“There are no ifs. We’re doing this.”
I grin. “You’re so bossy.”
“You like it.”
“Maybe. Since we’re doing this”—I wink—“I have some stipulations.”
“Of course you do. Let’s hear them.”
“You can’t pay for everything for me.” When he opens his mouth to argue, I shake my head. “I’m serious, Porter. I plan to have a job. I’m not going to let you be my sugar daddy.”
“I kind of like the sound of that title though.”
I smile, shaking my head again. “I still want to go to school.”
“That was never a question.”
“And you are not going to pay for that either.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that stipulation, but continue.”
“That’s not how stipulations work.”
He raises a brow. “Continue.”
I roll my eyes. “I want to take things slow. I don’t want to move in with you right away.”
“But you’ve been living with me all summer.”
“As your employee. That was different.”
“I don’t warm my employee’s beds at night, Dory.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
He groans. “Fine. Next.”
“That’s…all I have.”
“That’s it? Nothing else.”
“I mean, I’m sure I’ll come up with more later…”
I grin, and his dancing eyes make my heart race.
“I love you,” I blurt.
“Thank god.” He smiles. “Because this whole thing would be really awkward if you didn’t. I would be more embarrassed than that time I got naked in front of half my company and had to invoke the Tequila Clause. It—”
“Porter?” I interrupt.
“Yeah, Dory?”
“Stop talking and kiss me before I change my mind.”
And he does.
A Slice of the Future
Porter
“Let’s move it! Hustle, hustle, hustle!” Lifting the whistle that’s hanging around my neck to my lips, I blow it twice. “Pick it up, ladies! My grandma moves faster than this!”
“Your grandmother is dead.”
“Exactly my point.”
My girlfriend rolls her eyes at me, huffing. “You need to chill out. It’s just youth soccer.”
“I know,” I say, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her close. “But I like to win.”
“This is supposed to be your way of unwinding…”
“I’m the most relaxed I’ve ever been—except for when you’re straddling my face in bed.”
“Porter!” she hisses. “Youth soccer! Little ears around!”
“I whispered it!”
“You’re impossible.” She buries her face in my chest in an attempt to hide her smile.
“But you love me anyway, right?”
“Sure.”
“Say it, Dory.”
She tilts her head back and smiles up at me with a look I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of, and not just because she finally stopped wearing her colored contacts and finally showed me the real her—different-colored eyes—one a deep blue and one a deep green—and all.
We’ve been together for a year now, and I can safely say it’s been one of the most difficult and rewarding ones of my life, even including the first year with Kyrie.
Navigating a new relationship isn’t easy, and it’s especially hard when you add a kid into the mix. Sure, Dory was Kyrie’s nanny before she was ever my girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t have new boundaries to set, new guidelines to follow.
Dory was no longer my employee; she was my partner. Kyrie had to learn that new side of our relationship.
Add in the fact that I’m still running a company that’s based across the country, and Dory is now attending college full-time, and it’s been quite a challenge.
But we’re making it work.
“I love you, James Porter Jones.”
My lips curl into a smile. “You always say my name like I’m a rock star or something.”
“I wish you were a rock star. I’d be much more attracted to you, then.”
“Is that even possible?”
“To be more attracted to you? Yes.”
“Are you saying you’re not already overwhelmingly attracted to me?”
“I’m sorry…have you seen the way you eat? You’re like a sloppy baby.”
“Sloppy baby is redundant. All babies are sloppy.”
“See? Impossible,” she mutters, rolling her eyes again.
“But you love me,” I remind her. I press my lips to her temple. “Not as much as I love you though.”
“Is that so?”
I nod. “Yep, because I don’t mind the way you eat, which is like a squirrel, for the record. I find it endearing.”
“Endearing is the kind of term a grandmother would use.”
“Is it? I wouldn’t know. Mine is dead, as you so kindly reminded me.”
She shakes her head, moving out of my embrace so we don’t get carried away like we tend to do. “Porter…”
“Doris…” I mock in the same exhausted tone. “I know, I know—what are you going to do with me?”
“Well, if we were married, I’d threaten to divorce you, but since we’re not yet, I’ll settle on threatening to not move in with you if you don’t get your act together.”
“You just tossed that word out there pretty nonchalantly.”
“What? Married?”
“No.”
“Divorce?”
“Nope.”
Her lips flatten into a thin line. “Enlighten me.”
“Yet.”
Brows squished together, she says, “What? That doesn’t even—oh.” Her eyes widen. “Right. That word.”
“Did you mean it?”
Her gaze darts out toward the field, watching the kiddos chase after the ball. It’s something I should probably be doing, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off her.
This moment feels too important.
Too telling.
I don’t just want to hear her answer; I want to see it too.
After nearly a year of me asking, she finally agreed to move back in with me—properly this time—just last month. We’re packing up her apartment after today’s game.
Since I’ve just recently convinced her to live with me, I know it’s too soon to propose.
But that hasn’t stopped me from buying a ring…last year.
There was a moment when we were sitting in her tiny-as-fuck apartment that I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.
She didn’t have a TV—and refused to let me buy one for her—so we were curled up together on her twin-sized bed. She put her favorite record on, and we just lay there, listening to the music swell and fade.
It was so simple, so easy with us in that moment. Just lying there, together in silence, enjoying one another’s company without any expectations.
I felt like I could do that for the rest of my life, and I knew then she was going to be my forever.
“Dory?” I prompt when she doesn’t answer me.
“Yes.” Her tongue slides out to wet her lips. “Yes, I meant it.”
“You’d marry me?”
She arches a brow. “Is this you asking? Because this is so not what I expected your proposal to look like.”
“You’ve thought about it?”
“What girl hasn’t?”
“This isn’t me asking, but I am curious what your vision is.”
“I’m not answering that. It feels like cheating and creating my own proposal.”
“Fair enough, but it has been noted the soccer field is out of the question.”
“I knew you were a smart man.” She pecks a kiss to my cheek. “Now coach these damn kids. We’ve got a game to win.”
“We’re not done talking about this!” I call out as she saunters away, taking her spot on the bleachers where she sits
for every single game. It doesn’t matter that she has a heavy workload with school and her job; she always makes certain she shows up for Kyrie.
And for me, too.
Blowing my whistle, I motion the team over for a huddle. The kids come running, circling around me, looking up at me with expectant eyes.
It’s been a couple months since I started coaching the team, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way they look at me, like I hold all the answers in the world.
I don’t know why I volunteered to coach. I don’t know the first thing about soccer. Never really been into it—or any sport, really—but they needed someone to step up and I had time on my hands now that Mel’s my partner and essentially running everything, so here I am. Plus, I get to spend more time with Kyrie this way. A huge bonus because even though I’m not running my company by myself anymore, I still have my hands tied up in a lot of the decision-making. It’s hard to juggle the workload and my dad duties, especially since I gave up having a nanny, but I make it work.
Dory teases me about how worked up I get over the game, but we both know this coaching position has worked wonders for me. I was a workaholic before, and I think a lot of that had to do with me fearing failure. I had to keep doing and doing and being better and better. I couldn’t settle for anything less than perfect because the last thing I wanted to do was go back to where I came from—nothing. Handing the reins over to Mel freed me in more ways than just my schedule now suddenly being more open. It meant the weight of everything wasn’t solely on my shoulders and allowed me to share that burden with someone else.
Besides, now if the company fails, I can just blame her.
Kidding…mostly.
“All right, we’re up against a tough team today, but I have no doubt that if we bring our A game, we can beat ’em.”
“It’s not about winning, Dad…” Kyrie says quietly, sounding just like Dory, making it clear they’ve been spending entirely too much time together.
“Right, but winning means…”
“Pizza!” the kids shout.
“I do love pizza,” Kyrie says, thinking on it. “Okay, fine. Let’s win this thing!”
She turns to run off and I call out, “Wait! That was just the beginning of my speech!”
She sighs, shoulders lowered, turning back to me. “But your speeches are awful, and the game is starting.”
“No, it’s…” I glance out to the pitch, surprised to find the other team standing out there waiting on us, the ref with his whistle in his mouth, ready to get going. “Oh, shit.” All the kids giggle at my bad language. “I mean crap. Don’t tell your parents I said that.”
“Can I tell my dad you said that?”
“I am your dad, Kyrie.”
“Don’t remind me,” she says with the dramatic flair only an eight-year-old can muster.
“Coach Porter? Can we go play now?” another kid speaks up, raising his hand like this is a classroom or something.
“Yeah.” I wave my hand toward the field. “Go on, git.”
All but five of them run off. The ref blows the whistle, and they all start darting around the field.
“Go, Little Fish, go!” Dory yells from the stands, clapping wildly.
I slide my eyes her way, and when her gaze catch my grays, she grins.
I mentally tick off another moment of knowing she’s it for me.
About two hours and an exhausted bunch of kids later, we’re named victor, and we all head to our cars to meet up at Slice for our post-game ritual of pizza and milkshakes.
“Dad, can I ride with Kristann?”
“It’s like you don’t even love me anymore.”
“I do too love you. But just, like, fifth.”
“Fifth? What the hell happened?”
“Missy Fishy, Aunt Wren, Aunt Drew, Uncle Sully…” She counts them off on her fingers. She scrunches her nose, shaking her head. “I lied—you’re sixth, because Papa Simon always gives me two cherries on my milkshakes at Slice.”
“I miss California where you didn’t have any family and I was the most important person in your life and you loved me most.”
“And you call her dramatic,” Dory says, sliding up next to me, a bag of leftover drinks thrown over her shoulder.
“She gets it from you,” I tell her, sliding the bag from her grasp like the gentleman I am.
“Is that a yes?” Kyrie asks.
“It’s a yes. Just make sure you wear your seat belt.”
“Obviously.” She rolls her eyes. “Thanks, Dad!”
She races off to meet up with her best friend Kristann.
“When the hell did she get so sassy?”
“Get sassy? I know I wasn’t there for it, but I’m fairly certain that kid was born with her eyes lifted skyward and a hand on her hip.” Dory smiles after her. “But we love her anyway.”
“We sure do.”
“Why do you do that?” Dory asks.
“What?”
“Emphasize we, like you’re surprised I love your kid or something.”
She’s got it all wrong.
I’m not surprised. Kyrie is easy to love. She’s funny, outgoing, and entirely her own style of weird. It’s easy to love her.
But to love her like Dory does, like she’s her own flesh and blood…that’s a choice.
And I’m so blessed it’s one Dory makes.
“Not surprised, Dory. Grateful. There’s a huge difference.”
Her cheeks redden, but she doesn’t address my words. “Come on. We better get going before they beat us there and order double milkshakes like they did last time.”
“That bill nearly killed me.”
“Says the billionaire.”
“Multimillionaire,” I correct as we climb into my SUV.
“Just wait,” she says once we’re buckled in. “It’s gonna be a billion before you hit thirty-five.”
“I’ll definitely have to make you sign a prenup, then. You’re so money hungry.”
“I’m insatiable.”
“Hey,” I say, taking her hand and lifting it to my mouth, brushing my lips against the back before letting our hands rest over on my lap. “You better only be insatiable for my body, not my wallet.”
She wrinkles her nose as I navigate us to the main road. “Did those words actually just leave your mouth?”
“Would you still marry me if I said yes?”
“Is that the proposal?”
“Would you say yes if it was?”
I glance over in time to see her lips twitch. “Maybe.”
“I’m starting to think maybe it doesn’t matter how or where I ask, just that I ask. You trying to rush us into marriage, Dory?”
“Me? Why would I do that?”
“Because of my money,” I deadpan.
She laughs. “Is it that obvious?”
“So obvious. You’ve just been playing coy the last six months, refusing to move in with me no matter how much I begged. I bet you weren’t even really working at the grocery store, just stringing me along, making me think you were some goodhearted, hardworking woman.”
“God, you’ve got me pegged.”
“As long as I’m not the one getting pegged, we’re good.”
“Porter!” She smacks at me.
“Watch it! I’m driving!” I shrug off her attack. “I just wanna make it clear that I am not into ass play.”
“But you have no problems wanting to put it in my ass, huh?” She wags her finger at me. “Turnabout is fair play, you know.”
“Not in that game, honey.”
“Don’t honey me, James Porter Jones.”
“I’ll honey you all I want, Doris Lorraine Palmer.” I swing the SUV into a parking spot, shifting the car into park. I turn her way, tapping my finger against my chin. “Hmm…Doris Lorraine Jones. It has a nice ring to it, you know.”
“It sounds awful.” Despite her words, her tone is wistful.
I lean across the car, letting my lips get as close t
o hers as possible without them touching. “You don’t sound like it sounds awful.”
“It’s hideous,” she insists, drifting closer, and I can feel her mouth ghosting over mine.
Since Dory agreed to stay and fight, she kisses me freely now.
I’ll never grow tired of the way her lips feel on mine or the way it makes my heart hammer inside my chest.
This is it.
The moment.
The one I’ve been waiting for since I bought the ring last year.
I can feel it.
“Dory, can I ask you something?”
She pulls back, eyes searching mine with alarm and hope and so much fucking love it almost hurts. “Of course.”
“Will you…”
“Yes?” She’s nearly breathless now, and her eyes are shifting from hope to excitement, and I’m certain in this moment she’ll say yes.
“Will you…” I swipe my tongue over my lips. “Will you…”
“Porter…you’re killing me here.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…this is big, you know?”
“I know. So just ask it.”
I blow out a steadying breath, grabbing her hand. “Will you, Doris Lorraine Palmer”—her eyes light up even more—“do me the honor of…”
A stuttered breath.
“…getting out of my car so we can go have milkshakes? You’re just sitting around in here letting those heathens rack up my bill again, and we both know I can’t afford that.”
Her eyes go from desire to fury in an instant, and I’m doing everything I can to hold back my laugh.
“I hate you so much right now.”
Her words are whispered, seethed.
“No you don’t.”
“I do. So much.”
“You should really save your I do for our wedding.”
“I swear, Porter, I am going to—”
“What? Marry me?”
“Porter…” She says my name through gritted teeth.
“I’m serious, Dory.”
Her mouth drops open, and I lift my hand, pushing it closed.
“Don’t open this again unless it’s to say yes.”
“You haven’t asked anything.” She juts her chin out defiantly.
“You are awful at following rules.”
“I know.” She grins. “But look where it got us.”
“Here. It got us here. In this moment. The moment.”
Doughn’t Let Me Go Page 22
