Patrick didn’t mean to come to Biddies. He really didn’t.

But then Hughie had said she would be there, and the idea of her all dolled up and laughing at some other lad’s jokes made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t want to name.

And now here she was.

Leaning close to some guy near the bar, sipping from a straw like she wasn’t setting his insides on fire. Her hand brushed the lad’s arm—casual, practiced, like she knew Patrick was watching.

She definitely knew.

Patrick downed what was left in his glass and stormed over. No thinking, no asking. Just action. He grabbed her wrist, firm but not rough, and tugged her away.

“Oi, what the hell are you—Patrick!”

He didn’t answer. Just marched her outside, down the steps, and around to where his car was parked in the alley behind Biddies. The cold night hit them like a slap, breath fogging as she yanked herself free.

“You’ve lost your mind!” she snapped, glaring. “You don’t get to drag me out of bars just because you saw me flirting—”

“Don’t call that flirting,” he growled, jaw tight.

She threw her hands up. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I supposed to check with you before I speak to another guy?”

He took a step forward. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“And you don’t? You stare at me in class like you hate me, then act like this when I breathe near someone else?”

“You drive me mad,” he bit out. “You always have.”

She opened her mouth to fire back—he saw it coming, the insult, the push—but he didn’t let her finish.

“Shut up,” Patrick said, low and rough, and kissed her.

It was fierce. Desperate. Like he’d been drowning in silence and this was the only way to breathe. She froze for half a second—and then kissed him back, her hands curling in his jacket like she’d been waiting for him to finally snap.

When they broke apart, her lips were red, her eyes wide.

“So that’s what we’re doing now?” she whispered.

Patrick just nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”