by Odette Stone
She licked her bottom lip. This was not going the way she thought it would. “Port, you never told me you were dating someone.”
“You never asked.”
Delicate nostrils flared. “How long?”
I patted my hand on his flat stomach and beamed at her. “Long enough to know he’s the catch of a lifetime.”
Porter did the slow blink but didn’t respond.
“My parents are absolutely in love with Porter.” Smiling, I gave him a flirtatious glance. “Aren’t they?”
That did make him look down at my face. I wasn’t even sure he was still in his body. He was on automatic. He didn’t speak.
I turned back to Felicia. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Felicia.”
Porter bent down and picked up three boxes, still not saying a word as he waited for me.
“Nice meeting you, Marley.”
I picked up the fourth box. It was smaller than the rest, so I shifted it to one hand and placed my spare hand intimately in the back pocket of Porter’s jeans. My heart pounded as we left a stunned Felicia in our wake, and the tight curve of Porter’s ass burned my hand.
Chapter 12
The second we were out of sight, I retracted my hand, shifting the box, so I was holding it with both arms. In silence, we got back on the elevator. I pressed the floor-level button and dared to look at Porter’s face.
His expression was flat. Some part of him had shut down.
“I did the thing.” I sounded stupid stating the obvious.
Those eyes worked to focus on me.
I felt shaky. Like it had been my ex we had just seen. “She’ll come after you.”
“It’s done.”
“Not if you don’t want it to be.” I made a promise I couldn’t keep, “Trust me on that.”
“It’s over.”
The elevator ground to a halt. We carried the boxes across the lobby, and despite the fact that he had the most boxes, he held open the door with his foot for me.
“Porter,” a voice sounded from behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder. Felicia raced down the stairs in bare feet, her long hair flying behind her. She sounded panicked.
“Told you,” I said, as I stepped through the door.
“Wait!” she called in desperation.
Porter let the door shut, and he started down the steps. The door slammed open behind us.
“Please, Porter,” she cried, running down the steps towards us. “Please. I need to talk to you. One minute.”
Porter studied me.
I shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to listen.”
With control, he set the boxes down on the ground.
“I’ll go wait in the truck.” I climbed into the car and tried not to look at them, but I couldn’t help myself.
Next to Porter’s big frame, Felicia seemed delicate and petite. She did all the talking, waving her arms around and continually pushing her hands into her hair to fluff it out.
Porter lifted his baseball cap off his head a couple times, but I didn’t actually see his lips move.
My phone rang.
“Hey, Beth. It’s Jackson.”
“Is everything okay?”
He cleared his throat. “Emily caught me up.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t mess around with other people’s lives, but I do look out for my friends.”
“I know. What do you need?”
“Would you be willing to let Porter crash on your couch for a few more nights?”
“What? Of course.”
Jackson hesitated, his voice pained. “He won’t ask. You’ll have to offer.”
It should have dawned on me that he’d never ask. After watching this train wreck, I wanted to help. I needed to.
“I will. It’s no problem.”
What was the worst that could happen?
Porter picked up the boxes, and Felicia’s movements got a bit more frantic. He said something to her, then he walked towards the truck. She stood there, biting her lip, looking like she wanted to cry.
Porter swung into the truck, beside me. He gunned the engine, hit reverse then somehow turned the truck around in the narrow street. Silence clung to us. I kept checking on him, but he seemed indifferent. Unaffected. Focused on driving.
Here went nothing. “So, are you going to hang around New York?”
Stone-faced, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Not sure.”
“You know, you could always crash at my place. For as long as you want.”
He glanced at me. “Why?”
“I don’t understand your one worded question.”
“Why would you offer that?”
Because Jackson asked me to.
Because I’ve done the three days in a lonely hotel after a breakup, and it sucks.
Because your friends are worried about you. Including me.
“Because I really like messy, non-talking, incommunicative, hard-to-read soldiers hanging out at my place, and I especially like helping them get their supermodel ex-girlfriends back. It’s my go-to for when I need a pick-me-up.”
He was silent for a moment. “I’m not messy.”
“That’s what you got from all of that?”
“I’m neater than you.”
I focused on the ceiling of his truck and laughed. “Did you talk in your last relationship?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. The entire time you two were on the sidewalk, she did all the talking.”
Nothing.
I valiantly continued, “I think you took your hat off a couple times. Is that some sort of code, because you should know that sign language is a lot more expressive.”
“Sign language?”
“The official language of the deaf.”
“I know what sign language is.”
“Would you prefer morse code?”
I got a look for that, but I could feel him loosening up. He was starting to breathe. So, I took it one step further. I opened my phone and found an app that translated text into Morse code beeps.
I typed in the text: YOU’RE THE BEST LOOKING PRETEND BOYFRIEND I’VE EVER HAD. I pressed play, and a series of short and long beeps came out of my phone.
He listened, slowly blinking, his face tinged with amusement. It was enough to keep me going.
“How about this?” I typed in: I WANT TO HAVE PUBLIC SEX WITH YOU.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked after I played that morse code message to him.
“You have no idea how much. Wait. One more.”
IF YOU STAY WITH ME, I’LL DEMAND USE OF YOUR HOT COCK EVERY NIGHT.
He pretended to listen, and his lips twitched. “That sounds important. Are you going to translate?”
“Nope.” At his silence, I relented, “Fine. The phone is going back in the purse. So, are you going to hang around in New York for a while?”
He cleared his throat. “You don’t mind?”
“This morning, I offered to help you with an armed robbery. When you hit that level of friendship, couch surfing is a given.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Okay,” I said in my most dramatic voice. “But just so we’re clear, you can’t go all frat boy on me.”
His look demanded an explanation.
“You know, I don’t want to be tripping over your dirty socks. You can’t be messy.”
“I’m not messy.”
I smiled as I talked, “I equate frat food with fat food, and this ass can’t handle pizza and beer every night, so if you eat that, don’t offer it to me.”
“Your ass looks fine.”
“My ass looks more than fine. This ass is the result of hours of yoga and spin class, and because I don’t feed it pizza.”
I could tell he thought I was a bit crazy, but if it took his mind off things, I was okay with that. We drove in silence for a few moments, both lost in our own thoughts.
I had to know. “What did she say?”
He drove two
blocks before he answered. “She wants to go out for dinner. To catch up. As friends.”
“Translation: she wants you back.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But I do.” My breath hitched in my throat. “When are you getting together?”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“Wasn’t that the point?”
“Of what?”
“Of me doing the thing.”
“I don’t know if I want to.” Huh. Well, he did have the right to not want to see her. She had royally fucked him over.
“Well, where did you leave it?”
“I said I’d be in touch.”
“Oh.”
We drove the rest of the way home in silence. I helped him carry the boxes. He waited until the elevator door closed before he asked, “How do you know it’s hot?”
“How do I know what is hot?”
“My cock.”
What?
The elevator door opened. I rushed after him. “You know morse code?”
“Yup.”
My face burned hot. What had I texted? Public sex. Demanding use of his hot cock. Every single night. Oh, God. “That’s not fair.”
His smile wasn’t huge, but it was still a smile. “It was entertaining.”
“I didn’t mean it.” I unlocked the door.
“I thought your messages were pretty clear. You didn’t leave a lot of room for interpretation.”
“Porter!”
He didn’t laugh, but he did look amused. Under the circumstances, that was the best I was going to get. I watched as he set down his boxes in my front entrance.
My face was so hot. “I’m not hitting on you.”
Grey eyes met mine.
“I mean, obviously! With your beautiful ex-girlfriend wanting you back and you driving home from seeing her. It would be completely inappropriate to proposition you at a time like that.”
He let me marinate in awkward silence before he spoke. “It wasn’t that inappropriate.”
“It wasn’t?”
“It was a good reminder for me.”
Of what, I wasn’t sure. Nor did I want to ask. “Oh.”
He jingled his keys in his hand. “I’m going out for awhile.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll try and be quiet when I come in.”
“For sure.”
And then he was gone, leaving me to wondering what exactly I was reminding him of.
Chapter 13
The next five days passed like groundhog day. I’d get up early to go to my shit temp job. When I’d leave my room in the mornings, Porter was always gone already, his bedding neatly folded, not a dirty sock in sight. If it weren’t for the coffee in the coffee maker and the lone cup in the sink, I wouldn’t even know he’d slept over.
I’d spend the day working. And when I came home, there was usually some sort of delicious, healthy, home-cooked meal tucked in the fridge with a note telling me to enjoy. No pizza in sight. The kitchen was always immaculate. Fresh, expensive groceries would find their way into the fridge. But he was never around. As far as house guests, he was almost perfect.
Except I found myself hoping he’d show up.
Each night, I watched Netflix, waiting for him to come home, but he never did. Whatever he was doing, or whomever he was seeing, he did it late into the night.
I worried about him, which was silly because I didn’t really know where he was. Perhaps he was spending every day with Felicia. Perhaps they were rekindling their relationship. I imagined lengthy discussions talking about what worked and what didn’t. Maybe they were discussing how they could reconcile this situation. Could he forgive her? Did he want to?
Then again, he could be spending every single day sitting in some bar, then walking home over the highest bridge he could find, so what did I know?
Regardless, I worried.
And I didn’t like how that felt.
Friday afternoon, after the shittiest day at work at my underpaid, overqualified temp job, I made my way home. All I wanted was a glass of wine and something really unhealthy to eat. I got the mail, kicking off my shoes as I walked in the door.
I dumped my purse and checked my phone. I had two messages. Maybe one of them was from my elusive roommate. I played my messages on speaker, cranked the cork out of the wine bottle I’d opened last night, found the biggest wine glass I owned, and poured until the bottle was empty.
The first message was from Mom. “Hi, Beth, this is your mother. I wanted to remind you that next Saturday, we have the gala, in which your father is announcing his candidacy. It’s critical that you attend. I wanted you to see Donna for this event, but it's too late now for her to buy you anything, so I think you should wear the crushed, black silk Chanel.”
I lifted my head, startled to see Porter standing in the doorway. How long he had been standing there?
Mom droned on. “I really don’t know why you’re so stubborn. Your father has worked so hard to provide you with a beautiful home, and you don’t want to live in it, but so be it.”
“Did I see split ends? I made an appointment for you to see Jimmy. He may not have time to give you proper highlights, but he’ll make time to give you a trim. Honestly, your hair looks like you’ve got a $50 haircut. It’s embarrassing.”
“One more thing. Please, ensure your male friend stays at home. Let’s face it. This gala is a black tie affair, and we both know this isn’t his thing. That man probably doesn’t even own a tuxedo. So, do us all a favor and leave him at home. We’ll be sending a car so you won’t be late. And please, don’t disappoint us.”
Thanks, Mom, for the nice mind fuck.
I averted my eyes from Porter and took a long sip of my wine before hitting the delete button.
The next message started to play. “Hello, Beth. This is Andrea Lowen from Marketing Now. We wanted to thank you for coming in for an interview. Though you interviewed exceedingly well, we went with another candidate. Best of luck in finding a new job.”
I stood there for a long moment. I needed to think, but I was too sad to even process that. I would deal later with the fact that I seemed destined to work as a temp for the rest of my life.
Porter walked towards me. “Are you okay?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I’m good.”
“Me too,” I lied, taking another sip of my wine. “Just peachy.”
“You sure?”
I picked up a large padded envelope that had no return address. “I feel some anxiety right now, but it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my phone messages.”
“Roger that.”
I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. At first, my brain couldn’t process what was happening. There were beetles. Big, black beetles. The size of freaking Chihuahuas. Most of them were dead, but one was still a tiny bit alive. It half dragged itself across the counter.
I screamed, then covered my mouth, backing away from that fucking nightmare. Porter reached over and scooped all the beetles back into the envelope and rolled it shut.
“Throw that out.” I was hysterical, but I didn’t care.
“What does the note say, Beth?” How was his voice so calm?!
“What note?”
“You pulled a note out. What does it say?”
My eyes dropped to my hands. I was holding a note. I shook my head and tossed it on the counter. Porter, using the edge of the envelope, flipped open the folded sheet.
In black marker, a message was scrawled: “IT’S IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO CONVINCE YOUR FATHER TO STICK WITH WHAT HE KNOWS. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.”
What. The. Fuck.
I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn’t even process what was happening.
Porter appraised me, so much concern on his face. “Do you know who sent this to you?”
“Just another fan letter from one of my fans.”
I will not cry. I will not freaking cry.
The look he gave me—those grey eyes filled with such intense worry—tipped me over the edge. Tears spill onto my cheeks. “I need a minute.”
Numb, I walked blindly into my bedroom and laid spread-eagle on my bed. Then, the tears came. Big, sobbing tears. Stupid, but I tend to cry under pressure.
And intense fear.
I didn’t know how long I laid there—long enough to lament how much my life sucked. This fucking gala. Yates. My stalled career. That letter. I tried to push it out of my mind. I couldn’t deal with it. Not right now. I was too emotional to start coping with it. It could wait. I should get up. I should start acting like an adult, but it was easier to just stare at the ceiling.
There was a tap on the open door. Too despondent to lift my head, I said, “Come in.”
“I’m breaking a rule here, but I thought it might help.”
I lifted my head. Porter stood there with a glass of wine and a pizza box.
I swallowed and sat up. “You brought frat food.”
He lifted up the box. “I personally think your ass can handle at least one pizza, but say the word, and I’ll remove this from your place.”
I held out my arms and wiggled my fingers. “Want.”
He walked across the room and handed me the wine. I scooted over and patted the bed beside me.
He evaluated me. “Do you want to eat here?”
“That depends.” I picked up the remote. “Will you let me watch whatever tear-jerking chick show I want to watch?”
“Obviously.”
“Then, yes. I want us to eat pizza in bed.”
He placed the box on the nightstand. “I’ll be right back.”
He reappeared with plates, napkins and a beer. He settled on the bed beside me and handed me a plated piece of pizza at the exact moment I lifted up the remote. My hand hit the plate, and my pizza slid towards the bed.
He juggled the plate and saved my pizza but lost hold of his beer in the process. It dumped all over his shirt.
“Sorry,” I cried.
“No worries,” he stood up, set the foaming beer on the nightstand and peered down at his wet shirt.
He crossed his arms and pulled his t-shirt over his head. My mouth went dry as I took in his muscular core and broad pecs.
