I Only Want What I Can't Have

Chapter 16

I woke up the next morning to Patrick singing quietly. I was sprawled over his bare chest, my head just under his chin and my arm wrapped firmly around his waist. I didn't move right away. I tried to recognize the words he was singing, but they didn't sound like anything I recognized. I had been secretly trying to make myself more familiar with both of Fall Out Boy's albums, but this was not something I'd heard on either of them.

"Best friends, ex-friends 'til the end, better off as lovers and not the other way around." He sang a few more lines, then paused, sighing quietly. I kept still as he suddenly mumbled, "No, that's not it," then hummed a slightly different melody than what he had just sung. I listened again, and after a minute, he sang the same lines again in the new melody. I realized then why I hadn't heard this song before; It was new, and I was listening to his writing process. I suddenly felt like I was intruding on something that I wasn't supposed to hear yet.

I stretched my legs out, faking a sigh as if I were just waking up. Patrick immediately quieted and turned his head to press a kiss to the top of my head. I squeezed myself closer to him, then slowly looked up at him and blinked sleepily. He smiled warmly at me. "Good morning," he said softly, tightening his arms around me.

"Good morning," I replied, stretching up to kiss the edge of his jaw. He hummed happily, turning onto his side and pulling me against his chest. I kissed him again, this time moving to the side of his neck. His hand was at my waist, slowly creeping under the bottom of the shirt he had given me last night. I pretended not to notice, kissing my way down to his shoulder. That must have given him the courage he needed to move his hand entirely under my shirt, pressing against the bare skin of my waist. I pulled back, running my hand over his chest, down to his stomach. He gazed down at me, running the tip of his tongue over his lips in the most tantalizing way.

"I love you," he said suddenly, reminding me of what had happened last night. I smiled widely, already feeling like I would burst if I didn't say it back to him immediately.

"I love you too," I whispered, before kissing his lips. His hands didn't venture any further up my shirt, but the way his fingers dug into my skin as he tugged me closer made my head spin. I'd never been so completely desperate for someone, like I was with Patrick. What on earth was this boy doing to me? I had to force myself to pull away, knowing full well that he had no intentions of going any further anytime soon. I realized that I was strangely okay with that. I didn't feel like I needed anything more from him. I didn't feel like there was any kind of expectation there. It was a good feeling. I smoothed my hands down his chest and gazed up at him happily. "So," I said softly, "How long do we have until your parents come home?"

Patrick moved one hand up to brush a strand of my hair away from my face. "They won't be back until later this afternoon," He explained, "So we have all morning together."

I grinned at that, but then memories of last night made me frown. "We should check on Pete," I said quietly, guilt creeping its way back into my thoughts.

"He's fine," Patrick assured me, "Believe me, he's seen worse. But we can meet up with the guys if you want." I nodded quickly, and Patrick smiled. "Let me shower real quick, and I'll get us something for breakfast. Then we can call the guys."

"Okay," I breathed, and Patrick kissed me once more before slipping out of my arms and moving towards his closet. He pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, then left for the bathroom. Once I was alone in his room, I sat up, stretching my arms and looking around. It was strange, waking up in a boy's room and actually caring enough to take in all the details. The drum kit still fascinated me. He had told me once before that he played drums, but I'd yet to see him do it. I climbed out of bed and padded barefoot across the room to the kit. There were a pair of well-worn sticks sitting on the snare drum. I picked them up and passed the sticks back and forth between my hands. He must play quite frequently, because these sticks looked like they'd taken quite the beating.