Patrick was clear, brutally honest the first time it happened. He told you, no attachment. What you were doing was casual, nothing more. And you agreed, that's what you wanted too.

But, was it casual when you talked down his sister? Was it casual when you went to every single one of his tennis matches? Was it casual when he kissed you in front of all his friends? You couldn't understand why he was so in denial. Dreaming of you in a year, after graduating, following him on his professional tour. Moving in together. Maybe it was you who was in denial. Trying to hold your tongue, give him space to work out his own feelings. But he never did. Still insistent it was casual.

You ignored the words from your friends, the rumours you'd heard of him telling his friends all about what you got up to. You pushed it all to the back of your mind. Part of you knew, you were being stupid. That you'd hate yourself in a year for letting it drag on for as long as you have. Yet, every time he calls, you go. Every time his hand caresses your hip, you lean. Every time his lips touch yours, you melt. Patrick was charming, too charming for his own good. He knew exactly what to say, how to get you to stop thinking too much into what he was doing.

And, here you are, staying with him at his mother's house in Long Beach. Around the table of a restaurant you'd never been able to afford if his father wasn't paying the bill. Sneaking off to the bathroom while his parents sit at the table. Whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he escorts you back, his hand gently resting on your back as you all walk home afterwards. Sleeping in his bed, because even he is embarrassed to tell his mother the true nature of your relationship.

"You know we're not together, right?" He murmurs, in between kisses to your lips. He never did make it easy to understand his intentions. His hands squeezing your hips as he held you close to him in his room. "I just have to call you my girlfriend so my mom doesn't question anything." Ouch.