“Hmm.” It’s a grunt, not a greeting.
Great. He’s in a pissy mood.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Like shit.” He lets his phone clatter loudly to the counter and takes a sip of his coffee. “Pure fucking shit.”
“Oh.”
I don’t know what else to say. “Sorry” sounds stupid, and if he’s in this mood, I don’t want to try to engage him in chitchat.
Instead, I busy myself with making a cup of coffee. Full to the tippy top, one scoop of sugar—that’s it.
I didn’t always drink my coffee like this. I used to indulge in the fancy flavored creamers, but somewhere along the way, I told myself I didn’t need to be spending extra money on something that’s not necessary. So, I quit. A bag of sugar was a much better investment, could last me way longer than those creamers ever did.
I still miss them.
I lean against the counter, staring at him, taking my first drink.
It’s bitter.
Like him.
“Gracing me with your presence this morning?”
I gulp.
I was hoping he hadn’t noticed, but it’s obvious he has.
I haven’t stayed for coffee since Wednesday.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy his company, because I do.
But that’s precisely the problem. I enjoy his company.
Too much.
“I was planning to,” I say softly.
“Why? Need something?”
His hostility burns through me, and I straighten my shoulders. I don’t care if I like him or not—he won’t treat me like his punching bag just because he’s in a mood.
“You’re being a dick, Porter.”
He sighs heavily, head hanging low, shoulders pulled in tight.
His hand comes up in that familiar movement of his as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The muscles flex in his forearm, the sleeves of his sky-blue shirt rolled up.
Why does he always have to roll the sleeves? Doesn’t he know how much more attractive that makes him? Doesn’t he know it’s killing me?
“I don’t mean to be snappy,” he finally says quietly. “I’m just tired is all, a little stressed.”
I watch him rub and pinch, like he’s trying to soothe away his irritation.
“Anything I can do to help?”
Too personal.
I ignore the voice in my head.
Porter sighs again, but it’s not an irritated sound this time. It’s almost…happy? Relieved? “No. You already do enough, Doris.”
Doris.
I inwardly groan.
I hate that we’re in this situation, hate that it’s constantly awkward between us. I hate that he fights to not call me by the name I prefer because it sounds too much like a caress.
“Are you doing anything special today?”
Panic zings through me. Does he know today is my birthday?
No. That’s dumb. He can’t possibly know.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”
The corners of his mouth pull down just a fraction, but he catches himself before he can let them droop too far. “What’s up?”
He says it so casually one might think there’s nothing wrong.
But I’m not that stupid.
I ignore it anyway.
“I’d like to take some of my personal hours tonight, if you don’t mind.”
“Hot date?”
I bristle at his sharp tone. “That’s none of your business.”
“You’re right.”
No apology, just You’re right.
“You can have your time, Doris. It’s not like I have a very active social life right now. I’ll be home.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He stands, and I look away, not wanting to watch his navy suit pants cling to his thighs.
“Busy day?” I ask him.
“Nothing too wild, a meeting with a guy from a few towns over. We’re gonna talk apps and business. He’s looking to switch security companies, and he’d be a good fish to hook.” A grin tugs at his lips. “No offense.”
I’d let him make fun of my name all day if it meant he’d smile like that again.
“It sounds dreadfully boring.”
“It can be.”
“How’d you get into doing cybersecurity?”
It’s the first time I’ve asked about his job, and it surprises him too.
Brows raised, he asks, “You really want to know?”
I nod. “I’m curious. Besides”—I sweep my hand around the room—“you must have a good origin story if you got all this out of it.”
“Origin story? Does that mean I’m a villain?”
“Undetermined.”
Another grin. “I—”
His phone chimes and he swipes it off the counter.
“Shit. Story for another time. I gotta get going. Small issue on the West Coast and I’ll have to call my assistant on the drive there.”
“Sure. No problem.” I nod again, sipping my coffee to hide my frown.
Porter downs the rest of his and puts his empty mug in the dishwasher.
He turns toward me, and I peer up at him.
“What?” I say when he doesn’t speak or move.
For the first time since I’ve known Porter, he hesitates.
Uncertainty is a weird look on him. He’s always so…strong. Assertive. Sure.
Then, after he’s waged the war inside himself, he takes a decisive step toward me.
Then another.
Then he’s right beside me.
My breath hitches, and I know he hears it.
His hand goes up and…
He reaches past me, into the fruit bowl.
A wolfish grin curves his mouth. “Breakfast will have to be on the road today.” He shakes an apple at me.
He steps around me and I watch him leave, still holding my breath.
When he reaches the edge of the kitchen, he pauses, his head turning slightly.
“Dory?”
Dory.
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. He knows I’m listening.
“Stop hiding.”
Our coffee dates—he misses them.
I do too.
I nod once.
He leaves.
And I breathe again.
Slice Nine
Porter
I’m chopped liver to my own kid.
When she told Dory bye for the night, she twirled right around to me and asked if she could spend the night with Foster and Wren again.
Who am I to deny the gremlin what she wants?
Afterward, a phone call was made, and an overly excited Wren agreed.
Foster was less inclined to say yes—mostly because he’s still salty about teatime—but agreed. Then he started to make a comment about Dory and me and I hung up on him. I don’t need to hear it. Not tonight.
Not tonight when we’re both free and there are no titles like boss and nanny in our way.
I blink up at the building as I shift my car into park.
Apparently I drove to Slice on autopilot. I don’t know why. Kyrie and I just had pizza for lunch yesterday during our day date. I invited Dory, but she declined.
I was grateful and annoyed.
My feet carry me inside and I plop myself down in an empty seat at the bar. A waiter comes by and I place my order for a beer. Tonight definitely calls for alcohol. I just wish they served the stronger shit.
I nod my thanks when he brings my drink and then I proceed to chug half of it.
Yeah. Definitely wish this was the good stuff.
Glancing around, I see this place is packed, though I shouldn’t be surprised by that. Slice is a popular place for teens and young twenty-somethings to hang out at. With cheap delicious food, a good IPA on draft, and a fun playlist always on rotation, it’s a good place for blending in and being alone without ever really feeling that way.
My eyes fall to the book sitting
on the bar next to me. It’s flipped over to hold the place of the reader, and I check out what the booknerd is reading.
The Outsiders.
Not caring who it belongs to, I pick the book up, holding the place they were at while flipping to the beginning.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Even though the words are sharp, a calmness washes over me.
She has that effect, which is why I’ve been so frustrated these last few days, that familiar bubble of anger threatening to overflow.
All she does is hide, and all I do is seek her out so I can find that calm, even if it’s just for a few minutes.
“On my birthday of all days.”
Her words are murmured, but I hear them.
Her birthday.
Shit. I almost forgot.
I’ve spent so much time the last few days annoyed with her for constantly running away from me I completely spaced on today being her birthday.
“Seriously, Porter? What the fuck?”
Her frustration slices through my thoughts.
She’s in a mood tonight, and I feel like flirting with danger.
Grinning, I set the book down and look over my shoulder at the dark-haired beauty standing next to me. “Evening, Doris.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Knives cut at me.
No, wait—that’s just her tongue.
I tsk tauntingly. “Now, Doris, that’s no way to talk to your boss.”
“You’re not my boss right now. I have the night off, remember?”
Oh, I remember.
My eyes slide over her body, caressing her in a very unprofessional way.
Does this chick own anything other than band tees? And are any of the bands she listens to even popular now?
She’s swapped her leggings and hole-filled jeans for a skirt tonight. Short. Very short. Black. And she’s sporting high-top knock-off Chuck Taylors.
All she’s missing is a flannel and a choker to look like she just stepped right out of the nineties.
I turn away from her. “Quit hovering and sit.”
“You’re not my boss.”
She growls when I grin around the beer bottle I’ve pulled up to my lips.
“Technically—”
“Leave,” she barks.
“No. It’s a free country.”
“Then I’m leaving.”
Muttering curses my way, she pulls something off the stool, and I look to see what she’s grabbed. Ah, there’s the flannel.
Her hands reach for the book, but I yank it out of her reach before she can steal it.
“Give me that!” she argues.
“No way. Finders keepers.”
“It’s mine, you moron.” Another growl.
Someone’s feisty tonight.
“What’s your deal?” I ask.
She sighs, irritation ringing loud and clear. “My deal? My deal?” To my surprise, she steps toward me. She might be expecting me to shrink away in fright, but I don’t. “My deal is that tonight is my night off—my first night off, mind you.”
“That’s your own choice,” I interrupt.
It’s the wrong thing to say. Her eyes fall to slits.
“It’s my night off and you’re here, the one person I’m actively trying to avoid and the one person I can’t seem to fucking escape.” Her eyes slam closed, and her voice drops low…sad. “All I want to do is escape. I don’t want to keep thinking about this awkward situation we’re in. I just want one night.”
One night.
That’s all we had before.
Maybe…
Without overthinking it, I reach toward her, my fingertips sweeping up her cheek until I wrap my hand around the side of her face. She doesn’t even flinch when I touch her, doesn’t pull away. No, she leans into my touch.
“Dory.”
It’s a whisper, but I know she hears me.
“Stay.”
She peels her eyes open, her ocean orbs finding mine.
Then she moves out of my reach…and sits.
She doesn’t turn toward me, just stares across the bar top. Without asking, like he knew we needed it, the waiter sets another beer down in front of me and another water in front of Dory.
She gulps hers down, and I watch, not touching my own drink.
Finally, after several beats of silence, she turns toward me.
“Why are you here, Porter?”
Her inquiry is softer this time but still just as pained.
“I didn’t know you were here,” I tell her. “I promise. I didn’t even mean to drive here. It just happened. Guess my brain was seeking out simpler times or something.”
She lets out a derisive laugh. “That’s why I’m here too. Well, that and the cheap food.”
It annoys me to know she’s still living like this is all going to be gone tomorrow.
It won’t be. If I had my way, this would never end.
“Do I not pay you enough, Doris?”
“You do.” She almost looks embarrassed by it. “But I need to save. For school.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her I’ll pay for her school, but that’s stupid. I don’t know her well enough to offer something like that.
I’d like to though.
We don’t talk for a few minutes, and the waiter comes back.
“Not to alarm you, but a huge crowd of kids just came in. If you don’t place your orders now, you’re gonna get stuck behind them in the kitchen.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” I look to Dory. “Ready to order?”
“You’re not buying me dinner, Porter.”
I ignore her.
“I’ll take two slices of your cheese stick pizza, and she’ll have two slices of pepperoni. One strawberry milkshake and one chocolate. We’ll also take a basket of fries, a side of cheese dip, and if you toss in at least four things of ranch, I’ll make sure you get a good tip.”
The kid grins. “You got it, sir.”
Then he scurries off and Dory stares at me. I don’t have to look at her to know her eyes are full of anger.
“That’s a lot of food. Are you really going to eat all that?”
“No. We’re going to eat all that.”
“Porter—”
“For fuck’s sake, Dory,” I say, maybe a little too harshly, as I spin toward her. “Can’t I just buy you dinner? It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re an employee, and I’d like to think a friend too. Friends do this for each other. Just shut up and let it happen.”
She blinks once.
Then again.
Then she grins.
“Friends…I like that.”
“Yeah, what did you think we were? Mortal enemies?”
“Sometimes it feels that way.”
She laughs, but I don’t.
Because sometimes it does feel that way.
I’d like to say it won’t one day, but until I can forget the way she felt under me, we’ll always skirt that line between friends and wanting more.
We both know it’s not anger between us, not really, more like frustration…of the sexual nature.
“Since we’re going to have this huge meal, why don’t we move to that booth that just opened up?”
It’s her suggestion, which surprises me.
A booth means more privacy, especially considering it’s the one in the back she’s pointing to.
I nod. “Let’s do it.”
I wave to the waiter and then motion toward the booth.
He nods, understanding.
I try to avert my gaze as Dory hops down off the stool, try not to look at the way her short skirt fits her in all the right ways.
I fail.
She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t want to bring it up. She gathers the rest of her things, and I grab my beer and the book.
My hand falls to her lower back as she leads us back to the booth. It feels natural. Normal. Like that’s just where my hand goes when it comes to
her.
I realize how we look right now.
Me, clad in business attire because I didn’t get the chance to change. Her, looking like she’s waiting to meet the band backstage.
It’s ridiculous, and I probably look like I’m trying to pick her up or something.
I wish.
I barely resist letting my eyes fall to her ass as she slips into the booth on one side.
When I slide in opposite her, she lets out a loud sigh and stretches her legs out under the table, resting her feet on the seat beside me, careful not to let us touch.
“There. Now I can relax.”
I watch as she closes her eyes, settling in, letting the sounds of the restaurant wash over her.
Her arms are crossed over her chest, and I notice she does this a lot. I wonder if it’s her way of shielding herself against life.
We haven’t talked about her past much, but I know she didn’t have it easy. It almost seems like she’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and that’s a damn sad way to live life.
Her full lips are relaxed, not pinched or twisted together in a scowl.
Next to seeing her smile, this is how I like her most.
Serene.
“Is this our other thing?”
I watch her lips ask the question.
God, I want to kiss them.
“My eyes are up here.”
I chuckle, pulling my gaze up. “Other thing?”
“You know, coffee in the mornings, and then this—the staring.”
I tip my head, amused. “You were staring first.”
“True. Only because I couldn’t figure out what a guy dressed like you was doing in a place like this.”
I let my fingers play with the label on the beer bottle. “It’s all Foster’s fault. He couldn’t shut up about this place when we were in Cali together, always rambling on about how it was the best pizza he’d ever have. And he’s right, the pizza is damn good, but I think the real reason he loved it was because of Wren.”
She smiles wistfully. “Their story is so sweet. Childhood friends, him pining after her for years while she was too blind to notice. Then one day, bam! It comes crashing down around her.” Her lips pull wider. “It’s so sweet I could shit.”
I sputter, the beer I just took a drink of dribbling down my chin. “Oh fuck.” I wipe at it with the back of my hand. “Jesus, Dory.”
She bats her lashes innocently. “What?”
“Who the hell taught you that saying?”
Doughn’t Let Me Go Page 11