Destiny Calls by Samantha Wayland (100 best novels of all time TXT) 📗

she"d planned on being out of the house before he returned. She"d figured since Patrick and Brandon had gone out for drinks and to see Charlie"s band, they wouldn"t be home until closer to last call. Or at the very least after midnight.

Not at ten thirty.

As soon as the door slammed, Farley leaped off the couch and took off, his nails scrabbling for purchase as he barreled through the door and down the hall.

Lucky dog. At least Patrick would scratch his itch.

Then Patrick bellowed an f-bomb and she forgot to be disgruntled about her serious lack of loving.

Shoving her book and the old afghan off her legs and onto the couch, she stood and went to the door. She paused when she heard pounding from the front hall. Was Patrick kicking something?

Her heart sank. Could he and Brandon have gotten into a fight? It was hard to imagine. She"d been friends with those two idiots since high school and she couldn"t remember them ever fighting. Bickering and arguing, sure. But never punch-the-wall-and-yell-f-bombs-mad fighting.

She slipped down the hall, her stocking feet silent on the old hardwood floor, the squeaks of her approach masked by another shout from Patrick. She stopped to listen, her lip caught between her teeth.

Maybe she ought to leave him alone. She wasn"t, after all, supposed to be hanging out all night, but back home with Andrew, her roommate-from-hell. They"d moved in together two years ago, then foolishly become lovers. Eventually, Andrew had developed selective deafness when it came to her rule about commitment—she didn"t do it, ever—and she"d ended it. They had their own rooms and for the most part, given that they both worked long hours, it hadn"t been an issue. Hell, nothing better had come along. Nothing even tempting, if she didn"t count the man currently stomping around his house like a lunatic.

Or his best friend.

So she and Andrew had agreed to stay roommates until the lease expired. At the time, a year hadn"t seemed that long. Too bad that had been an eternity ago.

Fortunately, one more month and it would be done. All she needed to do was find a new place to live.

She looked around her wistfully.

Patrick had offered her one of his spare rooms. God knew he and Farley barely used half of the enormous old Victorian. He"d inherited it from his great-aunt Ethel, who had been more like a grandmother to Patrick—and to Destiny and Brandon too, for that matter. By the time they"d reached high school, Ethel had recruited all three of 16

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them into shoveling the walk, weeding the flower beds and painting the fence. And in return, they were lavished with cookies and milk and hugs. That was, until the day the youngest of them, Brandon, had turned twenty-one. Then Ethel, the hot ticket, had promptly switched to cookies and Manhattans and hugs instead.

The memory made Destiny smile. She loved this old house, which was too bad, since she couldn"t move in. The constant battle to resist ripping Patrick"s clothes off was bad enough. No way was she going to live with that day in and day out.

Of course, her frustration level was probably so high because this wasn"t an urge that she"d had to resist in the past. She and Patrick had been lovers off and on for years.

Sometimes for a night, once for almost two years running. They weren"t ever a couple, but also never hooked up with anyone else when they were together. It wasn"t a rule, it had just worked out that way. It might have had something to do with the fact that sex with Patrick had always been, hands down and without fail, mind-blowing. He was amazing in bed. They were amazing together. It was like they were a chemical match.

They liked the same things, liked to try new things. He loved to do to her what she loved having done and vice versa.

She shoved her hand through her hair and huffed out a sigh.

They were friends first, lovers sometimes and dated never.

She didn"t do long haul. Didn"t believe in it. She"d tried it once after college and all she"d gotten out of the deal was the realization she couldn"t spot a cheating bastard, even when he was sleeping right next to her every night. And for that reason, among many others, her relationship with Patrick suited her perfectly. Or it had. Because now, for the first time in almost fifteen years, they were both single and not sharing a bed.

She ached with wanting him. Craved his touch.

And by god did it burn her butt that for the first time in all those years, it appeared he wasn"t interested. None of the usual cues were there. The looks, the touches. The heat.

Damn it.

Why doesn’t he want me anymore?

Maybe because he"s going crazy, she thought as he stomped to the back of the house, crashing through the kitchen and pulling the refrigerator door open so fast, every bottle and jar rattled.

Quietly, she followed, stopping at the kitchen door to watch while Patrick, muttering and cursing, pounded his head against a cabinet. His knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of the counter. She winced each time he made brutal contact with the thin wooden panel.

When she couldn"t stand to watch any longer, she went to his side and put her hand on the back of his neck. As soon as she touched his warm skin, his entire body deflated, his shoulders curling into his chest. His forehead pressed into the cabinet, he rolled his head to face her.

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For a long moment they stood silent. Her heart ached at the pain etched on his face.

Pain tinged with anger.

“Oh, honey. What have you done?” Okay, maybe she could have found a nicer way to phrase it, but she knew this man too well to mince words.

Patrick screwed his eyes shut. “I"m a fucking idiot, Des.” She thought about denying it, but years of experience had taught her to get