Authors: Gracie C. Mckeever
She’d almost killed her brother!
But you did not, child. Time to think about the future and not the past.
Time to move on.
Jamaereh always knew just the right thing to say to make Zara feel better and, of course, he was right. It was time to move on.
Zara took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes, determined not to be a marshmallow, determined to focus on her mission.
She could see why Micah and Jamaereh wanted to get Patryk and Keir together, and it wasn’t just the whole opposites attracting dynamic. No, this was more, something deeper and elemental. She could feel how and why they’d make a perfect match.
34
Gracie C. McKeever
There was something in Patryk that needed what Keir had to offer and vice versa.
Zara thought she had seen the same something in Quincy and Zack, the give and take, the commander and the dutiful.
Stop playing pop psychologist and get back to work, human!
God, did Micah know how to make a girl feel needed.
Just remember what your assignment is. It is not your job nor necessary
for you to like anyone. You are just in charge of ensuring that Patryk and Keir get
together.
“And once I do that?”
The rest will take care of itself.
Zara wasn’t so sure, determined now to stick around and make sure things went as planned. She wanted to see Patryk and Keir get their happily every after the same way Quincy and Zack had.
Well, maybe not exactly the
same
way.
* * * *
Keir sat before an easel and a blank canvas for the first time in three years with the inspiration to paint.
The passion to create, more specifically to paint, had burned inside him since he was a kid no more than five or six. His passion had been so ingrained and longstanding, in fact, he couldn’t imagine not engaging in some form of creative expression in his life. Which was why when the passion had evaporated, it left Keir incredulous.
He’d tried picking up the brush, sketching, even photography, his second love, but after Elijah had wrapped his car around a utility pole on the highway, Keir couldn’t bring himself to put anything down on the canvas that didn’t resemble twisted metal and carnage in some way.
Until now.
Ingenue’s Choice
35
He closed his eyes and immediately saw Patryk Andrews’ face, breath hitching in his chest at the vivid memory of the chiseled jaw and cleft chin emphasizing the looks of a Greek god with a lean-muscled body to match.
Keir had felt the breadth of Patryk’s shoulders encased in the expensive fabric of his starched white shirt, had sensed the subtle but raw strength emanating from beneath the conservative suit and tie when he leaned across the bar to kiss Patryk.
He opened his eyes to stare at the canvas again before he mixed the colors he needed to convey all the images he’d come away with the other night.
The first stroke across the cloth released something inside Keir that he’d never felt before, at least not since he had finger-painted his first geometric rainbow in preschool.
He took a deep breath and shuddered as an electric tingle of exhilaration coursed through him, reaffirming and relentless. The sensations made him know he was alive, made him know that his passion was still intact and wonder just how he had stayed away from it for so long.
Keir painted Patryk’s face from memory and stayed at his task for a solid half-hour before he finally stopped breathless and perspiring as if he had just finished a marathon session between the sheets, not painted a simple portrait of a man he barely knew.
He sat still and stared at what he had done, knew he could do better, but for a first try in three years, it wasn’t bad.
What Keir hadn’t seen well, he instinctively filled in, catching the subtle shade of Patryk’s olive-toned face beneath the lights of the club, the full lips tilted up in a shy grin, the jade eyes sparkling with awe after he had downed that drink.
Damn, the way his mouth had looked wrapped around that glass, all wide and accommodating, so inviting.
Keir would love to get Patryk over to model for him, but knew convincing him that he was serious about his art and subject, not just out to get into Patryk’s pants—though that would be a nice windfall—would be a major challenge. He was sure of it.
Beneath the shyness and sincerity, Keir sensed wariness too, as if Patryk had been violently thrown by a horse and was afraid to get back on. It all made 36
Gracie C. McKeever
him wonder who had hurt Patryk and if he really could be the one to make him all better.
Keir picked up his cordless and dialed Patryk’s number.
He knew Patryk would never agree to come to his loft nor invite him to his place, not for a first—or second in their case—meeting. Patryk was too cautious for that. He seemed like the type to wear a bicycle helmet on an exercise bike.
Keir smiled at the image and quickly cleared his throat as someone picked up on the other end of the line. “Hello, Patryk?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Keir Monroe. We met two nights ago at
Zara’s
.”
“This is Patryk speaking.”
Keir heard him deepen his natural tenor, could almost picture Patryk squaring his shoulders as if he were about to face a firing squad.
Don’t worry. I won’t shoot. Not unless you want me to.
“Aren’t you going to ask how I got your number?”
“I have a feeling I already know.”
“Care to share?”
“Not at the moment. Maybe when I get to know you bet…”
“You were going to say get to know me better, weren’t you?” Keir prompted, getting queasy, his heart stuttering with first-date jitters. It had been so long since he’d flirted and teased someone with intent like he had the other night.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to a guy on the phone fully prepared to come at the slightest provocation.
“I was going to say that,” Patryk murmured. “But I don’t know why.”
“How about because you
want
to know me better?”
“I barely know you.”
“Hence, the getting-to-know-me-better part.” Keir chuckled and listened to Patryk sigh on the other end of the line. He wished he were there with him, could look into those jade eyes just because he had never seen such a vivid shade of green before. He wanted that thrill again.
“I’m not very good at this.”
Ingenue’s Choice
37
“You’re doing fine. And what you don’t know, I’ll talk you through it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Patryk mumbled and Keir laughed, loving his naked honesty and quick wit.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Patryk.” He waited a long moment for him to respond, but realized he was either dealing with a very patient man and master tactician, or maybe Patryk was just speechless. “Patryk, are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“I’d like to see you again.”
“Uh…I don’t think that would be a good ide—Hey! Stop that!”
“Stop what?” Keir frowned. “Is there someone there with you?”
“Um, kind of.”
What kind of answer was that? “If you can’t talk, just let me know. I’ll call you another time. But just so you know, I
will
call you.” He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a threat even as he realized that that’s exactly how his words sounded once they left his mouth.
But Patryk was no slouch and said, “You’re a real tyrant, aren’t you?”
“You think I’m a tyrant?” Keir choked back another laugh, not wanting Patryk to think he mocked him. It was just that “tyrant” had been his three younger brothers’ favorite nickname for him. After “tyrant,” the ever popular but no less accurate monikers such as “bossy,” “domineering,” “stubborn,” and
“competitive” followed, each term lovingly used by every member of his family at one time or another to describe him over the years.
His brothers still ragged on him to this day about his “harsh treatment” of them when they were all kids. But now since his brothers had all reached varying stages of adulthood, the name-calling was all in good-natured fun.
“I don’t
think
you’re a tyrant. I
know
you are,” Patryk said, and he sounded like he’d had a lot of experience dealing with tyrants, but not in a good way.
He wanted to tell Patryk to chill, that he wouldn’t hurt him like that other guy obviously had in the past, but he didn’t want to move too fast, especially didn’t want to write checks with his mouth his actions and body couldn’t possibly cash. Not that he would do anything to hurt Patryk, not intentionally. But he was 38
Gracie C. McKeever
only human, after all, and things happened. “Give me a chance to change your mind.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“That you’ll give me a chance, or that I can change your mind?”
“Both.”
Hmm, he was a tougher customer than Keir first thought. This would take some hardcore finessing and seducing, both of which he was totally capable.
He lowered his natural baritone to what he had been told was his soul-searing Barry White voice and said, “Despite your skepticism, I’d still like to see you.”
“Why?”
“You need to ask?”
“Obviously.”
“I
like
you.”
“I…uh…
Ow!
I like you, too.”
“Thanks. I think.” What was going on over there? “Tell you what. Let’s meet each other later today, neutral territory, you pick the spot,” Keir said and listened as Patryk argued with someone who was obviously there with him. Only problem with that was Keir couldn’t hear anyone else on the other end
except
Patryk.
Was the guy hearing voices in his head? As long as he didn’t hear one telling him to off the black bartender with cornrows, they should be okay, right?
“The bandshell in Central Park, three o’clock. You know where it is, right?”
“I know where it is.” Why did it sound like Patryk bit out every word as if someone was pinching and forcing him into making a date? Or as if he was challenging Keir to a fight after school? “The bandshell in Central Park, three o’clock it is.”
“See you then.” Patryk abruptly hung up, leaving Keir staring at his cordless, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
Ingenue’s Choice
39
“Ow! Will you stop pinching me!”
“I will if you stop being so stubborn.”
“What’s stubborn about not wanting to make a date with a perfect stranger? I’m being cautious. So sue me!” Patryk leaped from the sofa and threw up his hands in frustration as he whirled on Zara.
She sat there on the arm of his teal leather sofa, legs cross over each other yoga style as if she didn’t have a care in the world and hadn’t just ruined his life.
“Stop looking so outraged. I did you a favor.”
“What favor? What if he turns out to be an ax murderer or a serial killer?”
“Oh puh-lease. Don’t be a cliché.” Zara dismissively waved a hand at him.
“Frankly, I think you watch too much television if you ask me. Don’t you know the thing’ll rot your brain?”
“I watch the news and
America’s Most Wanted
to stay informed. And I didn’t ask you.”
“Anyway…” Zara got off the sofa and walked over to him. “Keir is not an ax murderer. You’re being melodramatic.”
“How do you know he’s not?”
She gaped for a moment then fell back on the famous refrain, “Because I just do.”
“Now who’s being a cliché? That’s just one step up from ‘Because I said so.’”
“Well, I do say so.”
40
Gracie C. McKeever
“That’s encouraging.”
“Look, if it’s any comfort, my mentors wouldn’t hook you up with an ax murderer. It’s their job to see you happy and safe after all, not murdered and mutilated.”
“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Zara punched his arm. “Damn straight you do.”
“Ow.” He rubbed the spot, shaking his head as he stared at her. “I think I liked you better when you were incorporeal and I could walk right through you.”
Patryk turned his back on her, peeled off his T-shirt, and tossed it on the bed as he headed to the bathroom.
His shadow followed. “What is it that you have against Keir?”
He stopped and turned back to her at the threshold. “Why do I have to have anything against him because I don’t want to go out with him?”
“Well, for one, you like him and he likes you, and—”
“We’re a match made in heaven?” Patryk arched a brow. “You wish.
Things don’t work that easy in the real world.”
“They could if you just trust and believe.”
She didn’t know what she was asking him to do. He had trusted and believed once, and it had gotten him nothing but pain—emotional, physical—she could name it, he’d experienced it.
Zara clasped his arm and squeezed. “You can talk about it you know. I’m here to help.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, thanks.”
“You know, Pat, we’ve all been hurt. It’s still no reason to shut down and not give love a chance again.”
“They teach you that in angel training?”
“No. I learned it in the school of hard knocks.”
He just stared at her, said nothing and hoped she’d give up, but fat chance that.
“I was just like you a year ago.”
Ingenue’s Choice
41
“Really?” He didn’t want to be curious but wondered if little Ms. Zara-the-Angel had gone through anything similar to his experiences with Derek. He hoped not. He wouldn’t wish that head trip on his worst enemy and thought the man had surely ruined him for anyone else. Patryk thought he should hate Derek for that—anyone else would have—but he pitied the guy more than anything. “So, what happened to you?”
“I was in love with this guy who was gay.”
“Though I understand the attraction, you poor thing.”
“But no one could convince me that I was wasting my time following him around as if my desire had the power to convert him.”
“An impossible feat, trust me.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“So, what happened?”
“It’s a long story, but suffice to say, I died, came back, and caused a couple of people I really care about serious heartache in a misguided attempt to