Free Wet by Ruth Clampett Page A

me.
    “Paul, what are you doing?”
    I look up to see Patrick sliding his cell phone back into his shirt pocket.
    “Keeping Elle company.” I slowly lift myself off the chair and turn it back to face the table. “She was sitting out here all by her lonesome self and I felt bad about it.”
    “Well, I’m back now,” Patrick says right as the rest of the family joins us with the pie and clean plates.
    We all dig into what could be the best apple pie I’ve ever eaten. I’m even considering helping myself to a third piece when Elle announces she needs to get going. She explains that she has an event meeting first thing in the morning.
    Although I’m not sure what kind of meeting that is, it gives Elle a new dimension to think she has important work to attend to. I must be an ass because I’ve never asked about her job or career. How lousy is that?
    Patrick, the gentleman, stands up to pull out her chair. He insists on walking her out to her car but first she has to have the royal McNeill send off. Ma gives her one of her crushing hugs, the kind where you end up buried in her bosom and unable to catch your breath. Thank God for the growth spurt that assured I’d never be victim of the ample bosom hug again. Elle isn’t so lucky and she gasps for a breath when Ma finally releases her.
    She gets more of the same from Dad. “Hope to see you again soon, lass,” he says with a wink and nod to Patrick.
    Trisha asks for Elle to email the pie recipe, which almost makes me laugh out loud. The day Trisha bakes a pie is the day I grow a tail—a spiked one at that.
    I pull Elle into my arms next and hold her too long. “Thanks for coming, Eleanor,” I say softly and I run my hand along her back. Dad pries my arm away.
    “She needs to get going, Paulie,” he states in a low voice.
    She’s mine , I think silently.
    Mine, I think as she steps away from me.
    What am I doing? I shake my head to knock my possessive thoughts out of my head. She’s not mine and likely never will be.
     
    Patrick helps her pull on her sweater and opens the door for Elle and I wonder if I would’ve done the same classy moves. He’s smitten for sure—it’s written all over his hopeful face. Maybe my parents think he deserves her. Surely he would treat her like a queen, and as for me, I bet Dad thinks I’d consume her with my insatiable sexual appetite until there was nothing left.
    Patrick’s outside for a long time, so long I consider going out there to see what the hell’s happening. Ma keeps distracting me though with things like helping Trisha load the dishwasher and bringing in firewood from the back porch.
    When Patrick stumbles back into the house his face is flushed.
    “What’s up, dude?” I question.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You were out there forever, Paddy!” Trisha says.
    “Was it that long?” he asks, pretending to be clueless, but he breaks out in a grin.
    “Did you ask her out?” Dad asks looking hopeful.
    Patrick’s taps his chin in thought. “No. Not yet. I will though.”
    “Were you making out?” Trisha teases.
    My stomach turns imagining his pokey tongue in her mouth.
    “No! She just met me!” he says.
    I fold my arms over my chest. “So what were you doing all that time?”
    He pulls down his shirt cuff. “Giving her tax advice for her event management business.”
    He looks pleased with himself like that’s sexy—like he’s scored big with her.
    “That’s hot,” I say, nodding.
    Dad shakes his head at me.
    “What?” I ask with a shrug.
    “I like that Patrick was showing her he cares about her business. That’s very gallant of you, my boy.”
    “Gallant? Is that an Irish thing?” I wonder out loud.
    “Shut up,” says Trisha.
    “She’s really nice,” he says with a big grin.
    “Nice?” I repeat.
    “Yeah, nice.”
    And very naughty, too .
     
    I wait until the next night to call her.
    “So you and Patrick, huh?”
    “Is that you, Paul Junior ?”
    I grimace. “Yes, it is Eleanor