Page 36 of Roommate's Guide to Love

I don’t miss the extra emphasis she puts on the last word as she exits my office. And I’m going to tell myself that it was my mind playing tricks on me and that she didn’t send me a wink before she made her way back to the bar.

But I don’t follow after her. I know I should, to make sure she’s okay, as it’s her first shift. Instead, I take a moment to close my eyes and take a few deep breaths.

I did need help. Hiring Quinn is what I needed to do. And she’s going to be great.

But I have a feeling this decision might be the death of me.

Because working around Quinn Banks every day—and resisting her—might be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

guide to love rule #115

Every small town should have a bar where everyone knows your name. Bonus points if the owner is your fuck buddy.

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quinn

The Joint isone of those places that every resident of Rolling Hills has fond memories of.

It’s always had good food at reasonable prices, so it’s not unusual for families to come in for some burgers or wings before the bar rush hits.

And for many of us who grew up here, this is where we took our first legal drink.

Emphasis on legal.

Let’s be real, most of us were drinking in a random field on the Rolling Hills city line before the days of Life360. Which, thank God. If John and Demetria Banks had known what I was doing—or really, any of their kids besides Ainsley—none of us would be alive today. And frankly, none of us should be. How I survived the days of Four Loco I’ll never know.

So even though I was attending the University of Tennessee when I turned twenty-one, I made sure to come home the day before my birthday so that I could make sure my legal first drink was at my hometown bar. It’s Rolling Hills tradition.

Which is why it’s giving me a great pleasure to pour this birthday girl her first legal drink.

“Here you go! One green tea shot on the house. Happy birthday!”

Her friends, and what looks like her parents, all line up their phones to take photographic evidence of the drink, cheering her on as she slings it back. The lack of recoil on her face, or even the tell-tale look of liquor hitting your system, clearly says this is in no way her first drink.

Mom looks shocked.

Dad looks pissed.

And for some reason, I feel oddly proud.

“What are you smiling at?”

I nod my head toward the birthday girl, not making eye contact with Porter. Which is hard. I swear I get a hot flash every time the man is near me.

This is the third shift we’ve worked together this week—and our first Friday night—so there have been plenty of encounters, none of them overtly sexual. But that didn’t stop my body from having a reaction. He brushed behind me once as I was making a drink because he needed to get to the wine cooler. We ran into each coming around the bar at the same time. I looked into his eyes to see if he had any sort of reaction when my chest was pressed against him, but nothing.

That was a little disappointing.

Then there was last night when he walked in as I was cleaning a toilet in the women’s bathroom when we were closing. Nothing is more unsexy than that. And yet, the way he stared at me made me wonder if that we could lock the door and see what kind of workmanship they put in on those counters.

I need to stop it. Snap a rubber band on my wrist or something every time my mind wanders. Because he’s right. I’m here now. We can’t do it. Especially because Porter is Mr. Calm, Cool and Collected while I’m over here being Miss Hot and Bothered.

So there’s only one thing I can do until I can retrain my body—don’t look at him unless absolutely necessary.

“I remember my first legal shot and pretending around my parents it was my first. I did at least pretend to choke on the whiskey. This girl didn’t even try.”

Porter lets out a small laugh as he grabs a beer for someone who just made their way to the bar. Not that I was watching him do it. I caught it out of the corner of my eye.

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