“For how long?”
“Too long.”
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t actually smile. “What happened?”
Fuck. Of course she’d pick the most loaded question of the bunch to ask.
What happened? I don’t know.
I woke up one morning, happy and satiated. The next I was a shell of a broken man.
It was a Wednesday. I remember because Wednesdays are pancake days. We’d always get up half an hour early to celebrate hump day. We’d have slow, quiet sex, then we’d get up and make breakfast together. It never felt like a routine or a slump. It was just what we did. It was how we connected, took time for ourselves.
It was our thing.
Except for that Wednesday.
I woke up and the bed was empty. I thought maybe she’d gotten up to pee. So, I waited. And waited. When she never came back to bed, I called out for her.
Nothing.
I searched for her.
Nothing.
Then I saw the note.
Went for milk.
I knew she was gone. It was a joke we used to make, running out for milk and leaving the world behind.
Only she really did it.
I sigh, pulling myself from the past. “I wasn’t what she wanted.”
Dory stays quiet, and I don’t provide anything else.
We stay here, finishing our coffees in silence, avoiding all eye contact.
When it’s clear she’s not going to ask any more questions and I’m not going to just start spilling all my deepest darkest secrets, I set my empty mug in the sink and ask, “Breakfast?”
She starts to push up off the stool. “Sure. What do you want?”
“No.” It’s firm, and maybe a little harsh if the look of anger that crosses her face is any indication. “No,” I say softer. “I’m not asking you to make breakfast, I’m offering to.”
“You cook?”
“Sometimes.” I shrug. “Any requests?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m not picky.”
“That’s a relief.”
I pull open the fridge and find there’s not much stashed in there in the way of breakfast food.
I close the door, turning back to Dory. “I lied. How about we do breakfast out?”
She laughs. “That barren, huh?”
“It’s not pretty.”
“I promise by tonight, you’ll have a fully stocked fridge.”
I wipe my hand across my forehead. “Phew. I might go broke eating out all the time.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wince.
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Dor—” I let her name die on my lips. I can’t stand to call her Doris. It doesn’t fit her. “I didn’t mean to sound so privileged.”
She waves her hand. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
I blow out a breath. “Thank you.” I glance at the clock on the microwave. “I better get dressed—I have a conference call at nine I can’t be late for.”
“Right.” She stands. “I should get Kyrie up. We can take separate cars to breakfast and I can stop by the grocery store on the way home.”
Home.
I like the way it sounds on her lips.
My eyes drift to said lips, the ones I never got the chance to taste. The ones I’m dying to taste. Why wouldn’t she let me kiss her?
“…wake up?”
I shake myself from my stupor when I realize she’s just spoken and I have no idea what she said.
With reluctance, I drag my gaze from her mouth and say, “Sorry, what?”
Her tongue darts out to coat her bottom lip, like she knows what I was just thinking about. “I asked if there was a certain time you’d like me to be waking Kyrie up?”
“Hell no. It’s summertime. Let that demon sleep—just means more quiet time for me. As you’ll see soon enough, living with a seven-year-old is no joke.”
Dory laughs. “Fair enough.”
She turns the faucet on, rinsing her cup, then pulling open the dishwasher to put it in there. She grabs my mug too, and I make a note to stop being a lazy shithead and clean up after myself because she doesn’t need to be doing that.
I’m not a slob by any means, but I also don’t always need my house to be spotless. Sometimes I let the dishes pile up a little, and sometimes my clothes don’t always make it to the hamper. Not anymore. I can’t have Dory cleaning up my messes. It’s not fair.
When her eyes slide my way, it’s clear I’ve lingered too long.
I clear my throat. “Right. Getting dressed. Be ready by seven thirty?”
“Got it.”
I turn to head out of the kitchen, but I don’t get far.
“Porter?”
I stop but don’t look back. I don’t know why I don’t look back, but I can’t. If I look back, I’ll stay. I can’t stay.
Keep it professional, not personal.
“Yeah?”
Then, “Is she still in the picture?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, hearing the question she’s really asking.
Should I be worried about your jealous ex?
“No.”
* * *
“You can’t just boss me around, Porter!”
“You do realize I am literally your boss, right? You signed the contract, Doris.” I slam the grocery bag onto the counter and hiss her name like it’s a curse. “That’s how this works.”
For the first time in my career, I missed a conference call. Fran called me panicking, thinking she never scheduled it into my calendar, worried I’d fire her.
I reassured her that her job was safe, that the mistake was all mine.
The missed call isn’t why I’m pissed.
I’m fuming because the girl who’s managed to worm her way into all my thoughts is driving me up the wall with her stubborn bullshit.
After our mostly comfortable encounter this morning, I thought for sure we’d finally found some common, unawkward ground.
I was proved wrong right away.
It started with me insisting we ride to breakfast together because I didn’t trust her car. That comment made her angry.
Then I refused to allow her to pay for her own breakfast.
That one fed the anger.
And finally, when I wouldn’t let her buy her own groceries “like I promised,” she broke and called me an ass in the middle of the grocery store.
Thankfully Kyrie was knocked out cold on the ride home. All the excitement of the store and stuffing herself silly on pancakes made her fall fast asleep.
The moment she was out, Dory turned on me, going on and on about what a controlling dick I am the whole way. She thinks I’m just throwing my money around and showing off, thinks I’m just trying to take care of her because of our transgression.
Every time she spit the word at me, vomit would rise in the back of my throat and make me regret ever using it.
Now she glares at me from the other end of the counter, the argument still not over. “In all aspects of my life?”
God, I wish. “No, but in this one? Yes. You’re driving around my precious cargo. You need something reliable.”
“My car is reliable. It’s never once broken down on me.”
I don’t know how exactly, but I can tell she’s lying. “Lie. You owe me.”
She knows right away what I’m referring to—our game of Truth or Lie.
“Asshole,” she mutters, her voice barely audible.
My chest rumbles with a sardonic laugh. “I’ve heard worse.”
“Oh, I can do worse.”
She grabs a few boxes from the reusable shopping bag and turns to the pantry.
I slide up behind her, close but not touching.
I found myself doing the same thing in the store. I’d hover, but I’d never touch.
I really wanted to touch.
“Oh, Doris, I am well aware.” My voice is low. Thick.
I know it affects her, me using her full name.
She growls, hatin
g it as much as I do.
But I have to. It’s the only way I can keep things professional. I like the way Dory rolls off my tongue way too much. I can’t keep using it.
She steps away from me, farther into the pantry.
If I wasn’t so worried about my daughter bouncing her way into the kitchen at any moment, I’d follow Dory in and lock us both inside until we’d gotten whatever this is out of our system.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
“Where do these go?”
Her innocent question pulls me from the haze.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I never really got around to organizing, so you can pick and we’ll all just roll with it.”
“You should get some baskets in here and label them, make it easier to just grab and go.”
“That’s fine. Do whatever will make things easiest for you.”
“Oh my gosh.” Kyrie drags two jugs of milk into the kitchen. She bends, her hands on her knees, wheezing dramatically. “These things are heavy.”
“This is what happens when you skip your workouts, Kyrie. Should have gotten up with your dad yesterday and hit the gym.” I flex my muscles. “These guns could carry gallons easily.”
Dory barks out a laugh from inside the pantry, and I hear her hand smack over her mouth. “Sorry, just read something funny on this…soup can!”
“We didn’t even buy any soup,” my daughter mumbles, shaking her head. She walks over and pulls open the fridge, grabbing a coconut water and holding it out for me to open. “Use your big muscles to open this.”
“A please would be nice.”
“Please?”
I crack it open. “And?”
“Thank you.” She snatches the carton out of my hands and takes as big a drink as she can. She exhales dramatically—apparently it’s the only way the kid knows how to function—while wiping her mouth. “Ah, that’s the stuff. Get those ’lectrobrights in.”
I smother a laugh at her mispronunciation. “Go grab the rest of the groceries, weakling.”
“Ugh. You are so bossy.”
“Tell me about it,” Dory complains.
“If I’m not back in five minutes, I’m dead because you’ve exhausted me to death. Death!”
Kyrie walks out of the kitchen, dragging her feet like she’s worn out already.
“Should have gotten up for your workout!” I call after her.
“Do you make her work out?”
I glance to Dory, irritated she’d even think I’d force my seven-year-old to exercise. “Of course not. She makes that choice. She actually loves going to the gym with me. It’s our bonding time, the few minutes during the day where we can be sure I’m not bothered by work.”
Dory nods, grabbing another box from the grocery bag, and I can see she feels guilty for assuming things.
I flex my muscles again. “If you think these are sweet, you should see hers.”
She rolls her eyes. “She’s right—you are exhausting.”
She disappears back into the pantry, and I head to the fridge with my own collection of things to stash away.
We work in silence for a minute or two.
“You’re not buying me a car, Porter.”
I sigh. I was hoping she’d let it go, just accept it. But she won’t.
I turn to find her standing in the open doorway to the pantry, staring at the box in her hands.
My feet take me to her, and before I know it, I’m standing mere inches away. She looks up at me.
We’re so close. All it would take is one step closer, a slight bend of my knees, and our lips could be touching.
“I’m not offering to buy you a car. I’m just offering to buy another car. You can use one to take Kyrie anywhere you want to take her, and I’d still have one available too.”
“What did you do when you were living in California? Did you have two cars then?”
“No, but I had Mel, and she was all I needed. Now that I don’t have her anymore and we live a little more remotely than in California, I think two cars is necessary. I mean, shit, I have to drive two towns over for meetings. Me buying another car just makes sense.”
She thinks on it for a second. Purses her lips. Then, “No.”
“You can’t just boss me around, Dory.” I say it softly.
Her name falls from my lips like it was made to be there.
She grins when I say it. Or maybe it’s from my teasing. Either way, I love seeing the smile on her face.
But I hate when I watch it slowly slip away, her shoulders pulling back, face determined.
She takes a step back, retreating from me. From us.
“You’re right. I’m not the boss here, you are. It’s your money, your house, your daughter. If you don’t want me to drive her around in my car, that’s your right as the employer.”
So resolute. So sure.
So cold.
My lips begin to turn down, but I catch them.
Professional. Don’t show emotion.
I nod. “That’s exactly my point.”
“Holy smokes.”
Dory jumps like we’ve just been caught doing something wrong. Funny, considering right now it feels like she’s a mile away.
“You’re right, Dad—I regret skipping the gym.” Kyrie hauls two more bags into the kitchen.
“I told you so, kiddo. Ever since you painted your room black, you’ve been sleeping in more and more and skipping the gym.”
“The black is really dark,” she mutters, then shrugs. “But it looks so cool.” She huffs, then dusts her hands off. “Just two more. How many people are we feeding in this place?”
She runs back out the front door I’m sure she’s left wide open.
I look over to see Dory watching her with a wistful grin. She hasn’t had such a look of happiness on her face since she was in my bed.
It’s heartbreaking, and it makes me realize something.
No matter how badly I want her, I can’t have her. I can’t fuck this up. We can’t fuck this up. Kyrie needs her, and she needs Kyrie.
But my body isn’t getting that message and my stupid fucking feet move on their own again. Before I know it, I have Dory crowded into the pantry, up against the wire racks.
“Porter, what are you—”
The words die on her lips when I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, careful not to touch those lips I so badly want to touch. She’s set that line, and I won’t cross it.
A low noise bubbles out of her, and I want to make her do it again as she presses her body into mine.
I try not to think about how much I’m going to miss this feeling when I walk away.
Slowly, I press kisses all along her jaw, right up to her ear and back again. Then I repeat it on the other side.
As she pants against me, I trail my lips down, over the column of her throat and to the base. There’s a spot just above her collarbone that I have on good authority she’s particularly keen on having kissed.
A moan rushes out of her the moment I make contact, and she presses into me even more.
In this moment, she wants me. Wants this.
But I know if I hadn’t surprised her with this moment, this touch, she wouldn’t want any of those things.
I trail my fingers down her sides and right under the vintage band tee she’s wearing, dancing the pads over her soft, silky skin until I’m sliding them over the pebbles of her nipples.
She groans, and I want to swallow the sound with my lips, but I can’t.
“I want to taste you. So fucking badly. Not just your mouth—all of you.” I slide my tongue over her throat, pulling her nipple between my finger and thumb, playing with her. “That night wasn’t enough.”
I feel her swallow. “I-It has to be.”
This time it’s me who growls, nipping at the sensitive spot she loves to have touched. Marking her.
If I can’t have her, at least I’ll give her something to remember me by.
There’s a shuf
fle in the kitchen, and I freeze, but Dory doesn’t hear it, too drunk on this moment.
Strictly professional, I remind myself.
It takes every single ounce of strength I have to put distance between us, but I do it.
Dory doesn’t notice right away, gulping for air, chest heaving, eyes closed.
Slowly, she peels them open, and I see the fire in her gaze.
“Dad? Dory? Hello?”
The realization that we’ve been caught washes over her, and regret fills her blue pools.
“Porter—”
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you in Slice.” My voice is so scratchy, a barely audible whisper.
She gulps.
“But I haven’t,” I say, still so low, because I know my daughter is on the other side of the door. “I’ve kept my distance and I’ll continue keeping my distance. Because you’re right—I am your boss. We work together now. Drop whatever notion is in your head that I’m out here trying to rescue you and provide for you like you’re someone special to me. You’re my daughter’s nanny. That’s it.”
Her eyes burn, and she gets my message.
I want you, but we can’t. Let me take care of you the only way I’m able to.
“Are we understood?”
She nods.
I reach for the door just as Kyrie pushes it open.
She stares up at us, her little brows pulled together in confusion. “Didn’t you hear me say your name?” She looks from me to her nanny. “What are you doing in the pantry together?”
I don’t have an answer.
Luckily Dory springs into action.
“Oh my! Thank goodness you were here to save us! Your silly dad let the door close behind him and we couldn’t get out.” She ushers Kyrie back to the bags of groceries, pulling things out and loading up her little arms with them. “I’d have hated to be trapped with him for too much longer. He’s a little grumpy right now.”
“Yeah,” my daughter says. “You gotta feed him or he gets that way. Hopefully we have something he’ll want to eat.”
Dory sputters, and I know why.
There’s something I want to eat all right.
Her.
Slice Eight
Doris
“Is this becoming our new thing?”
“What’s that?”
Doughn’t Let Me Go Page 9