When you left, I went completely batshit and started tearing down walls because I couldn’t be in a place where I’d touched you without wanting to destroy something.
Patrick stops walking and turns to look at me. Smiles at me and it’s like staring into the sun. He shines, so perfect and bright, it almost hurts to look at him.
She smells like Cari—flowers that bloom in the dark and night falling rain.
These two books are the perfect example of the blessing and the curse that befalls the romance genre. When I first added Pushing Patrick to my TBR I didn’t realize it wasn’t a standalone, but in fact the first in an 8 book series. I decided to go ahead and read it anyway because I’m a sucker for a friends to lovers romance only to find out that not only is it part of a series but each couple spans two books. AND as if that’s not enough Pushing Patrick introduces all of the couples in a way that makes you want to read the following books to find out what happens with them. In my experience, romance series tend to occur consecutively, but the Gilroy Clan series happens all at the same time.
These two books satisfied my craving for a friends-to-lovers romance and I loved the complicated nature of Patrick and Cari’s friendship. While two books felt like a lot for one romance I did appreciate that it gave space for their relationship to develop and for them to have time apart to figure themselves out. That being said it got increasingly more frustrating that neither of them could be honest about how they felt. Also Cari needed fucking therapy for her issues not just a year at home, but the year apart is more than most romance books offer characters to work through their personal issues so I’ll only complain a little.
Overall, I might be tempted to read these two books again and have already continued on with the other books in the series.
Keep reading for quotes from both books!
Pushing Patrick:
I kiss her until I can feel her drowning until she’s lost to everyone but me.
Jesus, he’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you feel a little desperate. Like you can’t even hope to measure up. Like you’d be willing to do just about anything to prove that you do.
That’s what I’d thought. What I’d fooled myself into believing but, no. Not on to the next. There was no next. There was only Patrick.
Smart girl to answer me because what she’s thinking about me is right. I’ve gone off the deep end when it comes to her and right now, I’m not drowning. I’m doing the fucking backstroke. Enjoying every second of my temporary insanity.
It didn’t matter which canvas Chase pulled from the stack. They’re all of Patrick. Painted in a dozen different ways, from a dozen different memories. Chase doesn’t ask me why I’ve hidden them away. He already knows. Anyone who looks at them would know. This is where my soul is. My heart. What I really want. Who I really am. I feel unbalanced. Obsessed. Like who I really am is someone I should be apologizing for.
I’ve been painting Patrick for three years—dozens of times between the first time we kissed in the front seat of his car to the last—and I’ve hidden them all away. Never admitted to anyone how I really feel or what I want because, deep down, I know they’re things I don’t deserve. I painted him this morning because it’s the only way I can make him stay. Keep him with me.
Claiming Cari:
She shoots me the kind of look a wounded animal gives you when you reach out to try and help them. Like they know damn well you have no intention of helping. That you’re just going to hurt them all over again.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might want to take care of you?” I sigh, running a hand through my hair while fighting the urge to pull it out. “That I might need to take care of you, right now.”
Cupping her face, I tip her head back so I can look her in the eye. “So, let’s not fight.” It’s not what I want to say to her. I want to say that I love her and that I’m sorry but I know she’s not ready to hear it, so I just focus on getting us through the next 24-hours because that’s all that matters right now.
I can do that for her. Give her control. Make her feel powerful. I can do that. For her.
His arms wrapped around me. Holding me close like I’m important. Something precious. This time, I don’t feel the urge to run away. I want to stay here, locked in his arms. Feeling his heart, thumping against my chest. His breath on my neck.
His green eyes, glittering with lust and something else, something I’ve never seen before. I like it. The way he looks at me. Like he can’t seem to get enough of me.
And this time I’d let him see. I’d let him see himself the way I see him. This time, I’d let him see me. The real me.
She doesn’t ask if I love him. She doesn’t have to. The evidence of it is everywhere I look.
I don’t want him to keep his distance. I don’t want him to keep his hands to himself. I want him to kiss me. Tell me he loves me. Ask me to stay. Not just for tonight or tomorrow. I want him to ask me to stay forever. But I know he won’t. Patrick’s a fast learner. He reached for me once and it stung. He won’t do it again.
I love him. I want to tell him that. I wanted it to be the first thing I said to him when I saw him again. I love you. This is real. We’re enough. I’m enough.
“Was this a date?” she says before catching her lower lip between her teeth. She looks nervous, and I can’t decide what she’s hoping my answer is. Yes. I want to say it. But I won’t. I can’t because this isn’t about me or how I feel. This is about her, meeting me halfway.
Patrick tore his heart out in front of me once. He won’t do it again. Whatever happens next, it’ll happen because I made it happen. Not by traipsing around half-naked or because I hung a mirror across from my open bedroom door. It’ll happen because I was honest. Because I believed him when he said he loved me. Because I know we’re enough. I’m enough.
“But, you do things to me.” He looks at me, and suddenly I can’t breathe. “Make me want things. Make me someone I don’t understand. Can’t control. Can’t predict. I’ve spent the last eleven months getting to know him.” Him. The other Patrick. The Patrick nobody knows but me. The wolf he hides beneath his good deeds and nice guy smile.
“Because those paintings aren’t just about you and the way you feel about me.” He jabs a finger at them, never taking his eyes off me. “I’m exposed too. I’m loving you in every single one of them, and the thought of someone else owning a piece of that makes me more than a little crazy.”
