Patch Up Read Online Free PDF Page A

guy. “Wait a second.” I stand up, take my phone in my hand, and open the door, a frown on my face.
     
    In front of me, with a mischievous grin plastered on his face, is my very own pain in the ass. Duke. I shake my head and close my eyes briefly. Great. “What are you doing here? How did you find my room?”
     
    “You sure know how to greet someone, Skye,” he says with a stifled laugh that annoys me even more. 
     
    “Honey? What’s going on?” My mother’s voice comes from the phone still in my hand. 
     
    Duke’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, he seems determined to wait for me to say something. I look from his face to my phone and back to his face before I realize that not only is my mother virtually a witness to this, but also several people who are ogling our way. Sometimes I wonder if they have a life outside of gossiping and parties. Go study people!
     
    “Nothing, Mom. It’s just ... a friend,” I say with fake enthusiasm that sounds so sugary that it makes him frown. Luckily my mother buys it, like always.
     
    “Oh, good! Have a nice evening, honey. Dad will call you in a couple of days.”
     
    “Okay, Mom. Bye, and say hi to Dad for me.” I hang up before she adds anything more. It tugs at my heart to hear how happy she is to know that I have some kind of social life. I shouldn’t lie to my parents, but I don’t want to have to answer any questions, or to see my father going ballistic if he knew what really happened with Sean. Moreover, my parents like his parents. It would be a huge mess.
     
    I glare at Duke, but I soften when I see the coffees in his hands. Thoughtful and cute are the words that come to my mind, but my body’s reaction is something else entirely. The stiffness in my muscles screams danger. I swallow with difficulty and Duke’s dark eyes miss nothing.
     
    “I knew you wouldn’t come for coffee, so I’ve brought the coffee to you.” He holds one mug up and tries a sweet smile to ease my nerves. It’s not working. The only thing that would help me is if he left now. 
     
    “You can’t come inside.”
     
    “Why? Because your roommate is here?”
     
    “Because she’s not here,” I reply, ready to close the door, but he’s faster than me. He puts one heavy black boot in the doorway and holds his ground. I sigh and try to ignore the fear overwhelming me as the last streak of control escapes me. I’m at his mercy. I’m helpless. My breath staggers.
     
    “It’s just a coffee, Skye. I want to talk a little with you. Let’s say, ten minutes. Just give me ten minutes and we can even keep the door open.” He holds up one coffee for me and I take it; my brain is in overdrive, or maybe it’s shutting down. 
     
    Sometimes, most of the time, I become a spectator of what’s happening around me when it becomes too much. With Sean, I was often just an empty shell, waiting for these things to pass, waiting for things to settle down before I recovered and ignored what happened … and what will happen again. 
     
    With the coffee in my hand, I go back to my bed and sit down. My back is straight, my hands clasped tightly around the mug, and my eyes are resolutely focused on the ground even if I don’t really see it. I’m just waiting for this moment to pass, waiting to have some control back.
     
    “Wow, Skye.” He kneels in front of me, ready to put one of his huge, strong hands on my knees. I recoil suddenly before I catch myself. Someone normal doesn’t react like that at the mere possibility of an innocent touch. “Okay, I’m going to sit on your friend’s bed.” He does just that, his eyes locked with mine. I have the sense I’m trapped and I don’t like it. I don’t want to ever feel like that again. 
     
    “You should go,” I say, my voice wavering and barely above a whisper.
     
    He takes a sip of his coffee absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving my face. I don’t drink mine. I don’t even feel the mug between my hands. I feel nothing