Out in the Wind

Chapter 16

I walk into Patrick's room and fall down on the bed. It's something I haven't done before, not in anybody's house, but there is probably a first time for everything and if I really want to change I need to get out of my comfort zone fast.

"Want anything to eat?" Patrick asks.

"You always ask me if I'm hungry," I mention to him. He really always does. It's like he is trying to fatten me up. "Are you into chubby boys or something?"

Patrick laughs his almost silly laugh and falls down on the bed next to me.

"I'm just trying out the hospitality thing you know. I guess I'm really just trying to be a nice guy," he says, his smile so wide that I actually feel like reaching out my hand and touching his mouth. There's something home and warm about it that I can't seem to shake.

"But if you still like me then you need to start thinking about whether you like chubby guys as well," I say in my very best flirty voice. Gosh, I hope I am actually being flirty and not just awkward.

"With this body I don't think you can ever get fat," Patrick says as he touches my stomach, sending electric jolts through my body. "I mean, you're like Sheldon. All nerd on the outside with a hidden six pack underneath."

"I barely have a six pack," I giggle. "And I knew I shouldn't worn my Poison Ivy shirt."

"Nope. I like it. You look good in green," Patrick says. "So, still up for something to eat?"

And just like that the magic I was hoping for vanishes into thin air. I thought this conversation was going somewhere. I just look at him for a moment, not even knowing what to say. I was almost certain there for a second that I wouldn't be a virgin in an hour from now and all he can think about is food.

"Sure, why not," I mumble, sitting upright on his bed, trying my best not to take it personally that my flirting didn't work on him.

"Oven pizza or waffles and ice cream?" he asks.

Being the complete sugar junky which I always am and which doesn't make sense with my body type at all, I say: "Waffles it is."

I jump up from the bed and follow him down the long hallway, down the stairs, through two huge rooms, and into the kitchen.

"Dude... You seriously need to get a lift installed. Or get a few golf carts for around the house. I mean, how many bedrooms does this house even have?" I say to Patrick. I am pretty sure the kitchen is bigger than half of the motel we are staying in.

"Not actually that big. The high ceilings makes it look a lot bigger. Only nine bedrooms in this house. Our house in Kent has twenty-four bedrooms, but my mom's been working on making that one into some sort of a guest house. She's been flying back and forth for two years now, overseeing the renovations," he says in the same manner I would tell someone about the second pair of shoes I have in my closet that I need to clean. Almost like it doesn't faze him at all having two houses.

It does seem to hit a bit of a sore spot. Here he is, with more bedrooms than what they need even if they each had three bedrooms. Not even counting the second house. Why couldn't people like this reach out to people like my mom and offer up a room? I mean, what do you need with nine rooms if you are only three people. I have been wondering this a lot lately, and I just don't know what to think about it anymore. Sure, you don't want a stranger in your personal space, but with a house this size you will probably walk around for three solid days before bumping into each other.

"Why do you guys need so much space?" I can't help but ask.

"I don't know actually. I've never been really big on the expensive mansion type of thing at all. Or the money thing to be honest. Sometimes I wish it can all just go away so that I can be normal and not be called Rich Rick by the kids in school," Patrick says as he takes out the waffles and puts them into the iron.