Page 15 of Roommate's Guide to Love

Especially that last one. I hated Stella’s former fiancé, and taking him down was a highlight of last year.

“All right, ladies, here we go.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Porter is at our table, delivering us a tray of food that I don’t think anyone ordered.

And did he put on cologne? The one he knows I like because I stupidly told him I did in a semi-sober state?

“What’s this?” Ainsley asks.

Porter starts setting down the arrangement of bar food. “I figured that no girls night is complete without snacks. So these are loaded cheese fries, some fried pickles with extra ranch because I know you’ll just ask me for more so I saved a trip, mozzarella sticks, jalapeño poppers, and of course, chicken wings.”

Oh that sly fucker…

“Really? Chicken wings?” I ask as my sisters start reaching for baskets. “Bold of you to assume we want chicken wings.”

“But it was the right assumption,” Ainsley says as she reaches over for the basket. “Who says no to chicken wings? I always want them.”

Poor thing has no clue what she’s saying, or why Porter is snickering. And it’s taking every ounce of my being not to crack up, especially since the debate is heavy in my house on whether Ainsley is still a virgin.

“I hear ya, Ains. They always hit the spot.” Porter picks up our empty glasses before looking at me. “Anything else?”

The silent conversation we’re having in our eyes would be fascinating to watch if anyone around us had any clue what was happening.

I’m trying to act cool and calm and that maybe I won’t be at his house tonight.

He knows I’m going to be.

I try to play it off.

He gives me a subtle wink that makes my pussy clench before he walks away.

Goddammit, I’m having sex tonight…

“Porter’s the best,” Stella says in between bites of a mozzarella stick that leaves a touch of marinara on the corner of her mouth.

“Yes he is,” I say on a sigh, making sure he’s out of eye shot before I take a wing. “He really is.”

5

porter

I really can’t complainabout living next door to the bar. It’s convenient when I need to get there quickly. I save a shit ton of money on gas. And on nights like this, when I was stuck inside for hours, it’s nice to breathe in the air during my hundred-yard walk.

Usually, I’d take my time. Go over anything I need to remember—like making it a priority to hire a second bartender. Breathe in the crisp air. But not tonight. No, tonight I need to get home.

I’ve got the best kind of surprise waiting for me.

How do I know? When you’ve slept with a woman for eight years, you get to know their looks. Their body language. And the smile that Quinn sent me before she left with her sisters? I only get that smile when she’s feeling extra feisty.

It’s about to be my lucky night.

God, she looked so good. You’d think since I just saw her a month ago she wouldn’t have this kind of effect on me. It was actually the opposite. From the second I saw her in that tight white blouse, her hair messy on top of her head, I wanted to turn off the “open” sign and fuck her right there on top of the bar. When I was at her table, I wanted to sit her on my lap, just so I could feel her against me. And when she leaned over the bar tonight when I stupidly told her to come closer? She knew what she was doing when she gave me the perfect view of her tits. The woman knows they’re my kryptonite.

Which is why I’m sprinting home. When I walked out of the bar and looked toward my house, I could see a faint light coming from my bedroom. I take the porch steps two at a time and throw the door open, kicking off my shoes as I all but sprint to my bedroom, thankful I showed her where I hide the spare key years ago.

I take a second to catch my breath—I have to keep some sort of cool about me—before opening the door. Now, I could find her asleep. There have been nights she’s come over and used my spare key when I’ve had a late-night closing. When that happens, I wake her up by her favorite way—with my tongue between her thighs.

Except when I open the door, I see that Quinn is definitely not asleep.

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