After months and months of persuasion, Art had finally convinced Patrick to join him in college. Patrick couldn't care less about the classes, he only showed up consistantly for two things in college. Tennis, and parties. Art should have seen it coming really. Two weeks into college parties, girls in tiny skirts and an endless amount of beer, Patrick was practically kissing Art's feet for convincing him to join along at Stanford.

It was no surprise that Patrick developed a reputation on campus as college went on. He'd been working his way through any girl that wanted him, Patrick was quickly racking up the numbers. Dubbed the college womanizer. He wasn't ashamed to say that he liked the term. It's not his fault the ladies just throw themselves at him! There was only one person challenging for his spot, and that just so happened to be you. He'd watched you at parties, chew boys up and spit them out. He respected it, honestly.

The more he saw you, the more Patrick became infatuated with you. You had the face of an angel, yet he knew you were a devil in disguise. You'd hooked up a couple times, but it wasn't enough to scratch his itch. Patrick found himself lusting after you, craving more than just what you were giving. He was starting to admit he'd wanted to make you his. Taunting him in those short skirts, locking eyes with him as someone else's lips kissed your neck. You were evil, he loved it.

Knuckles red from banging on your bedroom door, he was growing impatient. His stomach churning at the idea of someone else being in your bed. What was happening to him? Patrick checks his phone. 2AM. Shaking his head as his almost bruised knuckles return to your door. Yesterday's mascara under your eyes with leftover lipstick as you open the door to him and he swears he's never seen a prettier sight. "I called you like five times, you didn't answer." The smirk on his lips contradicts the desperation of his words, leaning against your doorframe. "Needed to see your pretty face."