs. They would be tight on Isaac, but Patrick couldn’t pretend he didn’t have an ulterior motive.
From the look Isaac shot him, he knew it too.
“If I told you,” Isaac said, dropping the towel to the floor. Patrick let himself look again, confident that he had permission given that Isaac was currently unashamed with turning toward him, tugging on his t-shirt. “Then I feel like you’d back out.”
Patrick didn’t think there was any danger of that, but he didn’t want to offend Isaac by saying so. Some people didn’t like to have their well-founded fears shit on, and Patrick was one of them. “So don’t tell me,” he said, dropping his own towel and rooting around his drawers for a t-shirt and jeans. It was apparently a dress down day, and that meant not having to wear a shirt and tie. Yay. “That way, I can’t.”
Whether Isaac knew what he was doing or not, he didn’t let on. He tugged on Patrick’s briefs and his pants, and grinned. “Good.”
Chapter Twelve
Patrick had been to The Met several times, mostly for fundraisers and events, and while it wasn’t his favorite place in the city, he was intrigued to find out why it was Isaac’s favorite place.
Isaac was careful not to look like he was interested in Patrick’s reaction, but Patrick could feel him actively not looking – it was a thing – and reached out to grab Isaac’s wrist, squeezing gently. They hadn’t yet progressed to PDA in public and Patrick didn’t want to test that in a very busy place, but he was willing to make small touches.
“So why The Met?”
Isaac shrugged easily, sliding his fingers up to Patrick’s hand, giving him a questioning look. If Patrick didn’t know better, he’d think Isaac was psychic, what with always knowing what Patrick was thinking and everything. He seemed unashamed to be with Patrick, which was fine, but still strange and an acclimatization. It wasn’t as if Patrick wouldn’t be recognized, probably a hundred times, while they were walking around looking at art or whatever one did in a gallery during the day.
“Patrick,” Isaac said, when he said as much. “I don’t care if you’re recognized by everyone we come across.” At Patrick’s disbelieving look, he shrugged, rolled his eyes. “All right, that would be fucking annoying, but I know what I’m getting into.”
Patrick didn’t think he did, actually, but he was wise enough not to say something.
“Unless you don’t want this,” Isaac said, tugging on their joined hands.
“No, it’s fine,” Patrick said, and whatever, Patrick wasn’t fourteen and afraid of being belted by his father for coming home with a boy. It was completely different; he was his own man and he could do what he wanted. “Let’s get to the art looking.”
Isaac laughed, tugging Patrick toward the doors. “I’ll show you why I love coming here so much.”
There were a couple of exhibitions and collections on show, but Isaac avoided all of them. None of them stood out for Patrick, so he didn’t bother pointing them out, just let Isaac lead the way. It wasn’t as if Patrick cared much for art. His kind of art were the advancements he made with the company, but he could see from the way Isaac’s eyes lit up as they made their way through showrooms, past a lot of medieval art that actually, Patrick didn’t mind so much.
They passed through European sculptures and through to the contemporary art rooms, and Patrick thought perhaps this was what Isaac had in mind. Instead, Isaac tugged him toward the elevator, and Patrick snorted. “We’ve passed about two of these.”
“I needed this one,” Isaac said, and guided Patrick inside, through a throng of people apparently having the same idea. Normally, having to squeeze himself into a tiny box with a bunch of other people – including screaming children – would have been Patrick’s idea of hell, but Isaac crowded up close behind him, punched a button on the wall that Patrick couldn’t see, and then leaned in, a soft, careful smile on his face. “Sorry about this.”
“I’ve been in elevators before,” Patrick pointed out, but he hooked his fingers in Isaac’s beltloops, letting his glasses slip a little down his nose. “This is nothing special, Carter.”
Isaac shook his head, pressing a kiss to Patrick softly, ignoring everyone around him, as if they were the only ones in the elevator. Patrick couldn’t deny the panic that pressed against his chest when Isaac moved, but it faded quickly beneath the elation that Isaac didn’t care very much what people thought, and just wanted to kiss Patrick anyway.
The elevator cleared of people on the second and then third floors, leaving only Patrick, Isaac, and a young woman with a satchel. Her nose was buried in her sketchbook and she didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. Patrick felt like he had in the shower that morning, content to be around Isaac without making anything of it.
They got up to the fifth floor and Patrick raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t known The Met had a rooftop balcony. It had been a while since he’d been there, granted, but he’d always managed to duck out of the events at the earliest opportunity, and there’d never been an opportunity to come up.
It was busy, understandably, given the bar and the beauty of it, but Isaac managed to thread his way through the throng of people, hand still tight in Patrick’s. They paused at the edge, the view of Manhattan quite breathtaking, and Patrick owned an apartment building in the middle of the city. Even the view from his penthouse wasn’t this gorgeous.
“Wow,” Patrick said, looking up to see the expression on Isaac’s face; his eyes were wide, smiling, and he was clinging to Patrick’s hand like a lifeline. “I can see why you like coming up here.”
“I drew it once.” Isaac tucked his free hand in his pocket, eyes darting down to Patrick’s face and then back to the view. “It took me most of the day and I thought I was gonna get kicked out, but it came out pretty good.”
“Pretty good for you probably means great,” Patrick pointed out. “I’d like to see it some time.”
There was a long enough pause that Patrick was sure that had been the wrong thing to say, but then Isaac was turning to him, free hand on the back of Patrick’s neck. “I wanted to show you the thing I love most in the world.”
“The view of Manhattan?” Patrick asked, because he would always be a shit. Isaac rolled his eyes, but Patrick curled the fingers of his free hand into the lapel of Isaac’s jacket. “Relax, Isaac. I know you mean the art. Right?”
“Yeah.” Isaac rested his forehead against Patrick’s. He didn’t seem to know what to say, swallowing and pulling a face that Patrick couldn’t interpret. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but I can’t – I don’t know whether I should.”
Patrick huffed, shifting to kiss Isaac gently. “If I’ve learned one thing, Isaac, it’s that you do what you want and fuck the consequences.”
Isaac laughed, letting Patrick’s hand drop to wrap both arms around Patrick’s shoulders and they stayed like that, cuddling next to a well-pruned bush that overlooked the city of Manhattan. Patrick was impressed, both by the view, and with Isaac for being willing to bare himself like that.
Pulling away eventually, Isaac gestured over his shoulder. “You wanna get out of here?”
“Sure,” Patr
ick said. “Where we gonna go?”
“Actually,” Isaac started, looking a little guilty.
“What?”
“Well,” Isaac continued, shifty and swallowing, “I think it’s worth pointing out that Rebecca and Eddie both texted me. They want to take us out for dinner.”
Patrick groaned, dropping Isaac’s hands. “You know what this is for, don’t you? They want to interrogate you and make sure you’re suitable!”
Isaac looked confused. He also looked insulted, which was good. “But they were half responsible for setting me up with you!”
“I don’t pretend to understand my friends.” Patrick sighed. He followed Isaac back to the elevator, thankfully a little emptier now, and leaned against the back wall. Just the idea of Eddie and Rebecca trying to do their dutiful friend act and try to scare Isaac into treating Patrick right was irritating, but it was also perfectly in character. “Just say all the right things.”
“Are you trying to imply I wouldn’t?” Isaac asked, and there was something shit-eating about his grin that had Patrick laughing anyway, tugging Isaac toward the direction of the main entrance. It would be busy back out on the sidewalk, and no doubt they would run into traffic when they tried to get back to – well, when Patrick went back to work, and Isaac went wherever he wanted to go. Patrick wasn’t about to beg him to follow him back.
Even if that was what he might want.
Chapter Thirteen
Safely in the back of the car, Isaac having begged off coming back to the tower, Patrick tugged his phone out of his pocket and decided it would be a good idea to check in. He hadn’t dared look at his phone while he was with Isaac in case someone had called and messaged to say he was due at work. He’d emailed Rebecca, terrified she would refuse his request to have the day to himself, and was surprised to see a lack of communication.
He frowned, dialing through to Rebecca’s number and directed Keith to take the long way, not wanting to get caught in the usual traffic. It rang a couple of times and then Rebecca was answering.
“You are alive, then”
“Yes,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes. “You knew I was because you’ve managed to keep everyone from contacting me. How did you know?”
“I assume Isaac told you we wanted to have dinner later,” Rebecca said easily. When Patrick didn’t say anything, she continued. He could hear people talking in the background but couldn’t make out anything they were saying. “He told me you were spending the morning together.”
Patrick settled back in his chair. “Don’t think I don’t know why you want to have dinner. Stop trying to threaten my boyfriend.”
Rebecca outright laughed. “Patrick, it is my prerogative as your best friend. Eddie’s too.”
“Yes,” Patrick pointed out, “you’re the reason we’re even together in the first place.”
“That is true,” Rebecca said, almost conversationally. There was a lull in the background conversation and a door closing. Rebecca sighed. “We’re not trying to drive him away, Patrick. We just want you to be happy.”
Patrick leaned against his deck, making a face. He appreciated it but didn’t know how to say he thought they’d do more harm than good. Isaac seemed – not easily scared off, but Patrick didn’t want to risk anything, and if Rebecca and Eddie started threatening him and making him second guess himself, he might run.
After a long silence where it was clear Patrick wasn’t going to say anything, Rebecca let out a slow breath. “If you don’t want us to come, we can always–”
“No,” Patrick said, cutting over her. “You should do it. I just don’t want to scare him away.”
“Trust me.” Rebecca was smiling, he could tell from the way she was talking. “If he hasn’t run yet, he won’t now.”
It was supposed to be kind, but Patrick wasn’t sure he took it that way. Not that he was gonna get mad at her or anything, but he didn’t like the idea that Rebecca and Eddie thought he was a terrible person. He hoped they didn’t actually think that way, but he wasn’t about to ask.
“Thanks, Bec,” Patrick said dryly.
Rebecca laughed gently, and it wasn’t cruel. “I’ll see you later, Patrick.”
With plenty of time left before he was due at dinner, Patrick was glad to get back home. There was evidence of Isaac having been there; the towels were pooled in the bathroom close to the door, ready to have them washed Patrick figured, and Isaac had left a note on the pillows, reminding Patrick to wear the red shirt he liked so much.
God, Patrick was disgustingly close to love and he didn’t like it.
Oh, he loved Isaac. That was easy enough to figure out, even if it made him physically shudder whenever he thought it. Patrick Wright didn’t do love. It was a pretty well-known fact, and Patrick was the kind of guy that liked to remind himself of that every ten fucking seconds.
Maybe Patrick was the kind of guy that did love. He was, in fact, in love with Isaac.
“I love Isaac,” he said, to his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. It felt like a monumental thing.
The world hadn’t ended, so that was cool.
Rooting through his closet, he found the shirt Isaac was talking about, glad that he hadn’t worn it in a while, and chose a pair of black jeans to go with it. He wasn’t looking to dress up – it was only friends after all – but it was every guy’s duty to wear the clothes their partner appreciated, right?
It helped that when Isaac arrived to pick him up, looking pretty good himself in a blue shirt and slacks, his eyes widened a fraction at Patrick standing in the lobby, and Patrick watched his throat bob, the way his fingers flexed, hesitating before drawing Patrick in for a kiss, movements jerky and stiff.
“Sorry,” he said, when they pulled apart. “You look good.”
Patrick was sure his expression was dopey and ridiculous. “I always do, Isaac.”
It was supposed to be a joke, but Isaac shook his head, looking frustrated. “No, I mean, you look really good.”
Opening his mouth to agree, Patrick saw the look of intensity on Isaac’s face, the heat in his eyes and he said, “oh,” finally getting where Isaac’s head was at. “You told me to wear it.”
“Yeah,” Isaac breathed. “I might have made a mistake if I want Rebecca and Eddie to like me.”
“They already do,” Patrick said, distracted by the way Isaac’s hands were sliding under his shirt. He gripped Isaac’s wrists, raising his eyebrows. “We’re not fucking in the lobby of the building, Isaac. If you still want this after,” he paused, swallowed, feeling the heat himself and wanting nothing more than to drag Isaac back upstairs and let him have his way. “Then we’ll do it.”
Isaac didn’t seem to know what to say to that. He kept a hold of Patrick and eventually nodded, pressing a quick kiss to Patrick’s lips. “Then we better get going.”
Patrick couldn’t hide the smile on his face. They were walking to the restaurant given their close proximity, and Patrick was grateful for it. Isaac had his hand down by his side. Patrick darted a quick look at it, wondering whether it was okay to hold hands, if Isaac would want that. It had less to do with what people thought about them, Patrick had never given a damn about how he was viewed, and more to do with Isaac’s state of mind.
“Don’t overthink it,” Isaac said, nudging him with an elbow. “If you wanna hold hands, we can.”
It took every ounce of self-control Patrick had not to roll his eyes. “You gotta stop reading my mind there, Carter.”
“Stop being predictable.”
Patrick stopped, outraged – more in appearance than feeling – and socked Isaac in the arm. “I am never predictable, Isaac!”
Isaac held his hands up, trying to ward off Patrick’s attack, but he was grinning. “No, you’re right, definitely not predictable.”
Patrick nodded decisively. “Good. As long as we’re both on the same page.” He dropped his hands, stepping close to Isaac, and they headed down the path, toward the restaurant.
It was a comfortable silence, but as he did with most silences, Patrick felt the need to break it. Before he could open his mouth and blurt out something ridiculous and embarrassing, Isaac sucked in a breath.
“What should I expect from them?”
Patrick paused, taking a moment to figure out who Isaac was talking about. “Rebecca and Eddie?” Isaac nodded, and Patrick smiled gently. “Isaac. Just be yourself. They’ll love you because you’re you, not because you’re trying to be some ideal, they have in their heads about me.”
“Good advice,” Isaac muttered. His lips quirked up a little, but he paused, resting a hand on Patrick’s arm. “You don’t care about this, do you?”
“What? You having dinner with my friends?” Patrick frowned at Isaac’s frustrated look. “Oh, you mean having them interrogate you?”
“No, Patrick,” Isaac said patiently. “The fact that your friends are vetting me? Or that I’m – that I’m letting them.”
There was a beat, two, where Patrick couldn’t make his voice work. He was staring at Isaac in what had to be stupidity, but Isaac was patient. There was a touch of hesitance and nervousness about him.
“Isaac,” Patrick said, resting his hands upon Isaac’s waist. How did I find you? “The fact that you’re asking me is enough. They don’t do it out of malicious intent, you get that, right?”
Isaac nodded.
“I mean it,” Patrick pressed. “I don’t have a good track record with relationships. I don’t want you to think you have to do this.”
“It’s not about me,” Isaac said, and who the fuck said stuff like that? Isaac was too good, and Patrick didn’t know how to handle that, or what to say. “They’re good to you?”
“Ah,” Patrick said, lips quirking up into a smile. “So you’re turning the tables? Giving them the shovel talk about being good friends?”
There was a huff that might have been a laugh. “Do I need to?”
Squeezing Isaac’s arms, Patrick leaned up, pressing a kiss to Isaac’s lips, letting it linger, small pecks, and letting the moment draw out until he settled back down. “They love me. They’ve just had to put up with my bullshit for years. That’s enough to wear anyone down.”