Patrick Kinney wasn’t a god. He was a parasite, and nobody worships a parasite.
Patrick Kinney was a glob of sticky, persistent peanut butter stuck to the roof of Kinsey McKenna’s mouth, and she craved him.
In fact, she had been craving him ever since he set foot in River Canyon, Connecticut, when they were just three years old. And she hated it ever step of the way. (Well, sort of.)
But Patrick has a plan to fix it, and set the wrong things right. Can he turn it all around with one night and a sweet, but painful, trip down memory lane?
Fall in love again in this novella of firsts, second chances, and a little town on the coast of Connecticut, where everything meant everything.
The night was too quiet and the quiet made it too easy for my mind to drift. My breath hitched in my lungs, as I looked over at Patrick, gently swinging back and forth. The swing set continued to scream its threats with every shift of weight, but Patrick wore this annoying little smile, like he didn’t have a care in the world, and he hummed.
“What are you smiling about?” I asked, and he turned to face me.
“Kinsey, I’m sittin’ here, with you, in one of my favorite places in the entire world. Why wouldn’t I be smilin’?”
I pushed my eyes to roll, pushed myself to keep nudging him away. “Give me a break.”
Patrick laughed as he stopped his swing from moving and reached over to grab my chains, pulling me alongside him until my side pressed against his. I know I could have gotten up and walked away, but that required wanting to. It required willpower, and he seemed to suck that desire away along with the air in my lungs.
His eyes found mine, and they held me while he brushed a strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. He inched closer, putting his lips centimeters from mine, and he hovered, watching me with those eyes.
“You want this so bad, Kinsey,” he said, his voice graveled with desire.
“No, I don’t.” I shook my head for good measure, but I did nothing to put distance between us. Because while distance was needed, and while distance was good, distance, was also torture.
Kelsey Kingsley grew up in the great state of New York, and still lives there with her family and a cat named Ethel. When she isn’t writing her fingers to the bone, she enjoys a good (or bad) book, reruns ofFrasier, ruining the lives of her Sims, and singing and dancing in the kitchen. She somehow survives off a diet of tea, doughnuts, and French fries. However, she hates cheese and listening to people chew. You’ve been warned.