Porter, Page 6

  I feel bad that this will be his second time to go for beer. “I’ll make the run next time.”

  “No way. I don't want you to miss a minute of this show.”

  “Well, that's hardly fair for you to stand in line every time.”

  “It would kill me if you were standing in the beer line when they play your favorite song.”

  “It would kill me too.” I have to hear them play ‘Faithfully.’ No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

  Porter leaves and returns with four tallboys straight out of the ice chest. “Oh my God. They’re so cold.”

  I lift my hair and hold the frigid can against the back of my sweaty neck. “Ohhh… that feels so good.”

  I enjoy my moment of coolness against my skin before opening my eyes to see Porter staring at my mouth, his lips slightly parted. “What is it?”

  He grins before looking away and shaking his head. “Nothing.”

  ‘Wheel in the Sky’ begins, and it triggers one of my favorite childhood memories. “My dad loves this song. He used to put me on his shoulders and dance around the kitchen while my mom cooked dinner.”

  “It must have been fun growing up with parents who were so young.”

  “You have older parents?”

  “They’re in their sixties.”

  “My parents were young and fun, but we struggled for a lot of years. I bet with your parents being older, they were financially stable and you never had to worry about your bills getting paid.”

  “My dad is a financial advisor and my mom is a college professor. So, no. There was never any worry about how bills were going to be paid.”

  “That must have been nice.”

  “I never thought about it being nice or otherwise. It was just the way things were.”

  ‘Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’’ begins, and my hips have a mind of their own. “Ooh, this is a good one.”

  “One of their best.”

  With knees bent, my hips sway back and forth with every beat. “I swear I was born in the wrong generation. I should have grown up when this kind of music was current. Everyone who knows me says that I am an old soul.”

  “I tend to agree. And not just because of your choice in music. You’re very mature for your age.”

  “Do you still see me as a kid at twenty-one?”

  “I don’t see you as a kid. Not even a little.” He’s unsmiling, eyes locked on mine. If we were somewhere else—just the two of us—I think this is the point where he’d lean in to kiss me. Maybe.

  “Excuse us. Excuse us.”

  Mutha. Humper.

  Porter and I sit in our seats to make room for the two girls needing to get by. And just like that… the moment we were having is ruined.

  Journey plays one hit after another. They don’t miss a single one of my favorites. I’m sad when they play ‘Faithfully’—the final song of the encore—but I’m also happy because it’s my all-time favorite. “I’ve seen my mom and dad dance to this song a thousand times.”

  Porter takes my beer from my hand and puts it under my seat. “Dance with me.”

  “Here? In the aisle?” There’s not enough room.

  “Yeah. Right here, right now.” Porter steps behind me and wraps one arm around my waist to pull my body close to his. He uses his free hand to push my hair off my neck and presses his mouth to my ear. “Just like this.”

  Oh. Fuck.

  His breath on my skin makes the entire right side of my body erupt in chills. And the rest of me erupts in tingles—the sexually thrilling kind. The sort that makes you feel your panties getting wet.

  He presses his face against the side of my head and wraps both arms around my body. And I let him. Hell, I even take a step back so that my back—and ass—are pressed firmly to his front.

  I lace my fingers through his and we sway slowly together. Anyone looking at us would likely assume we’re a couple deeply in love. And for a moment I pretend we are.

  Maybe it’s the song—or maybe it’s the four beers I’ve had since we got here—but I’m feeling brave. Nothing about being in Porter’s arms right now makes me nervous. Everything about this feels right.

  I relish the feel of his arms around me, our bodies pressed against one another, and the warmth of his breath on my skin. But mostly, I love the way I feel dancing with him to my favorite Journey song. Feels romantic.

  The song ends and so does our dance. I mourn when it finishes, but the night isn’t over. And I have high hopes that this dance is only postponed until later.

  The amphitheatre illuminates when the lighting is brightened, and Porter releases his hold on me. “I think that means we shouldn’t expect another encore.”

  All good things come to an end. “I think you’re right.”

  “Fighting this crowd to get out of here should be fun.” Porter reaches for my hand. “Stay close.”

  No worries. That won’t be a problem.

  We weave in and out of the crowd, sometimes pressed together. Other times our arms stretched to the point that I’m certain we’ll be torn apart. But we somehow manage to stay together on the way to our designated meeting spot with Ken. “It’s going to take us forever to get out of here.”

  “I don’t mind. Gives us time to talk.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for bringing me. It was a wonderful concert. Seriously one of the best I’ve ever been to.”

  “I think it could be my favorite.”

  We make small talk during the thirty-minute ride to my house. Talking across the backseat with a complete stranger in the front hearing every word we say is uncomfortable. And frustrating. I want to continue what we were doing during that final song of the concert. I want to move closer to him. See if he’ll reach out for my hand. Pull me against him. Press his mouth to my ear and whisper things the driver can’t hear.

  But none of those things happen.

  Shit. Have we gone back to being two professionals in the workplace? Being boss and intern?

  God, I hope not. I liked where things were going an hour ago.

  The SUV pulls to a stop in my driveway and I don’t want to get out of the car. Not without something more. “I had a wonderful time.”

  “I’m glad.”

  I’m thinking of every possible excuse to stay with him, but nothing comes to mind. “Thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I guess I’ll see you on Monday.” I pull the handle to open the door.

  “Wait.” That one word makes my heart speed.

  Porter gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. “No way I’m letting you out of this car without seeing you to the door.”

  “My daddy would appreciate that.” Or maybe not. He would probably be quite pissed off if he knew I was with Porter right now.

  Walking me to the door. That feels very date-like. But what I’m more interested in is what Porter does once we reach the door.

  “Did you tell your parents you were going to see Journey tonight?”

  “I did. But I didn’t tell them it was with you since we agreed it was best no one knew we were together. They think I went with Ava and Dillyn.”

  “So it wouldn’t be great for them to look out the window and see me on the front porch with you?”

  “Probably not.”

  Porter takes my purse from my shoulder and places it on the rocking chair. “Let’s move away from the porch light.”

  He leads me to the side of the house. “Much better. Less chance of being seen here.”

  He steps closer and cups his palms around my lower face the way guys do in all the great romance movies. “I want to kiss you.”

  I want to kiss you. Those words make me all swoony-feeling inside, and my chest heaves up and down as I anticipate what’s coming. My breath… it’s suddenly so loud and unsteady. I lick my lips but the air moving in and out of my mouth works against me to dry the moisture I applied with my tongue.

  He rubs my bottom lip with his thumb. “Your mouth i
s beautiful. Full pink lips with the perfect Cupid’s bow. Everything I love.”

  He tilts his head and skims his lips and stubbled chin back and forth over my mouth. Not a full-on kiss. Just a tease.

  “You should tell me now if you don’t want this. Because it’s going to be damn near impossible to stop once I start.”

  “I want this.”

  I just asked a girl for permission to kiss her. That’s never happened. Not even when I was young and probably should have been asking.

  Frankee couldn’t be more different from my typical kind of woman. Younger. Sweeter. Not at all the kind of girl you’d shove against the exterior wall of this house to fuck—and then walk away because you got the one thing you wanted from her.

  No, sir. Frankee Dawson isn’t that kind of girl. If I tried to tug her shorts open right now, I bet she would shove my hand away and tell me no. And for the first time in my life, I wouldn’t find that to be a turnoff.

  It’s sexy as fuck.

  I want this. I hear those soft, sweet words leave her mouth, and I’m electrified. On fucking fire just by the prospect of kissing her.

  I cradle her face and savor the nearness of our mouths. No touching, just simply sharing air. Amazing how fucking intoxicating it is to feel her warm breath on my mouth.

  And I can’t remember ever wanting a woman more.

  I press my lips to hers. Softly. Sweetly. Slowly. And our mouths move together in perfect synchronization until we open for our tongues to meet. The two are slick, wet velvet sliding against one another.

  I move my hands from her face to her lower back and pull her closer so our bodies are pressed together. But I’m careful; I don’t want her to feel as though I’m dry humping her like she’s a cheap whore.

  She drapes her arms over my shoulders and pushes her fingers into the back of my hair. Her nails scraping my scalp send chills down my spine.

  “Woof… woof-woof… woof.”

  She pulls away, and we both turn at the sound of the barking dog on the interior side of the fence. “Get out of here, Teddy. It’s just me. Go away.”

  The exterior lights on the corner of the house come on. “Frankee? Is that you?”

  Shit. It’s Scott.

  Frankee leans forward and places a quick kiss against my mouth. “Gotta go. Stay here until I turn off the lights.”

  Shit. I’m thirty years old and sneaking around behind everyone’s back with a girl almost ten years younger than me. I’m fucking hiding out at the side of her house and waiting for a cue to leave so her daddy doesn’t figure out that we were making out after our secret date.

  Everything about this is fucked up.

  But everything about being with her feels wonderful.

  The light goes off, and I return to Ken’s car. “Sorry about the delay.”

  “No worries. I’ve been driving you for a while now. I’m used to delays.” Ken’s words are a reminder that he has waited in the car many times while I finished off a one-nighter.

  I don’t know why it matters to me, but I don’t like that Ken sees Frankee as another one-nighter. I guess it’s dumb, but I feel the need to set him straight. “This one is different.”

  “Ah, I said that once about a woman.”

  “What happened?”

  “I put a ring on it. That was seven years and three kids ago.”

  I had no idea Ken was married with children. “She’s my intern. And her father has been one of my best employees for five years. He knows things about me and my personal life. I’m not sure he’ll approve of his daughter dating me.” Not when he’s been the one to turn away the women who came to the brewery looking for me.

  “She’s an adult, right?”

  “Barely.”

  “Well, Daddy can’t do anything about it if she’s legal.”

  True. But that’s not the way I’d prefer this to play out. I’d want Scott’s approval.

  I don’t know why I’m sitting here worrying about this. Frankee is only here for ten more weeks. Scott will probably never even know about us.

  If there is an us.

  Fuck. I really want there to be an us. And I’m ready to work on that right now.

  I scroll through my list of contacts and find Frankee’s number. I have to know she’s thinking about me and what just happened.

  Porter: Everything ok?

  Frankee: It’s fine. He didn’t know you were there.

  Porter: I had a great time tonight.

  Frankee: I did too.

  Porter: I hope you’ll want to see me again. Outside of the office.

  Frankee: I would like that.

  Porter: Can you see me tomorrow?

  Frankee: I wish, but the whole family is going to visit my grandparents after church. I can’t skip.

  Porter: Can I book you for lunch on Monday?

  Frankee: My boss is a real hard-ass. He has me doing a lot of busy work, but I think I can work you in.

  Porter: Good.

  Porter: And just so you know, I wasn’t finished kissing you.

  Porter: Does that scare you?

  Frankee: More kisses? No.

  Frankee: How much I want more kisses? Hell. Yes.

  Porter: Why are you afraid of wanting more?

  Frankee: Because I’m leaving soon.

  Porter: I think this is a conversation better had over lunch instead of text messages.

  Frankee: Agreed.

  Porter: Sweet dreams, beautiful.

  Frankee: Goodnight. Sweet dreams to you too.

  They will be sweet dreams if they include Frankee.

  I already know Frankee well enough to figure out that she is a creature of habit. She clocks in between 7:43 and 7:45 every morning. Hence, the reason I’m here at 7:35 to have a venti white chocolate mocha waiting for her on her desk, fire up her computer and select a Journey song to be playing when she comes in, and leave a note reminding her of our lunch date. Not that I think she has forgotten. I just want to let her know that I’m pleased to be spending time with her today.

  I open the top drawer of her desk in search of a sticky pad and come up empty-handed. I only find her sketchbook. Odd she’d leave it here for the weekend. I’d expect her to take it home in case inspiration struck.

  I crack it open and flip from the beginning, searching for a blank page I can tear out. Portraits. Landscapes. Abstracts. You name it and she’s drawn it. She’s talented beyond her years. But her last sketch is the one that catches my attention and hypnotizes me.

  Intricate thick black tapered lines. Swirls. Crisp, clean edges. Ink on skin. My skin. Except these sketches aren’t just my tattoos. They’re the lower portions of my tattoos, the only parts Frankee would be able to see below my sleeve, but with new ink and designs added to them. And they look cool as hell.

  I take out my phone and snap several pictures of her drawing before putting her pad back in the drawer. I forgo tearing out a sheet; I don’t want her to know that I’ve seen her sketches of my tattoos. At least not for now.

  I bolt next door to my office and scribble out my message.

  Lunch with the boss at 12:00.

  Don’t forget. —P

  I have no more than two minutes before she’ll arrive at her desk so I dash back to the art department. I select ‘Faithfully’ to play; I want her to be reminded of our dance. Lastly, I fold the note in half with her name on the outside like a seating card.

  I rush out the door and run right smack into Molly, chest-to-chest. Well, almost. More like chest to abdomen since Molly is so much shorter than me. “Good morning, Porter.”

  “Good morning, Mama Molly.”

  “Why do I have the feeling that you’re up to something?”

  Molly’s motherly intuition is never off. “Because I’m always up to something, and this morning is no different.”

  “This morning is different. You’re here earlier than usual, and you’re running out of the art department like a scalded dog.”

  “I brought Frankee a cof
fee.” I shrug, playing it off like it’s nothing. “You caught me.”

  “Did you bring me a coffee?”

  “Yes. It’s waiting for you on your desk.”

  “Good boy.” Molly makes a V with her index and middle fingers, using them to point at her eyes and then mine. “But I’m still watching you.”

  “What’s new?”

  I’m in my office no more than five minutes before Frankee is standing in the doorway knocking. “Thank you for the white chocolate mocha. And the music. That was really thoughtful.”

  Ah, she noticed the song playing. “You’re welcome.”

  “I was planning to work on the new merchandise today. Is that okay, or do you need me to do something else?”

  “Merchandise would be great.”

  “Do you have a minute to look at the draft of the new website? Or are you tied up?”

  “I can come have a look.”

  I go to the art department with Frankee and roll a chair over from the opposite desk so I’m beside her. Close.

  She opens her draft. “Home page. I’m keeping everything clean and streamline but with bold graphics.”

  “Looks good.”

  “Do you really think so? Because I want you to tell me if you don’t.”

  “I do. Really.”

  “The first drop-down is our beers. I think it’s nice for the customer to see all of the beer options on one page but that’s a lot for a mobile device to load. Since most people will be looking at this from a phone, I broke them down.”

  “Makes sense.” I lean closer and inhale deeply. Mmm… peach and floral. “You smell really good.”

  “Thank you.” She clicks on the next drop-down. “This one is beer locator. Nothing special going on there. Just a search for Lovibond beer distributors.”

  I can hardly concentrate on what she’s saying. “I haven’t been able to think about anything but kissing you again.”

  Frankee looks toward the open door and lowers her voice. “Porter…”