Doughn’t Let Me Go

by Hunter, Teagan

  “No, no, of course not. I like that you’re so thorough that you want to really look it over. We can take a rain check on dinner. Looks like I just got a few extra uninterrupted hours to unpack my house, so I might as well use them to the fullest extent.”

  We stand at the same time.

  “Welcome to the team, Fran. I’m excited to work with you and get to know you better.”

  “Thank you for this opportunity, Porter.” She swats my hand away and envelops me in the kind of hug I always wanted from my own mother. “I’m a hugger, and you’re just going to have to get used to that. I look forward to working with you. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  She grabs her purse and waves before heading out the door of Slice.

  I drop back into the booth, letting my head rest against the vinyl as relief washes over me. I might have literally just hired Fran minutes ago, but I already feel lighter knowing I’ll have help. Moving out here has been a lot more stressful than I intended.

  Though much of that is probably my own fault. Like Foster said, I could easily hire someone to do the moving and unpacking, but I wanted to handle it on my own. It’s added stress, but it feels good to be able to do this all myself, almost therapeutic in a way.

  And I need all the therapeutic shit I can get after the disastrous few years I’ve had.

  A failed marriage. A kid to raise on my own. A booming company all in the middle of it.

  It’s not that I’m complaining about that last part—the company is the reason I’m even able to get this fresh start—but it has still definitely added to the chaos.

  My phone buzzes again, and I make a mental note to actually turn on the ringer just in case Foster or Wren call.

  A glance at the screen has me smiling.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” I say.

  “Oh, you’re using terms of endearment—that must mean I did good.”

  “You did very good. I like her a lot.”

  “And she’s not your type, which is a bonus for us, just in case.”

  I groan at the reminder of my screwup. “She technically didn’t even work for us. She was just interning.”

  “Intern or not, you can’t sleep with her.”

  “Well, I know that now.”

  “Aren’t you glad I’m a lesbian, so you never have to worry about me trying to sleep with you?”

  “Never mind the fact that you’re not my type.”

  “I’d be offended but you’re clearly not mine either.” She laughs. “Not sure if Fran told you, but I already sent over the contracts and that NDA everyone but me has to sign over.”

  “I’m about to make you sign one just so you keep your trap shut.”

  “No you’re not. You trust me too much. Besides, you know I’d never betray you. We don’t roll like that.”

  “I feel like that’s exactly what someone trying to play me would say.”

  “I don’t want your money, Porter. I already have a sugar mama.”

  “I’d be your daddy.”

  “I stand by what I said.”

  “Did you just call to insult me?”

  I swear I can hear her grin. “Obviously.”

  “You’re mean. I should fire you.”

  “You can’t function without me.”

  “So true.”

  “Fran let me know you have the night off. What are you gonna do with it?”

  “Are you two already talking about me behind my back?”

  “We have to. It’s in our contract.”

  “I don’t think I like this whole having two assistants thing.”

  “You say that now, but just wait until you’re traveling. You’re going to be falling at our feet soon enough.”

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I have meetings with three potential nannies tomorrow.”

  “I know. I set them.”

  “Geez. Someone’s a know-it-all.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to send over any details?”

  “I’m certain. Just names, and only right before the interviews. You know I don’t want to accidentally be partial.”

  “You’re a good businessman, Porter. I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

  “You don’t. In fact, I’m writing it into your next contract to tell me every single day from now on.”

  She huffs. “That’s the last thing we need—your head getting bigger.”

  “My head could use some clearing out, actually.”

  “Then enjoy your night off. You’ve been busting your ass lately. It’s okay to not be on the go nonstop.”

  “You know I’ll feel guilty just sitting at home and letting those boxes collect dust.”

  “Then don’t go home and stare at them. Go out. Take yourself to dinner. See a movie. Relax. You deserve a night to just be.”

  She’s not entirely wrong. I’ve been in go mode for years now, ever since shit started to hit the fan with my ex-wife.

  It’s how I’ve kept going. That and the anger burning inside me.

  It’s been dissipating lately, I think due to the idea of a fresh start, but it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface. I try to hide it as best I can for Kyrie, but I don’t always do the greatest job.

  Hence my tequila escapades.

  I run my hand through my hair, not caring if I’m messing it up. “I could benefit from a drink or two.”

  “I swear, if you go anywhere near tequila…” Mel warns.

  “Trust me, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve officially sworn off the liquid devil after that last brush with it.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” she grumbles. “Just promise me.”

  “I promise, Mel.”

  “Good boy. Now go enjoy your night—sans tequila.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Porter.”

  “Good night, sweetheart.”

  I hear her laugh at the pet name as she hangs up.

  I remember the first time I let one slip with her. I think if I didn’t pay her so well, she’d have ripped my balls off.

  Now I just do it to piss her off, but I think she secretly loves it when I use them.

  I grab my water glass and head toward the bar, taking an empty seat.

  “Back so soon?” Simon asks as I get settled, a towel hanging over his shoulder. “Things go okay?”

  “Was a very successful night.”

  “Celebrating, then? What’ll you have?”

  I grin at him. “Got any tequila?”

  Slice Two

  Doris

  “Got any tequila?”

  The stranger grins up at the graying man behind the counter.

  He laughs, shaking his head. “You know we don’t serve the good stuff here. Settle for a beer?”

  “Probably for the best anyway. I’ll take an IPA. Draft.”

  “You got it.”

  The older man slides down the bar, grabbing a glass and pulling the handle on the tap.

  I turn my gaze to the younger guy, who’s sitting there with his shoulders slumped, eyes closed.

  I don’t even know him, but I can tell he’s stressed.

  I would know since that’s the exact reason I’m here instead of holed up inside my pitiful apartment.

  Given the sad state of my bank account and the fact that I need to be saving all my pennies for college, wasting money on a dinner out is the last thing I should be doing, but I also couldn’t possibly spend yet another night curled up on my sofa contemplating my life decisions.

  It’s a moot point anyway. What happened, happened, and I can’t take it back.

  Not that I’d want to.

  No matter what struggles I’ve faced since, walking out of my house the moment I turned eighteen and never looking back was the best decision I’ve ever made.

  But I’m not going to think about my past tonight.

  Tonight is not a night for reflection. It’s a night of freedom because I finished my last final thi
s morning. I’ve exhausted all the resources I can at the community college and knocked out a few required courses for my degree. I’m one step closer to doing what I set out to do.

  All I want to do tonight is eat cheap pizza and not think about tomorrow when all of this could change. I could actually be ahead for more than one payday.

  The more I think, the more I’ll dream, and the more I dream, the bigger the letdown when things inevitably don’t go my way.

  Stop thinking about it. It’s like playing the lotto—if you don’t think about it, you win.

  I mentally shake myself.

  The older man drops off a full beer but doesn’t say anything, letting the guy have his moment.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose, a shiny watch that looks expensive glinting on his wrist. He takes a few deep breaths, and I can tell they’re the first real breaths he’s taken in a while.

  His brown hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it, the look not matching the dress pants and white button-up he’s wearing.

  He has that drinking-alone-at-a-hotel-bar kind of vibe to him and looks out of place inside this little pizzeria. He belongs somewhere a hell of a lot fancier than here.

  Unlike myself, who blends in perfectly with this crowd in my old ratty t-shirt, jeans, and shoes that have seen better days.

  “I can feel you staring.”

  I jump at the bite in his words and avert my gaze, even though he’s not actually looking at me.

  “Sorry,” I mumble out of the corner of my mouth.

  He sighs, then turns toward me.

  The first thing I notice is his eyes.

  They’re gray, and gorgeous—dangerously so.

  “You’re still staring.”

  I drop my eyes to his lips.

  They’re just as dangerous.

  Where the hell did this man come from?

  “California.”

  “Huh?”

  “You asked where I came from. California.”

  “Oh.” I sit up straighter, embarrassment flooding through me. “I didn’t realize I said that out loud.”

  “You’re probably staring because you think I’m new around here, and you’re right.”

  That’s not the reason at all, but I’m not about to tell him that.

  “Yes,” I lie. “Sorry about that. It’s just when you’ve lived here so long, you get to know the faces.”

  “Born here?” he asks, grabbing his beer and taking a sip, not once taking his eyes off me.

  It’s unnerving to have him staring at me, but I try not to let it show.

  I watch as he swallows, then runs his tongue across his lips.

  Oh hell.

  “No, transplant, but I’ve been around for a few years now, so I recognize people.”

  “How long did it take for your newness to wear off?”

  “Honestly? Not long. I’m not really a ‘draw attention’ kind of gal anyway, though.”

  His eyes scan over me, and though I’m probably imagining it considering my state of dress, I could swear there’s a hint of interest in his gaze. “Somehow, I highly doubt that.”

  I feel my body betraying me as I squirm in response to his attention, tucking my long midnight hair behind my ear.

  I don’t miss the way he watches my every movement.

  I’ve been out of the dating game for a while, having spent basically all my time focusing on school rather than chasing guys, but there is no misjudging the way he’s looking at me right now.

  He’s interested.

  “Anyone sitting next to you?”

  “No.”

  I don’t know why I say it. What kind of idiot admits they’re alone to a total stranger? I’m just asking to get murdered at this point.

  “Mind if I sit next to you, then?”

  I glance to his hand. No ring.

  “No.”

  Shit! I did it again.

  He grabs his beer and scoots down the two stools, taking up the spot right next to me.

  His thigh brushes against my leg as he gets comfortable in the seat, and I try not to slide off my own.

  “I’m Porter,” he says, and I appreciate that he doesn’t try to shake my hand. I’ve never been big on touching, probably a side effect of my affectionless childhood.

  “Dory.”

  “Like the fish?”

  “The one and only.” It’s my automatic response, because people always say that. I was sort of hoping he might be different.

  “I bet you get that a lot, huh?” he asks, as if reading my mind.

  “Almost daily.”

  “Did I lose points for not being original?”

  I lift a shoulder. “At least two.”

  “Two? Damn, that brings my average down to a B-minus at best. Let me make it up to you. Buy you a slice?”

  “Hmm…” I twist my lips, pretending to think on it.

  Hot dude wants to buy the poor college student dinner? Hell fucking yes.

  “I’ll allow it.”

  He fist-pumps the air like he’s just won a prize.

  “But it’ll only earn you one point back,” I tell him, knocking his enthusiasm down a peg or two.

  “I’d offer to buy you a drink to earn back the other one, but they don’t serve the good stuff here and you don’t look like a beer drinker.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker at all.”

  “I had a feeling. Chocolate milkshake?”

  I shake my head. “Not a fan of those either.”

  His shoulders deflate. “Guess I’ll just have to settle for an A-minus.”

  “If you wanna share a basket of fries with me, I’ll consider awarding another point.”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  He sticks his hand out to shake on it, and I stare down at his outstretched palm.

  When he notices my hesitation, he grins, and it’s enough to have me considering touching hands with him.

  He leans down to look into my eyes, the movement bringing him unnecessarily close.

  He smells like he looks—fancy.

  A deep, musky mahogany scent washes over me. He’s like my favorite candle from that bath store come to life.

  “A deal isn’t a deal until you shake on it. I live and die by that rule.”

  I don’t think, I just act.

  The moment my fingertips brush against his palm, I know I’ve made a mistake. His skin is soft, but not too soft. There’s a roughness to it like, despite his fancy clothes, he’s not afraid to roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt and get his hands dirty.

  His thumb caresses the back of my hand, the touch so minor yet so intimate.

  Would his hands feel just as good on my hips?

  The question blasts me out of nowhere, and I immediately drop my hand from his grasp like he’s the one who made me think it just by touch alone.

  He doesn’t say anything about my abrupt departure, instead raising his hand to flag down a staff member behind the counter.

  The waiter comes bounding down to our end of the bar top.

  “You guys ready to order?”

  “Yes. We’ll start off with a basket of fries.”

  “Sure thing. Anything else?”

  “I’ll take another beer, and Dory here will have…”

  “A strawberry milkshake.”

  His mouth drops open. “You dog.”

  I lift a shoulder. “You’re the one who specified chocolate. I didn’t say I wouldn’t take other flavors.”

  “I’m gonna have to watch myself around you. You just swindled me out of pizza, fries, and a milkshake.”

  “You compared me to a fish.”

  His lips twitch. “I see your point.” He turns back to the waiter. “Cancel the second beer. I’ll take a milkshake too. Chocolate, because that’s the best flavor.”

  “I strongly disagree,” I say.

  “I, too, have to disagree,” the waiter says. “Vanilla is the best.”

  “Ew.”

  Por
ter and I say it at the same time and our heads snap toward one another, mouths agape. Then we burst into laughter.

  The waiter shakes his head. “I’ll be right back with your order.”

  “I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I’m pretty sure I just earned bonus points.”

  “You’re right,” I tell him. “You don’t want to be presumptuous.”

  His grin grows, and so does mine.

  “God, it feels good to laugh.”

  I hear the words leave my mouth, and my shoulders go back.

  Fuck.

  What is up with me tonight? I’m not usually one to be so…open. I’m not the Chatty Cathy kind of gal in general, but I’m usually even more reserved around strangers.

  Except Porter, apparently.

  “Bad day?” he asks, downing the last of his beer, then turning his attention to rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

  The way he says it is innocent and easy, and it’s almost like he knows chatting up strangers isn’t my usual thing.

  I watch him pull the material up, then fold it. The muscles in his forearms jump, and I have to wonder what line of work he’s in that has led him to have such banging forearms and dress so fancy.

  “Bad couple years,” I find myself admitting, absorbed in watching him roll the other sleeve up.

  “Fuck, I hear you there.”

  The dirty word leaving his lips makes my breath hitch, and I hope he doesn’t hear it.

  The glance he gives me tells me otherwise.

  “Bad couple years for you too?” I ask, hoping to distract him.

  “You have no idea.” He finishes rolling his sleeves, then swivels toward me. “I have an idea—let’s play a game.”

  “A game?”

  “For points, obviously.” He winks. “Let’s play Truth or Lie.”

  “Hmm…I like this. And with you being a complete stranger, it’ll be a real challenge.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But how will I know if you’re lying about it being a truth or a lie?”

  He grins. “Guess you’re just gonna have to trust me.”

  Trust.

  That’s a hard word for me.

  But so far I’ve trusted Porter to not murder me, so I guess playing a simple game won’t hurt anything.