Fallen Angels: Fallen Book 1 (a Boys of Porn novella)

CH 10

Time to cut your losses and move the fuck on.

Derek gripped the steering wheel and laid his head on the back of the driver seat. The lights from inside the restaurant spilled out through the windows into the parking lot.

Why the fuck are you still here?

He didn't have an answer. Patrick made his choice and that was that—why hang around? But he wasn't ready to go home, even though he had won the bet. He didn't want to win. Fuck.

Emotional exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes. Fuck, he just wanted to sleep—and not dream. But that was unlikely. The dreams would come as soon as he lost consciousness. Hot, intense dreams of Patrick, taunting and tormenting him.

Maybe he would never understand why Patrick had this effect on him and it disturbed his heart that the "effect" would never fully fade away.

That's crazy. You met him once—how can he impact the rest of your life.

It seemed insane but Derek felt it at the core of his heart—Patrick would stay with him till the end of time.

. . .

Why had he come here?

Parked on the opposite end of the lot, facing the restaurant, Patrick sat inside the dark car. The hot engine ticked as he stared across the shadowed parking lot at the large, plate-glass windows of the brightly lit establishment. The patrons were easily discernable, none of the faces familiar from where he sat.

Did you really think he'd still be here?

He looked at his phone: 6:45.

Of course, he hadn't expected Derek to be here. He wouldn't have come if he'd thought he was. So, why had he come? Patrick didn't know. Maybe to see the last place Derek had been in person before putting him out of his mind forever? Even that reason made no sense to him.

Since meeting the other man, he'd been telling himself he didn't want to pursue anything with Derek. His troubling dreams seemed to insist otherwise, but like Brian said—a person couldn't control their dreams. He wasn't dreaming of Derek on purpose. So, maybe they didn't count.

Yet here he was, staking out the restaurant. He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Derek.

But you waited until you knew he was gone—that's something.

Was he supposed to take some kind of spiritual comfort in that? How could he when a part of him wished he'd shown up sooner... while Derek was still here? Patrick was convinced he would've come on time if not for discovering the porn stuff. He hadn't been prepared for that and it caused him to stall.

As it should have. He knew that.

Patrick leaned forward and laid his head on the steering wheel. "What's wrong with me, Lord?" His throat pinched. "Why can't I forget about him? I want to make you proud of me." A sob hitched his words. "I want to live a pure life—why am I being attacked with impure thoughts and desires? Please deliver me... and guide me in the way that I should go."

He raised his head, and the restaurant and parking lot swam before him.

Start the car and go home. That's the first step.

Patrick gripped the key, then slowly released it. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to go to Brian's, either. What did he want?

His eyes settled on his phone, perched in the cradle attached to the dash. Derek's number was tucked away inside the device. He started to reach for it, then quickly pulled his hand back. What was he doing? He began to tremble and climbed out of the car, taking deep breaths of the cool evening air. Tears burned his eyes and he blinked them before they spilled over.