When Bad Girls Fall In Love

Chapter 14 --- Familiar

As we were walking down the street talking, we turned toward each other at one point, before I really comprehended what was happening, my head was moving towards him and his towards mine.

There, in the middle of the sidewalk, half a block from the lobby, our lips met and we were kissing. Once it started, the intensity picked up and I felt how he placed his hands on my hips as my arms went around his neck.

It wasn't us slobbering all over each other but probably appeared pretty romantic to the passersby.

It occurred to me once we separated but Patrick still had his hands on my hips and my arms were still around his neck that one of those passersby could potentially be somebody one of us knew.

The front door slammed behind Patrick as we entered his pad. He went to take his shoes off and I did the same. I glanced behind me as I did and noticed him staring at my ass. I was glad I'd chosen my tight jeans today, the ones that made my bum look perfectly round and pert.

He didn't know I'd noticed he was looking, it made me smile. I always known him for being sly, but I never really caught on to how obvious he was – not until now that is.

There wasn't much noise in his studio type pad, It was in standing in the 18th floor of Portovita Condominium in Cubao .

The two 26-storey buildings of Portovita, which comprises of the North and South Towers, was connected through its shared basement and its six podium level floors that houses the parking slots, as well as the commercial and amenity areas.

It was definitely an artist's haven. The walls were covered with abstract paintings and weird carvings.

"Well, em, I guess you're here now.." he said, seeming genuinely a little embarrassed for no apparent reason

"yeah, I guess I am.." I said, feeling a little confused. Unsure what I was supposed to do. We were in his pad, together. It was awkward yes, but not in a casual way.

It was as if the awkwardness of two people who try to avoid being anywhere private alone.

Instead of practical furniture, there was but one drawing desk and a simple chair. The bed was located conveniently near the largest window, which was almost constantly open even in the extreme breeze of November.

Pots and sculptures adorned the floors and the windowsills. Papers hung everywhere that I thought potentially could be art. The floor, which had once been a nice wooden floor, was now pock-marked with the refuse of a painter.

I looked up and there was one huge skylight right over his bed. I moved over towards Patrick's drawing desk. I traced gently the indentations of his many pencil marks, and motioned for me to come near.

He said "Come sit down, I want to show you how I draw."

Patrick took his sketch pad and folded down onto the floor, pulling his legs into a perfect lotus. He looked up, drew a faint line, and looked up again.

For ten minutes he became more and more immersed in his drawing, his eyes constantly darting up to me and then back down.

It was at about fifteen minutes that I felt disaster begin to loom.

I had been drifting, thinking about how good it would be to come here and see more of Patrick. Then I thought about really seeing more of Patrick, and stopped looking at the wall and looked at him instead.