Sorry, I've taken so long to update. I've put in two long chapters to apologise. Not too many lemons yet, I'm afraid but there will be many coming up. Please not these chapters are unedited so I apologise for any mistakes. Thank you so much for everyone who reviewed my story. There needs to be more Angelick fanfictions out there so I'm ecstatic there are fellow supporters. Enjoy. Please feel free to leave comments, suggestions and criticism.

Patrick's first two performances moved along quickly because all he could think about was Angela and imagining all the different ways in which he could love her and tell her he loved her and make love to her and all the ways he could make her feel and make himself feel and it's was all so overwhelming that his father had to snap him out of his self-induced state of crazy with a whack across the head every time he stumbled over his words during his performance. He always had to duck his father's arm if he phased out during a reading or got distracted.

Currently, he was sitting down with a blindfold on while his father collected objects from the crowd for him to guess. It was getting increasingly boring and he tried to find some challenge in it to keep his captivated but his mind kept wandering dangerously back to her.

"What's it made of, son?" Alex Jane asked loudly though Patrick nearly missed what he said. "What kind of cigarette case, Patrick?"

He would go find her this afternoon after his shows where he would 'set up the play' as his father would say. She would be walking across the fairground with her face buried in a book, blindly but perfectly navigating her way around the placement of rides and stalls she'd remembered since she was able to walk, blissfully unaware of the double-take glances young men would give her as she went. Patrick would line himself up, put his hands in his pockets and walk staring at the ground and 'accidentally' walk directly into her, sending the contents of her hands sprawling to the grass below. He would apologise and bend down to pick up her belongings while she as usual would blush and apologise and blame herself for being clumsy and try to help him. Then of course she would ask…

"What would you say? What's it made of?"

He had to recover himself from the dazed smile on his face. "Sterling silver."

Honestly, if something didn't distract him soon he would slip into an unrecoverable Angela coma. He thought up a reckless, brilliant idea. "The cigarette case?" he interrupted putting his arm out. "It once belonged to someone very, very close to you..."

His plan was delayed slightly when he caught glance of himself in the mirror behind the stage on his way out. The shirt and shorts were his father's stipulation, an attempt to make him look as young as possible as he aged quicker than his father could find a new angle for the show other than 'boy wonder'. Usually, he didn't mind the quirky outfit but he suddenly didn't want to look like a boy in front of Angela. Their relationship had changed and he wanted to look every day of his nineteen years for her.

Quickly he ran back to the camper, and tore about his small bedroom in search for anything. Trying to find the happy medium between too obviously formal and thirteen year old boy scout was quickly narrowed down to something that didn't require washing but he managed to rummage out his only pair of jeans and a retro striped t-shirt he found at a second hand store. It wasn't perfect but it would do.

Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough and his father caught up with him as he was trying to leave.
"What the hell was that? Your grandmother loves you very much?"
"But did you see her face? It was beautiful."
"No, it was a needless risk," Alex interjected.
"An heirloom she carries with her, that's a recent death and she's too young for dead parents so a grandparent…"

Even though Patrick was a little proud at how flawless the play had played off, his father did not show the appreciation. They hadn't earned extra money from it and it could've gone wrong. Trying to reason with him proved as fruitless as it usually did.

Patrick hauled the large laundry bag that his father had given him over his shoulder. He was excited about this private reading his father had set up. He hoped he finally would be able to prove that he could do more than childish tricks.

All thoughts of the private reading and all the tactics he might have to use to pull it off were wiped without a trace in his mind when his eyes caught a glimmer of dark hair in the sunlight. He automatically dropped the laundry bag on the ground and his feet led him forward like a magnet to her. As predictable as a movie scene on repeat, she was immersed in a book, balancing a stack of papers underneath it while navigating her way through the stalls and crowds with gentle clumsy elegance that set her apart from everyone else.

Pretending he didn't see her (although in his opinion, no man could not possibly not notice her) was a well-rehearsed dance that they had done many a time before. She was buried deep in her own world that she was taken off guard when he gently bumped into her shoulder. He automatically and expertly leaned down to catch her delicate waist before she fell to the ground and her book and the papers went tumbling to the ground.

"Oh," she gasped startled as he gently propped her upright. "Patrick."
"I'm sorry Angela," he apologised forgetting to take his hands off her waist. "Are you okay?" he asked as if there was any slight chance he would allow her to be harmed in any way.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she waved him off and lowered to her knees to gather her belongings. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."
"No, let me," he said helping her. "It was my fault."
"Yes it was but I was trying to be nice," she said. "Are we ever going to stop colliding, you and I?"
"I certainly hope not," he smiled his dazzling smile that usually made women go weak at the knees that she instead returned with one of her own that caught him off guard. He wasn't used to being disarmed by smiles that rendered the most confident of men speechless.
"Well, it's dangerous, I'm going to seriously injure you one day" she chucked. "Why is it always you? You're like a magnet."
Patrick shrugged. "I guess I'm attracted to you."

Angela laughed quietly as if he had said something funny as they gathered the last of the remaining papers. He handed her the pile and offered her his hand but she was already on her feet. "How was your show?" she asked. "Good turnout, I guess. Had a lot of sucke..,urh, people come. I tried something a little different today. It's going to take the show to a whole new level."
"Oh, I have been waiting for the day you got a turban!" she clapped her hands together. "Are you doing tarot cards now?"
He rolled her eyes and tugged softly on her plait.

They were suddenly interrupted by Pete tripping over Patrick's laundry bag and swearing loudly. "BOY!"
Patrick grabbed Angela's hand and took off running as Pete attempted to chase them.

They were both laughing as Patrick led them behind the ring toss stall and nearly smacked into Aaron and Leslie who were making out. He honestly did not know a more fucked up pair than them. They usually made him feel better about his own issues with his morale.

Despite their previous physical encounters, he never really liked Leslie, obviously the cougar had moved on to another teenager the next day. Aaron was a creep at the best of times. He had been getting on Patricks nerves a lot lately anyway, and knowing that he was giving Angela crap over her virginity, or his belief it was now gone, was the final straw.

Leslie looked at Patrick and then Angela and then her gaze dropped down at their hands joined together. Her eyes narrowed and she sneered maliciously at the teenage girl.
"Come on, Angela," he murmured to her and whisking her away before Leslie could say something. He heard Leslie push Aaron away and storm off behind him.

Patrick knew that Angela was curious about the awkward situation. She was very perceptive but didn't question him. Another mystery about this girl – woman – that he hoped to uncover.
"You look different," she commented.
"What?"
"New shirt," she gestured.
"Oh! Yeah," he smiled waiting for some sort of teasing. "In a way, I suppose."
"It's nice," she smiled at him. "To see you out of 'character'."

He smiled like an idiot.
"How long do you have?"
"A little while," she smiled sadly. "Dad wants me to practise the piano with him before he leaves."

They wandered over to Jack and Leonie who had apparently congregated to enjoy their last few moments of their break. Angela sat next to Patrick and got out a tattered yellowing paperback book.

Aaron had arrived to Patrick's dismay and Leonie was stretching out and pushing her chest up into his face but he was not paying any attention to her because he was glaring at Angela, who was sitting beside Patrick, legs tucked underneath her, engrossed in Jane Eyre. Patrick knew this shit because she read that damn Shakespearey crap all the time. Maybe he should read it to see what she liked so much. On second thoughts, no.

Angela looked up from her book then into his eyes and addressed him. "Hey, Patrick?"

"Mhm?" he said.

"Do you want to come over tonight? Dad and Danny are going out," she asked. He inflated like a hot air balloon. Unfortunately, Eleanor and Sam had sudden plans come up. Completely innocent and coincidental…

"Yeah," he whispered, so his voice wouldn't betray him. Truthfully, the thought of being alone with Angela intimidated him slightly. A feeling he had never experienced before in his life. He wasn't supposed to be this nervous, intimidated, flustered person. The woman was too mesmerising for her own good. And his.

"You don't have to, if you and your Dad have…"
"No, no," he said. "I'd love to."

"Okay. We can organise some things for my birthday," she whispered in his ear and he was not able to tell exactly which activity of the night she was referring to but it made his stomach erupt into thousands of butterflies. He thought she was having a little too much fun with all this and it kind of hurt him. He knew she had no idea he was in love with her so she really wasn't to blame.

"I'll see you later," Angela smiled at him and standing up. "Hopefully with a little less impact."
"I can't make any promises," he smiled back trying to ignore Jack rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"Hey Jane," Aaron said, ignoring Leonie and standing up once Angela had left. "Can I talk to you?"
"Ur, sure," Patrick said perplexed following him. It was probably about Leslie. Some sort of stay-away-from-my-girlfriend talk. There certain wasn't going to be a problem with that.

"What's up?" Patrick asked, putting his hands in his pockets.
"I just want to discuss Ruskin," Aaron said leaning against a trailer casually. Patrick stood in front of him looking confused and suspicious. Did he know how he felt about her? It had come to light that Pete, Sam, Jack – hell, even Jonathan Ruskin probably suspected. But an obtuse sloth like Aaron?

"What about her?"

"Well you know, Leonie just isn't the right girl for me anymore. Neither's Leslie," Aaron said casually. Fuck he hated this guy even more than normal at the moment, if possible. Anger rose up in his chest. He tried to keep his voice level to keep himself from yelling.

"So what? You want...Angela?" his voice cracked.

"No. I just want to fuck her," Aaron admitted crudely, then cackled. Patrick closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists trying to swallow the pent up rage. Aaron was not touching his Angela.

"You won't lay a hand on her," he told him calmly.

"I'll do what I want," Aaron sneered and got defensive. "What's it to you anyway? She gave it up for that card trick guy, so obviously she doesn't care for you. And last I checked, you were busy fucking half the female population of the carnival anyway. You want the same thing, you practically drool over her. Well I bet you, I can bed her first and there's nothing you can do about it."

"First off child," Patrick stepped towards him. "Never compare my feelings for Angela for your disgusting perverted thoughts. Second, she wouldn't give you a second glance you twat. Thirdly, she already hates you. Don't ever speak about her like that again."

"What makes me any different than you?" Aaron smiled menacingly. "You're a carnie freak that tricks and steals and cheats for a living. What could you possibly offer her?" He chuckled and walked away.

It's ridiculous, really, Patrick thought as he stormed back to retrieve his laundry bag off the floor. Angela'd never want him, would she? Surely not. He was right about one thing – neither of them deserved her.

He fidgeted and growled and slammed his bag down on the stump next to the water bucket Sam was using. Sam rolled her eyes at him. "What's wrong now, honey?"
She asked him what was wrong several times but he told her it didn't matter. He wasn't worried that Angela wanted Aaron; he was just worried about how far Aaron would actually go to get what he wants. He was a determined creepy mother fucker.

"Where've you been, Paddy?" his father bellowed when Patrick got back. "I sent you off an hour ago!"
"Out," Patrick replied. This past year especially, Patrick had gotten cockier, defiant and more reckless. Alex felt like he had little control over him now.
"Watch your tone, boy," he warned. "You need to keep your head down and focus on the show. I've got some, urh, errands to run. You need to practise tonight."
"Actually, I can't," Patrick said. "I've got…"
"What? What?" Alex stepped toward him. "What have you got to do that's more important, boy?"
"I'm going to go see Angela," he said.
"…..which one's that?" his dad snapped.
"Evangeline Ruskin."
"Ruskin?" Alex said thoughtfully. "Wait, that's Jonathan Ruskin's kid you're friends with, right?"
"Yes."
His dad looked at him for a few moments and Patrick knew by the look on his face that there was a plan in motion behind his head.
"Okay Paddy," he smiled unconvincingly clapping him on the shoulder. "You're at that age now, I get it. Just make sure you concentrate on the big score tomorrow okay, my boy?"

Patrick didn't know what his father was up to. Nothing was more important than the show. No distractions. That was the rule. And 'at that age'? Older women had been taking advantage of his sexuality since he was fourteen. The inappropriate touching, caressing, kissing was so uncomfortable but his dad made him deal with it…it was part of the performance and it made money. Now he just let women do it for free. It was a pretty simple coping mechanism: if it was meaningless, it didn't matter. Except for one future exception…