Doughn’t Let Me Go

by Hunter, Teagan

  “You in?” he asks.

  “I’m in.”

  “Excellent.” He rubs his hands together. “If you guess correctly, you get a point. I’ll go first.”

  “Wait!”

  “Waiting.” He grins.

  “Our points—what can we cash them in for?”

  “Kisses.”

  His answer is automatic. So confident, so sure. Like it was waiting on the tip of his tongue, ready to roll off at any second.

  It sets my body on high alert.

  Not in a bad way, either.

  In a suddenly-desperate-to-win kind of way, which is surprising to me.

  I’m fine with sex. It’s just sex, something to take the edge off. You can do it with no feelings attached.

  But kisses? They’re predicated on nothing but feelings.

  Which sounds stupid to most people, I’m sure.

  Sex is a means to an end, a race to the finish line.

  Kissing is what happens before the race even begins. It’s intimate in ways sex isn’t.

  I’ve only ever kissed people I have feelings about, and I plan to keep it that way.

  Despite what he thinks, I’m not going to kiss Porter. I don’t even know him.

  That said, I can tell him I’m playing for kisses, because what he really wants is sex, and that I can do. It’s been a long time, and I could use the distraction tonight.

  Between school and busting my ass working to get in as many hours as I can so I can finally get out of the shitty apartment I live in and move somewhere that doesn’t require me to have four locks on my door, I’ve had no time for doing the naked tango.

  Except for tonight.

  A night off—the first one I’ve let myself have in a long time.

  Tonight, I have all the time for sex.

  And if that’s what Porter wants, I’m game for it too.

  I could use an escape from my normal day-to-day, and he seems like just the right person for the job.

  “You still in?” His lips curl up in a cool smirk. “We can make a pros and cons list if you’d like.”

  I laugh. “No, no lists. Lists are the worst. I’m in.”

  If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.

  Instead, he turns on his stool, facing me fully.

  I do the same.

  He lifts his hand, flagging another member of the staff.

  “Can we get a pen and a couple extra napkins?” He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he makes the request, watching me, waiting to see if I’ll change my mind.

  I won’t.

  “Sure thing.” The waiter scurries off to the register at the other end of the bar, grabbing a pen and a stack of napkins. “Here you go.” He sets the materials in front of us and then saunters off.

  Porter grabs the pen, scribbling our names at the top.

  I peek over to see what he writes.

  Porter. Ellen.

  I snort out a laugh and sit back, watching his lips twitch at my reaction.

  He draws a line down the middle.

  “Just remember, Dory, you’re not allowed to fall for me.”

  “Fall for you?”

  He leans toward me, eyes sparkling. “I’m a really good kisser.”

  I roll my eyes. “Just go.”

  “I grew up in a two-bedroom apartment.”

  “That’s not even a juicy confession,” I complain. “Lie.”

  He grabs the pen, the tip hovering over the blank space under my name. Then he glides it over, making a tally mark under his own.

  He was telling the truth. He got the point.

  “Your turn.”

  What can I say that’s not too revealing? I tap my chin. Hmm…

  I finally decide on: “I’m originally from New York.”

  He studies me, like he can tell if I’m lying just by the way I look.

  “Truth.”

  I grab the pen and make a mark under his column. Bastard is winning.

  “Interesting.” He runs a finger over the scruff lining his jaw. “My parents are still married.”

  “Please. So easy. You scream white picket fence. Truth.”

  He makes a mark under his own column.

  “I—”

  “Two milkshakes and a basket of fries.” The waiter slides our order across the bar to us, and we turn our attention his way.

  “Thank you,” Porter tells him. “Were you ready to order, Dory?”

  “I’ll just take a slice of pepperoni.”

  “That’s it? Pepperoni?”

  “Yes.”

  “At Slice? Where they have things like cheese sticks on pizza?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s so…basic,” Porter admonishes.

  “Did I just lose points?”

  He nods solemnly. “At least two, I’m afraid.” He turns his attention back to the waiter. “Two slices of pepperoni, please.”

  I gasp. “You dog.”

  He laughs. “Guilty.”

  “Two slices coming up.” The waiter taps the counter and walks away.

  “Pepperoni is a classic,” Porter says, picking up a few fries. “Slice is cool with all its weird pizzas and everything, but sometimes you just want to go back to basics.”

  “I agree.”

  We don’t say anything for a few minutes, diving into our milkshakes and fries.

  We go for the same fry at the same moment, our fingers making contact.

  It’s like one of the moments in the movies where everything just sort of stops moving and our eyes connect.

  He stares at me intently, and I stare back.

  The air around us pulses, and I have this distinct feeling that if we were alone right now, we’d already be naked.

  “We are so cliché,” Porter mutters, breaking the awkward tension.

  I laugh. “Horribly so. My turn?”

  He nods. “Yep. Give me a good one this time.”

  “A good one? Hmm…good one, good one. Let’s see…” I snap my fingers together. “My eyes are two different colors.”

  “Lie.”

  I make a mark under my name this time.

  Ha! I’m finally on the board.

  “No way!”

  I lift a shoulder. “I wear contacts to hide it.”

  “I want to see.”

  “No way.” I take another long pull from my milkshake. “You have to earn that privilege. Only a handful of people have seen it.”

  “I’ve never met someone with two different-colored eyes before.”

  “Don’t try to play the sympathy card with me.”

  “You suck.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Thank you. Your turn.”

  “Even though I feel like that was a trick question, I’m going to let it slide. I’m twenty-six.”

  I look him over, searching for any sign that will tell me differently.

  Which is stupid because I know several people who look too young or too old for their age.

  “Lie.”

  He makes a mark under my name. “Very good. I’m twenty-eight.”

  I swallow.

  It’s just a one-night stand. Just a one-time thing. Who cares if you’re not even legal to drink for another three weeks and he’s pushing thirty? You bang one out and never see him again.

  It’s fine. This is fine.

  I lean toward him. “Ah, I see them now.”

  “Them?”

  “Your wrinkles,” I tease. “They’re a dead giveaway, old man.”

  “And how old are you?” he asks, and I know it’s his way of asking if I’m legal or not.

  “You’re safe from the big house. I wouldn’t have allowed this to go so far if that weren’t the case.”

  There’s relief in his eyes. “I figured, but you can’t be too trusting these days.” He leans into me again, and I match his movements. His gray eyes search mine, and I almost wonder if he’s looking to see if he can find the edges of the lenses I’m wearing. “Something you should have remembered before you told me no o
ne was sitting next to you, revealing that you’re all alone.”

  “I wasn’t afraid of you,” I admit to him.

  “Good.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he inches in even more. If I moved my head just the slightest, I could capture his lips with mine. “Because the only thing I’m going to do is make you feel good.”

  Fucking hell.

  I nearly fall off my stool.

  Where did this guy even come from?

  “Porter?”

  His eyes fall to my lips, like he’s watching his name fall from them. “Yeah?”

  “I don’t think I want pizza anymore.”

  He swallows thickly, then stands abruptly.

  I stumble backward, watching as he reaches into his wallet, pulls a handful of bills from inside, and tosses them down on the counter.

  I glance at our makeshift scoreboard. “I believe you’ve earned a few kisses.”

  He smirks. “A full-blown make-out session at this point.”

  “Our lips are going to go numb.”

  He holds his hand out for me.

  I look at it, then at him.

  If I put my hand in his, I’ll officially be going home with Porter. And if I go home with Porter, we’re not going to sit around playing Scrabble all night long.

  I don’t think.

  I react.

  And I clasp his hand in mine.

  Slice Three

  Porter

  A ray of bright light sneaks its way between the blinds of my bedroom. I’m not the type of guy to hang curtains, never have been.

  I love the sun, which is probably why I’ve always lived along the coast. The rays breathe life into me in a way I’ve always longed for. They’re my happy place.

  But this morning?

  I’ve never hated the sun more.

  Groaning, I roll away from the intrusion.

  Only I don’t move. I can’t move.

  There’s someone lying on top of me.

  I peel my eyes open and glance down at the dark head of hair snoring lightly on my chest.

  Dory.

  She’s the reason I’m annoyed with the light. The light means all the things we did in the dark are over, and I don’t want them to be over.

  They were too good to be over so soon.

  A grin stretches across my face as last night plays through my mind.

  We practically ran out of Slice to my car. Not a single word was spoken on the drive to my house. I think we were both too scared to ruin the spontaneity of it all.

  We didn’t know each other, but maybe that was the allure.

  I’ve had a rough couple weeks, and it was clear Dory had as well. All we needed was some instant gratification. No strings. No expectations. Our meeting was fate.

  And the sex?

  Fuck.

  At first it was rough and rushed. We needed the release too badly to take things slow.

  The second time, it was softer. Slower. We explored.

  The third time was bittersweet as the realization that this was going to come to an end in the morning washed over us.

  We didn’t say it, but we knew neither of us is in a place to be in a relationship.

  Last night was a one-time deal. Just enough to take the edge off.

  I lost count of how many times we took the edge off.

  All I know is I’ll remember the feel of her body against mine for many, many months to come.

  Soft. Warm. Pliant.

  She didn’t care that I took charge, as long as I took care of her.

  It was everything and nothing I expected.

  I want to do it again.

  My eyes trail down her soft curves, remembering how her tight body felt beneath my palms. How beautiful she looked with her head tossed back, her long hair wild as she rode my cock into the wee hours of the morning. The way her back arched as she fell apart under my tongue.

  It’s all permanently seared into my mind.

  “I can feel you staring.”

  I chuckle at her repeating my words back to me.

  “I’m not sorry,” I tell her.

  She peers up at me. “Did last night really happen?”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “Can you pinch me?”

  I do.

  “Ow! I didn’t mean pinch my ass!”

  “Sorry.” I trail my fingers back up her side and pinch her already hard nipple between my fingers. “Better?”

  She makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a groan. “That was rude.”

  I laugh. “It didn’t sound like you thought it was rude.”

  “It’s not my fault my body doesn’t know the difference.”

  “Our bodies are traitorous, fickle creatures.”

  “Tell me about it. All I wanted last night was some pizza.”

  “And all you got was a pizza this ass?”

  Her face scrunches up. “I can’t believe you just said that. I can’t believe I slept with a person who would even think that.”

  Laughing, I roll until she’s tucked beneath me, her thighs automatically spreading so I can fit between them.

  “You liked sleeping with me and you doughn’t regret it even though I just said something cheesy.”

  “Did you just use not one, but two pizza puns in that sentence?”

  “Guilty.”

  “I’m so ashamed of myself right now.”

  “Too ashamed for a round four?” I roll my hips into her and she gasps.

  “Porter…”

  “That sounds like a no.”

  I lean down to press a kiss to her lips, but she turns her head away, my mouth skimming against her porcelain cheek, which is stained with just a hint of red from resting against my chest all night.

  Right. No kissing.

  “I changed my mind about the kisses,” she says as I push open the front door of the house I’ve lived in for less than two weeks.

  As we climb the front steps, I warn her it is a bit chaotic in here, and she laughs, waving me off.

  Looking around at the stacks of boxes, I’m suddenly glad I’ve been too busy to unpack. It means there are no pieces of Kyrie spread about, which means I don’t have to explain that I’m a single father.

  It’s a conversation I hate having with people. They pry too much, and I hate the sympathetic looks I get.

  I look back at her. “Why’s that, Dory?” I grin playfully. “Too scared you’re going to fall for me?”

  She doesn’t answer. Not really, anyway. Just tucks her lips together and says, “Just no kissing, okay?”

  I agreed.

  But looking at her full lips in the light of day, I’m starting to wonder why I did.

  “I should probably go,” she says quietly, not looking up at me.

  Rolling off her, I glance to my bedside table where my old-school alarm clock rests.

  “Not a bad idea. I have a meeting in an hour, and I should probably shower.”

  “Right.”

  She scoots away and off the bed, not bothering to cover herself up as she goes.

  I like that she doesn’t cover up, like she isn’t scared of her body.

  Or maybe she just realizes it would be a moot point because of last night.

  I don’t bother trying to talk myself into taking my eyes off her. I couldn’t even if I tried.

  When I first felt her staring at Slice last night, I was annoyed. In LA, you don’t have to worry about people staring. Everyone exists in their own little world. You’re invisible.

  That’s not the case here. Here, everyone sees you, even when you don’t want them to.

  All I wanted last night was a drink and some time to myself.

  Then I felt her eyes on me, and I snapped at her.

  When she apologized, my heart squeezed at how small and worried her voice sounded. I felt like such an asshole, that guy I was back in LA—the sullen grump who never smiled—and that’s not who I’m supposed to be here.

  I turned to apologize to her,
and my breath stuttered.

  I don’t think she heard it, but I’m sure my eyes couldn’t hide the obvious interest.

  She was different than I had expected. Her shoulders were curled inward, defeated, and I knew it had nothing to do with me snapping. She was just as broken as I felt.

  And don’t even get me started on what she was wearing: jeans that had holes obviously not put there for fashion’s sake and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt two sizes too big for her. Her nineties look was completed with a flannel draped across the back of her stool.

  It was obvious she wasn’t there to impress anyone, especially not the likes of me.

  Maybe that’s what I liked the most.

  “You’re still staring.” She smirks.

  “Guilty.”

  I pull myself from my insanely comfortable bed that was worth every single penny I spent on it and groan, stretching out muscles that haven’t been worked in a long, long time.

  You can hit the gym as much as you’d like, but there’s something else entirely about a workout from great sex.

  “That good, huh?”

  I sputter out a laugh, surprised at her words. “Someone’s proud of herself.”

  She lifts a shoulder. “I just call it like I see it.”

  “I like that you’re confident.”

  “I’m not confident, Porter.”

  Her tongue rolls over my name. I liked the way she said it in the dark, but in the daylight?

  I love it.

  She pulls her shirt over her head, hiding her perfect breasts from my view, and I realize then I’ve made no move to cover up my naked body.

  If the way her gaze lingers on my cock is any indication, she realizes it too.

  “Plan to stay that way all day?”

  “Half-hard thinking of you? Yes.”

  Her movements falter for only a moment before she recovers.

  “That sounds like a personal problem.”

  “One you can help with, if you’d like.”

  I step around the bed, curling my arm around her middle, tugging her into me like I can’t not touch her.

  “Porter…” It’s not just my name; it’s a plea.

  For more? For less? I don’t know.

  I run my nose along her cheek. “Dory.”

  She sighs. “I really do have to go. I-I…” My breath tickles a spot below her ear, the one I know she loves to have teased. “I have a meeting.”

  “I do too.”