twenty-two | another manic monday

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PPAATTYYCARRIGAN: The only interviews that matter

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USER1: this man stays shading that girl
↳ USER2: the commitment is impressive
     ↳ USER3: Wish my ex committed this hard to me

JORDANRIKI: Dilf

JESSEARTHURS: I want you

USER4: Petty Patty

USER5: So, we're all here after that interview with Herbie? 👀

BRISBANEBRONCOS: ❤️

USER6: Patty, I'd let you do unspeakable things to me. Just give me a chance
↳ USER7: back off from my man bitch

REECEWALSH: 🥵
↳ USER8: Reece Walsh pls follow me back !!!!!

FOR THE REST OF THE WEEKEND DIONNE DREADED GOING INTO WORK ON MONDAY. Timothee hadn't texted her once all week, which she knew to be a bad sign (usually he'd be blowing her phone up with invites she'd decline). And her fears were correct; there he was, waiting for her at her desk when she walked into the office that morning.

"Di, can we have a chat in my office please?" He'd asked, sounding oddly formal (Timothee rarely did formal, especially not with her).

Inhaling sharply, she'd just nodded and followed him into the enclosed room. She stared at the door closing behind them, longingly wishing not to be alone right now. "W—what's up?" She asked, playing with her fingers awkwardly.

Timothee opted to stand in front of his desk rather then sit at it, leaning on the wood so he could stare down at her. She could basically feel his breath on her. "Why'd you leave early Friday night? We got no footage with the Broncos. Do you know how much of a headache that was to work around—how much trouble I got in for not delivering that content?"

"I—I felt sick," she said meekly, knowing he wasn't going to buy that.

Timothee shook his head. "Dionne."

"I was. . . I threw up as soon as I got home," she lied through her perfectly straight teeth (thank god for braces).

Timothee stood up and began pacing the small office; every step he took sent a shiver down her spine. The brunette had never done anything to upset him, she didn't know whether to expect an explosion from him soon or not. "In this line of work," he began, turning to face her again, "we need to not let personal feelings affect us."

"I know, I—"

"Do you like him?" Timothee asked suddenly, catching her right off guard.

Dionne was floored that her boss had just asked her something like that. "Pardon?"

"I see the way he looks at you when we go to games," Timothee practically purred, putting a hand on the arm of her chair. "And the way you look at him back."

Dionne recoiled. "I. . . I look at him the same I look at any other random man."

Timothee laugh humourlessly. "Who's hotel did you end up in. . . that night in Vegas?"

The colour drained from Dionne's face but she quickly regained her composure. "I hardly think that's an appropriate question for you to be asking me," she told him, scowling.

He leant away from her, removing his hands from her chair. "I'm asking as a friend, not as your boss."

"But you brought me in here—as my boss—to lecture me," she retorted, crossing her arms.

Timothee sighed. "I just. . . Don't let yourself get caught up with someone like that, you'll miss what's right in front of you."

"What's my punishment, Timothee? For getting you in trouble with your Dad," Dionne was tired of this patronising conversation. Timothee fails to remember he was the reason she was even entangled with these players to begin with.

Timothee let out another, louder sigh. "No punishment, Di."

Dionne raised an eyebrow, not for a second believing him. "No punishment?"

Her boss nodded skeptically. "Are you asking for one or something?"

The brunette immediately shook her head. "Of course not. . . it's just. . . you were like mad two seconds ago."

"I could never be mad at you, Dionne."

Dionne didn't like the prickly feeling his words send down her nervous system. "Oh, I—" She shuffled her feet back and forth on the carpet, trying to calm herself.

"But," he cut in, a smile making its way to his lips. "If you want to make it up to me, you can let me take you out for dinner tonight. Buy me a drink and we can forget about Friday. . . or, I can think of something else. . ."

"Oh, uhm," Dionne bit her lip. "Sure, uhm, dinner sounds great," she mumbled.

Timothee beamed at her. "Great, we'll go after work?"

"Sure, Tim."

💌

SHE HAD BARELY BEEN ABLE TO FOCUS ON HER WORK ALL DAY, THE DREAD OF TONIGHT WAS TOO OVERWHELMING. Dionne tried to figure out a way to get out of it, wondering if she could phone one of her friends to fake an emergency. But she'd already used those type of excuses on Timothee too many times to count, it was too obvious. And she hated to know what type of 'punishment' he'd come up with for her if she bailed on him, she's sure it wouldn't be nearly as bearable as just having dinner with him. Perhaps it would go by fast—they did both have work tomorrow, after all.

So, there she stood in the Felons bathrooms as she fixed her makeup up. The distant sound of the live band warming up was a welcome background noise. They'd walked over from their office building as the sun set on the beautiful river city. As soon as they'd entered, she'd excused herself while he got them a table overlooking the view. She'd promised she wouldn't be too long but she'd already been in there for fifteen minutes. Dionne wondered how long she could get away with standing in here. The pretty brunette woman stared at her face in the dimly lit mirror, hardly able to make out her features very well. She looked so warped in this light.

A buzz from her phone snapped her away from her staring contest and she sighed as she fished the phone out of her handbag.

TIMOTHEE WORK • 5:34PM
What do you want to drink?
First rounds on me.

Finally deciding to just bite the bullet and get this over with, she shuffled out of the bathrooms after fluffing her hair one last time. The riverside bar wasn't very busy yet, it being a Monday afternoon and all. But knowing this city, people were going to pile in very soon. If there's one thing about this city, it was the drinking culture.

She scanned the fairly empty deck, eyes meeting Timothees way too fast for her liking. As she weaved in and out of tables, he stood up to pull out her chair for her. She bit back an audible sigh at the gesture. "You look nice," he complimented as she took her seat across from his.

Dionne accepted the compliment graciously instead of correcting him and saying she'd not changed anything about her appearance besides a fresh coat of lipstick and mascara. It was the thought that counted or whatever her mother had told her growing up. "Did you order yet?" She asked instead, picking up a menu and scanning the contents (and prices).

"You didn't reply fast enough so, I got you a Bloody Mary," he told her, seeming pleased with his choice.

Dionne didn't let it show on her face but she hated that drink. "Oh, thanks," she said politely, smiling at him.

"How haven't we done this sooner?" Timothee asked after a beat, sighing as he watched the ferry pass them by. Dionne wondered if she jumped over the railing, would she land on the small boat and make her great escape. . . probably not, she'd been bad at high jump in school. It'd make for a good story, if she survived the impact.

"I know right," she just agreed, looking around the establishment as she wished more bodies would fill the room so she didn't feel so alone with him. More background noise meant small talk would be harder.

"For someone I've known for so many years, I feel like I hardly know much about you," Timothee went on, playing with the salt and pepper shakers absently as he studied her appearance. The way he was looking at her made her feel naked; she didn't like it.

Dionne offered him a half smile. "There's not much to know," she shrugged, turning the napkin in her hands. God, why had he ordered her that drink.

"What dark secrets are you hiding, Di?" He asked, a glint to his eyes. She wasn't sure if it meant it in a flirtatious manner but she was glad for an excuse not to reply.

Before she could say anything, the waitress was placing their drinks before them. Dionne stared down at the drink he'd ordered for her in dismay, hyping herself up to drink the gross liquid. Condensation clouded the outside of the glass, dampening her hand as she gripped it.

After thanking the waitress with a generous tip, Timothee turned to her again. "Anyways, as I was. . ."

He trailed off when he saw her take the straw between her lips, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to block out the rich taste. And right before him, he watched with his mouth agape as the brunette drained the tall glass of all its contents until there was just dregs left. Dionne ignored the throbbing pain in her forehead that had formed from the ice cold liquid as she pushed the glass away.

Timothee looked at her and then back at the empty glass. "Far out, you're keen," he mumbled as he looked down at his own glass. He'd not even had a chance to take a sip yet.

She smiled sheepishly at him, her lips stained red from the drink. "Oopsy," she said, her tone light and airy. Unfortunately she was nowhere near drunk yet but she could see herself getting there soon.

"Did you want another—?"

"—No." Timothee looked taken aback by her tone and she quickly corrected herself. "I mean, I think I want to get something else," she told him, her voice an octave higher then it usually would be.

He seemed to take this as her flirting with him. Timothee raised his eyebrows. "Mixing drinks is dangerous, you know."

She shrugged, looking past him at the group of rowdy men that'd just walked in. She felt her stomach drop as recognition dawned on her. Suddenly the cool facade she had been wearing since they arrived shattered right before his eyes.

Noticing her distraction, Timothee turned to have a look. Clenching his jaw, he muttered, "for fucks sake." Turning back to her with a cross look, he studied the way her entire physique shifted at just the mere site of this guy. It felt like a punch in the guts to Timothee.

Six rugby league players walk into a bar. . . or however the joke goes, Dionne's not sure. Leading the pack was Reece Walsh—the shortest of the group—as he confidently strode over to a vacant table. In this lighting, Dionne could almost understand how a face like his had spawned an army of fan accounts. His light hair was slicked back and wore a striped button up shirt (as did most of them, to be honest. Their outfits were all variants of each other). Jesse Arthur's and Jordan Riki followed suit, laughing at a joke between them. The taller of the pair threw an arm around his moustached friend as he threw his head back, laughing like a little kid. After them was Ezra Mam and Brendan Piakura, looking a bit dusty as they scrambled to follow their friends to the table. She wondered how many venues they'd been to before this.

Last and most certainly least, there he was. His long hair was out, blowing in the autumn breeze that was flowing through the bar. She liked his hair like this—not that she'd ever tell him as such. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a chest of her hair that she remembered so clearly running her fingers through. His cheeks were rosy, probably from the drinks. It took every bit of her strength not to stare at him all night.

When Dionne was finally able to tear her gaze away, ducking her head down as she regained focus on Timothee, she said darkly, "Next rounds on me."

As she waved the waiter over, Timothee replied in a low voice, "I'll take something strong, I think."

And so, their night went on. They started with the long island iced teas, a deadly choice if you weren't planning on getting black out drunk. Not one or two but three rounds later, they decided to follow it up with shots. The cold breeze that had once caused minor discomfort as the alcohol warmed their bodies.

Dionne was tripping over her own words laughing as they ordered the next round of drinks. There was a pink flush to Timothee's face as he consumed alcohol that—blame it in the amount she'd drank—was somewhat appealing to her to look at. Actually, his whole face had become appealing to her over the last few hours. She'd gone out of her way to not look at the table behind Timothee, even when she'd felt his eyes find her; she would not yield.

Dionne had somehow found herself enjoying Timothee's company, weirdly enough. He told stories of his wild university days, the drunken blunders he'd made and the time he'd been dared to swim in the Brisbane river. "No way, did you get sick?" She'd asked, giggling at the idea of a fully naked, seventeen-year-old Timothee swimming with the sharks that roamed the river.

"Nah, too tough," he replied, flexing which made her giggle again.

As the night had gone on, the table had started to feel smaller and they both leant in a lot. From an outsider, it may have looked like a first date gone well—especially when his leg kept brushing against her. She couldn't quite decide if it had anything to do with the table across from theirs or if Timothee was naturally more charismatic then she'd given him credit for. She liked to think it was the latter.

Across the bar, Patty recognised that sound anywhere—he hated that he did. It made his grip on the glass he was holding tighten and his jaw clench. The sound of her laugh—no, her giggle—gave him very visceral flashbacks that he did not want to be having in the middle of Felons. Trying to block it out or focus on another sound wasn't working, neither was—

"You right, Pat?" Jordan had asked for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Patty had always worn his heart on his sleeve, especially when he was drunk. If you knew the man at all, it was easy to read him. Not only that but he'd been unusually quiet for someone who spending time at his favourite bar.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, eyes flicking over to where Dionne and Timothee were sat for the first time all night. Just looking at her hurt. He felt pathetic.

Jordan caught the movement and grinned when he saw what was upsetting his friend. He watched as the brunette girl leant in while her boss told a story, frowning at the open and easy smile she wore for him. "Oi, look who it is," Jordan said, elbowing Jesse and pointing.

This caught the attention of everyone at their table as they all craned their necks to look where the Maori was pointing. The Broncos players all gaped seeing the reporter turned friend(ish) on what looked like a first date. "I thought that guy was her boss," said Reece, eyeing Patty to gage his reaction. He'd made Jordan and Reece swear not to tell the others about what'd occurred between him and Dionne, claiming it was an embarrassing drunk mistake. Though, Reece didn't buy that for one moment.

"Why's it matter?" Patty grumbled, looking out at the river. This was the last thing he needed.

Ezra exchanged a grin with Jesse, all the players seeming to get the same idea at the exact same time. "We should go say hi," he suggested, "didn't catch her at the game on the weekend."

"That's an amazing idea," Brendan replied, overly enthusiastic as he downed the rest of his drink before standing up.

"I'm staying here," Patty told them as they all started climbing out of their seats. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest, lounging back in his chair to prove his point.

Jesse Arthur's rolled his eyes at Patty's stubbornness. "Lame," he mumbled, rounding the table to clap Jordan on the back. "Anyways, let's go lads."

Patty watched like a hawk from where he sat as they stumbled over to the table, catching her by surprise. She didn't look unhappy to see them, in fact she even smiled at them and accepted a hug from Brendan. Patty ground his teeth together, knowing her reaction would've been sour if he'd joined them. He could tell by the way she'd scanned the group when they got her attention before reacting. He pretended it didn't puncture his heart.

The memory of what her arms had felt like around him threatened to bubble up to the surface of his mind but he did his best to bury them. He tried to think about his dog, where he was going to take her for a walk in the morning. His dog was the only woman he needed in his life.

"What happened to you the last two weekends?" He'd heard Jordan ask loudly.

He saw the way her eye flickered to where he sat as she hesitated to come up with a good excuse. From how far away he was, Patty couldn't quite hear what her response was (not that he cared to know, he knew the truth).

💌

(@dionnestanley via instagram stories!)

DIONNES PLAN TO LEAVE EARLY HAD BEEN LONG SINCE SQUANDERED. As the clock struck one in the morning, the staff had started ushering people out of the venue. Her and Timothee had been two of the last people to leave, laughing their way out the door at the array of inside jokes formed over dinner.

After the surprise appearance of the entire Brisbane Broncos team and exchanging banter with them for a little while, they'd gone back to a sulking Patty and she'd managed to enjoy herself. The fact she had surprised her and had her questioning why she'd been declining hanging out socially with him for so long. Once you broke away the unsettling energy he exuded, he was a nice guy to be around.

Standing a few metres away from Felons, the pair stood fairly close one another still talking away. The breeze had picked up by this point and Dionne's hair was running wild in the wind. "You know, I had fun," she'd earnestly told Timothee.

He smiled brightly at her admission. "Me too," he replied, "we should do it again."

As she went to agree with him, she felt his hand engulf hers. Being caught entirely off guard, she recoiled from him. "Timmy. . ." She warned.

Taking another step towards her, he reached for her hand again. "What?" He asked innocently, frowning.

"I think you've got the wrong idea here," she tried to explain, pointing between them and once again stepping back from her.

The shift in the air between them sobered her up almost immediately. Her blood ran cold as he reached out, cupping her cheek. Suddenly she was very aware of how much bigger then her he was and the fact that there was hardly anyone around now. "Come on, Di," he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning in.

"I don't—no—!" She tried to say, pulling away from his kiss. Unfortunately, his hold on her was a lot stronger then she'd expected it to be with how much he'd drank. She was going to be sick if their lips actually connected, she decided.

In what felt like a blink of the eye, Timothee was torn away from her and she heard the crunching of knuckles against skin. "She," punch, "said," punch, "no."

Dionne could only stare in horror as a drunken Patty Carrigan tore into her boss, landing repeat blows to his face. Her head whipped around, searching for his entourage but they were nowhere to be found. "Patty, stop," she screamed, clawing at his arm as she tried to pull him off her boss. "You're going to seriously hurt him." The last thing she wanted was for him to get a criminal charge over her—something like this was career ending. God, she prayed no one had a camera.

"Good," he spat but let her pull him away. He stood over a trembling Timothee, staring down in pure disgust. "You don't touch her unless she tells you that's what she wants," he seethed, eyes as narrow as slits.

She didn't know how to perceive him right now. On one hand, he looked like a hulking super hero with his chest puffed out as he told off a villain but on the other, the violence scared her. She knew it was nothing new for him, with the sport he played but she'd never seen it up close. Sure, she'd seen him mad plenty of times—most of the time that anger being directed at her—but even then, he'd somehow always appeared soft and gentle to her. Seeing this side of him simultaneously was extremely attractive and scary, she'd never felt so torn.

Before Dionne could say anything, Patty pulled her by the hand away from where Timothee cowered. She pretended she didn't seen the blood pooling out of his nose. She ignored the fact that she could feel blood leaking from his knuckles. There were bigger problems at hand like the fact his hand seemed to fit against hers so well.

When he deemed they were well enough away from Timothee, he turned to inspect her. On instinct, he brushed some hair out of her face before pulling away suddenly. "Are you alright?" He coughed, the sharpness of his features softening once again as he gave her space. The vigilante-like persona he'd adapted for those few moments he'd beat Timothee for laying a hand on her had faded and he just Patrick again.

"I—Yeah, I'm fine," she assured him, rubbing her hands up and down her exposed arms to fend off the cold. The worst part of her buzz wearing off was that she now felt the real temperature again.

He studied her before pointing out, "you're cold."

"I'm fine," she said.

"Stop saying that," he replied before elbowing his way out of his own jacket. "Here." The adrenaline of punching her boss kept him warm.

She shook her head at his outstretched hand, pushing his jacket back to him. "Seriously, I'm fine."

He sighed, pressing the jacket into her hands. "Don't be difficult, I can literally see your breathe." He pointed out the white air that appeared every-time they spoke.

Not having the energy to argue, she accepted the leather jacket and draped it over herself. He had a much bigger frame then her so she basically was swimming in the fabric. She wouldn't admit it but the immediate warmth brought her immense comfort as they walked in silence towards the street.

"I'll get us an Uber, what's your address?" He asked, as if it was the most casual thing ever. Noticing her alarmed expression, he added, "I'll add your place as a stop, don't worry. I know my place."

She pretended not to notice the bitterness in the way he spoke the last comment. "You don't have to," she insisted. "I can get my own."

"I have two sisters who've told me some absolute horror stories about getting Ubers alone at night," he replied, pulling his phone out. "It's for my own peace of mind that I know you get home safe."

She bit her lip, he made a good point. She pretended the idea of him worrying for her safety didn't excite her at all. "I'm going to pay you back," she said matter-of-factly, taking his phone and typing her home address in.

He scoffed. "Yeah, sure you will."

There was a lull in conversation as they waited for the driver. "What happened to your friends?" She asked after a moment, not looking at him. Dionne wasn't sure she'd be able to look away if she looked at him again.

"Went home," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh, right."

"Yeah."

". . . Thank you," she added, after another moment of silence. "I'm not sure what would've happened if you hadn't. . . you know. . ."

"Don't even," he waved her off, "I've wanted to punch him for weeks."

Her eyes widened at his confession. "You have?"

"The way he looks at you. . ." He shook his head at the memory, "it's like he thinks you're his property or something, it's always given me bad vibes."

Dionne didn't say anything to that, she clearly had a lot to think about when she got home. And so, there they stood, in the cold as they waited for Panjeet to come pick them up. Not at all how she'd expected her night to go, for sure.

💌

🌸 karla yaps !

watching herbie score a try tonight inspired this & beat south sydney inspired me to finish this tonight instead of reading my book <333

this was a humongous 4.2k word chapter in honour of this book hitting 10k reads (wtf!!!). thank you so much to each and every single person who's clicked on this story, no words describe at how grateful i am for all your love & support. i hope this chapter was worth it.