The moment I stepped inside the pizzeria, I knew it was all just wishful thinking.
Those broad shoulders my hands know are sitting hunched at the counter in the same spot where we sat last night with our legs brushing against one another every chance we got.
Porter is here.
My first instinct is to run away, to hide.
I don’t want to face him again after the embarrassment that was this morning when I turned away from his kisses not once, but twice.
I wanted him to kiss me. Badly. Wanted to feel his lips locked with mine.
But kisses are important to me. They mean something.
Last night was a one-time thing. I couldn’t risk any feelings getting involved.
So, I changed our rules. He went with it, and I thought we were good.
Until this morning when things got awkward. At first, I felt so awful for turning away from him, but my feelings quickly faded to nothing as I thought about my meeting this afternoon.
I don’t have time for feelings or a relationship. I have school, and if things go well today, I’ll soon have a very full-time job where I won’t have a spare moment for anything.
I can’t let a distraction like Porter get in my way.
“Dory?”
He says my name like he’s not sure if I’m real or not.
I’m real.
Very real if the throb I immediately feel between my legs when he looks at me is any indication.
Collecting himself, he clears his throat, coming to his feet like the gentleman he is.
He stands tall above me, so tall I have to tip my head back to really get a good look at him. God, he’s incredible looking.
His jaw is strong and defined. It’s obvious even under the layer of scruff he’s sporting, the one surrounding lips that are just full enough. He took no time to shave this morning, and I think I like this look more than what he was sporting last night.
His nose is straight and just a little too big, but it fits his face.
There’s a tiny scar above his left eyebrow, one I missed last night, and I wonder what happened.
It took everything in me to not let my gaze roam over his incredible body in the daylight this morning. I wanted to, so intensely, but I didn’t.
I didn’t want to get attached.
Now I wish I’d paid more attention.
I thought the shadows made him look beautiful, but the light shows me everything I missed.
He’s perfection in that imperfect kind of way.
“Have a seat.”
He gestures to the stool next to him, that fancy watch of his drawing my eye—another reminder that whatever we did last night needs to stay there.
We don’t belong together.
He’s riches, and I’m rags.
“I, um…”
“Please.”
I hate the way the throb increases at the word.
It’s the same thing I said to him last night when he was poised above me, teasing me with his length.
Please, Porter. Please.
I check the time on my phone, which is clutched tightly in my hand. I’m early. I have some time to spare. A few minutes can’t hurt, right? We’re both mature adults here.
“Please.”
I break.
“Just a few minutes.”
I take the same seat as last night.
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” he says, sliding into his stool.
He’s careful this time, not letting his long legs touch mine.
I’m grateful for it and miss the contact all at once.
“It’s a small town,” I remind him. Something we probably should have thought of last night.
“That it is,” he murmurs.
He picks up his pizza and takes another bite.
Chew. Swallow. Avoid.
His lips curl around his straw, and I briefly wonder if he’s still mad at me for not kissing him.
Judging by the way his body is angled just slightly away from mine, I’d say he is.
Then again, I’m probably overthinking it. Porter doesn’t seem like the type to hold grudges.
He lifts a hand, flagging down the waiter who abandoned us when he realized there was obviously something happening between us.
“Another water for me, please, and whatever the lady is having.”
“No, Porter. You don’t have to do that.”
He pins me with his sharp eyes. They say Let me do this.
I do.
“Just a Coke, thank you.”
“No food?” Porter asks.
I shake my head. “No. I’m too nervous to eat.”
“Nervous? Because of me?”
Yes. “No.”
“If you’re not here for lunch, what brings you to Slice?”
“Sometimes I just like to come here and inhale the scent of pizza. Pleasure without the pounds.”
He pauses mid-bite, side-eyeing me. “Really?”
I laugh. “No, but it’s good to know you’re a little gullible.”
“Not gullible, would just be surprised if I found someone else who does it too.”
My eyes widen. “Are you joking, or…?”
He shrugs and grins but doesn’t answer.
Somehow, I can believe he does just that. The body I felt all over mine last night made it clear that Porter takes good care of the vessel he was given. I wouldn’t put it past him to be that dedicated to keeping himself trim.
“I’m here for a job.”
I don’t know why I tell him, but at this point I’m not surprised I do. There’s just something about Porter that makes me blurt out things I normally wouldn’t.
“Really?”
I wave a hand over my getup. Even though I’m dressed in my Sunday best, it’s still painfully obvious there’s a massive socioeconomic difference between the two of us. “It’s clear I’m not swimming in cash,” I tell him. “Some of us still have to work to make a living, you know.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it but since you mentioned it…” He leans my way, smirking. “Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming,” he sings quietly.
I glare at him. “I hate you.”
“You didn’t hate me last night.”
When he sees that my glare doesn’t let up, he backs away, tucking his lips together to hide his amusement.
“Sorry,” he mutters, looking anything but.
“Anyway,” I say pointedly, “I’m working toward a degree in social work, but I’m too broke to go to a four-year school. I don’t want anything lavish, just enough to get my degree so I can start helping kids.”
“I think working for tips is a bit of a gamble, but you’re clearly a hard worker, and I respect that.”
I don’t correct him on the fact that I’m not here for an interview to work at Slice. Lottery logic and all.
“Why social work? It’s a little depressing, no?”
Something in his voice sounds like he’s waiting for this epic answer, but if he thinks I’m going to spill my guts to someone just because I slept with them, he’s got another thing coming.
I don’t do kissing because I don’t do feelings.
And my reason for going into social work involves a whole lot of feelings.
“Someone’s gotta do it.” I lift my shoulder.
“Fair enough.”
He takes another big bite of pizza, grease dripping down his chin.
“Good gravy. Someone hold my panties.”
He chokes out a laugh, wiping at the mess. “Sorry. You can take the boy out of the ghetto, but you can’t always get him to act right.”
I file that bit of information away.
Maybe we have more in common than I thought.
Porter’s fancy phone buzzes across the bar top and he snatches it up, looking at the screen with concentration.
“Do you need to take that?” I ask.
“No, but I should probably look available for the person I’m meeting.”
“O
h.”
He turns to me, giving me his full attention.
“It’s not a date, Dory.” He leans toward me. “But tell me, would it upset you if it were?”
I stiffen, my eyes narrowing. “No.”
His gray eyes search my face for several beats before his lips pull up, and then he turns his attention back to the last few bites of his pizza.
“Thought so.”
It’s clear in the way he says it that he doesn’t believe me.
Ass.
I hate the way his words make me feel defensive, like I’m supposed to just fall at his feet and be jealous of every other girl he sleeps with because we had one night together.
That’s not who I am.
Porter can do whatever and whoever he wants.
He doesn’t belong to me.
It was one night.
“I’m going to go,” I say, taking another peek at my phone.
Less than five minutes until my meeting. I’m going to need every single one of them to compose myself after seeing Porter again.
“Thanks for the Coke.” I let my eyes linger, almost begging him to say something even when I know it’s best he doesn’t. “Goodbye, Porter.”
I turn from him, making my way to the door and taking a seat on the bench beside it. Pushing my shoulders back, I smooth my hands over the navy skirt I found on the clearance rack.
A loud scraping draws my eye toward the bar, and I see Porter stumble out of his stool.
I raise a brow, watching him.
He looks at his phone, then at me.
Then back to his phone.
Me again.
This time, he doesn’t look away.
Even from across the pizzeria, I can see him swallow thickly. His tongue—the same one I felt between my legs and on my skin last night—darts out to wet his lips.
“Doris Palmer?”
My heart drops.
No. No, no, no, no, no. It’s not possible.
He takes a step toward me, and I stand, halting his movements.
“M-Mr. Jones?”
His gray eyes flare.
And I run.
Straight out of Slice, past Porter’s fancy car, and through the parking lot.
I run until I can’t run any more. I am way too out of shape for this shit.
“Dory, wait!”
I look over my shoulder, surprised to find Porter chasing after me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I do the only logical thing I can think of—sprint across the street.
Only I’m a moron because the next thing I know a horn is blaring as a car careens toward me. I’m frozen in the middle of the busiest road in this town, cars whipping past me, honking like I’m insane.
I clearly am.
A strong arm curls around my waist and hauls me into the brick wall otherwise known as his chest.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Porter yells, shaking my shoulders. “Are you fucking insane?”
I pull out of his grip, but he doesn’t let me dart away this time, instead wrapping his hand around my wrist, holding me there.
“Stop running,” he commands. “Stop running and talk to me.”
“About what?” I scream. “What!”
He doesn’t flinch at my outburst, like he was expecting it.
Or maybe he’s just used to childish actions, considering he’s a father.
Though he failed to mention that part.
I had no idea who Porter was last night when I agreed to go home with him, no clue he’s the guy who holds the key to my freedom. We didn’t exchange any information other than our first names.
We didn’t need to. We weren’t trying to connect. That’s not what last night was.
But now? Now I regret that because as I stand here before him, I’m watching everything I wished for vanish.
I’ll be honest, I didn’t think I’d even have a shot at getting this job when I applied. It was too good to be true. A salary that cushy and free room and board? My luck has never been that good.
So when a woman called me to set up an interview with the father, I was ecstatic. This kind of pay could transform my life. I wouldn’t have to work multiple jobs and babysit on my off days all while juggling going to school full-time just to pay my bills and keep my checking account in the black.
I could breathe again.
The woman didn’t give me much information on the man, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth and go prying when he clearly wanted to keep his private life just that—private. If it was meant to be, it was meant to be. I’d see that for myself during the interview.
I thought it was an odd request when she emailed earlier this week asking me to select the location where I’d like the interview conducted, but I figured her wealthy employer was just eccentric.
Again, gift horse.
I picked Slice because I feel comfortable there, and because if the interview went south, I could drown myself in cheap pizza and wouldn’t even have to leave the booth to do it.
I even saved a few extra bucks this week just in case.
“Dory… Doris…”
He tests my full name on his lips, and for the first time in my life, I don’t hate the moniker my mother cursed me with.
The warmth that spreads through me fuels my anger.
“What can we possibly talk about, Porter?” I shout. “The fact that I felt you inside me last night and this morning you’re supposed to be interviewing me for a job that could have changed my pathetic excuse of a life? Is that what you want to discuss? That the break I’ve been needing was finally within reach and now it’s further away than ever?” I yank my wrist from his grip, unable to stand him touching me right now. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There’s a whole lot to talk about here, Dory.”
I hate the way his tongue slides over my name with familiarity. With heat. With knowing.
It especially pisses me off given our circumstance.
“His name is James,” says the woman on the other end of the line. I’ve already forgotten her name, too excited about this opportunity. “James Jones.”
“James Jones. That’s easy to remember.”
“Is your name even Porter?” I ask him.
His head whips back, surprised. “Of course it is. Why would I lie about that?”
“That’s not what your assistant said. I was supposed to be meeting a James.”
His hand comes up and he pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. I’ve come to recognize it as something he does when he’s frustrated, like pinching himself draws him back into the moment he’d rather run away from. “James is my first name. It was my father’s name too. I hate it and never go by it.”
“You might want to tell your assistant to not give it out, then.”
“She does it to protect me.”
“Because you’re a multimillionaire.”
It’s not a statement, more of an accusation. Even I can hear the difference.
He grimaces, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, Dory. I’m so fucking sorry.”
His voice is raw. Hurt. Sad.
He’s apologizing for last night, and we both know it.
He’s regretting it as much as I am.
There’s no way I could work for him now. We’ve seen each other naked. Adults or not, there’s a line you don’t cross. You don’t sleep with the help.
“Listen—”
I hold my hand up, stopping whatever it is he wants to say. “Save it. We both know how this ends. I didn’t get the job. It’s fine.”
“But—”
“Please,” I beg, slamming my eyes closed, letting all the dreams I was secretly excited for slip away. I open them again, and he’s watching me with those piercing gray eyes I barely know but am going to miss. “Just don’t.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, dropping his chin to his chest.
I take one last look at him, drinking him in.
/> It’s for the best, I lie to myself. I knew it was too good to be true anyway—the job and him.
Even if we hadn’t slept together, this would have never worked. I’m not that lucky. Never have been.
It’s for the best.
“Goodbye, Porter.”
This time, he doesn’t chase after me.
Slice Five
Porter
“I need you to send me everything you can about Doris Palmer.”
“Did you love her?” Mel asks excitedly. “I knew you would. I had a feeling about her when she sent in a passionate letter about how she just wants to help children along with her resume. Her heart felt so big.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, thumping my head against the leather headrest in my SUV.
Of fucking course Dory would send in a letter to her potential boss. She marches to the beat of her own drum. I don’t have to know her for years to see that. It’s obvious in the way she carries herself.
“Did she tell you how she’s going to use her salary to pay for a degree in social work? I mean, it felt like fate, given your history. I know how grateful you are for the woman who saved you.”
Another thump.
When Dory told me she was going to school to become a social worker, I almost busted out my checkbook and wrote one for enough to cover ten years’ worth of schooling.
The look on her face as she talked about it… Man, I could have kissed her in that moment. Not that she’d have let me, but still.
“She was really something,” I say into the phone, almost robotically.
Mel sighs, and I can picture her scowling. “What’s wrong, Porter?”
“Nothing.”
“I know you better than that, jackass.”
Not even Mel calling me names can get me to smile, and it usually does. I’m known for being a grump. Mel’s the only one who never stood for any of my moody shit. It’s a big part of why I hired her.
“I’m…I’m still trying to decide is all. I’d like to see her file.”
“Okay, but I have to warn you, there was one requirement of yours she didn’t meet. She’s not twenty-one yet, but her birthday is coming up in three weeks, so I figured she’d be close enough.”
“Just send the file, Mel.” My tone is clipped.
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, probably trying to figure out what’s going on. “Okay, I’ll send it over now. But, Porter, are you sure you’re okay?”
Doughn’t Let Me Go Page 5