Page 31 of I Knead You Tonight

“Where do I play into all of this?” Porter tosses his hat into the ring.

Everyone stares at Foster expectantly.

His eyes bounce from face to face, gulping nervously.

“I…I like everyone equally?”

He says it as a cautious question like the smart man he is.

“But me just a little bit more, right? Because you’ve known me the longest and all,” Winston throws out.

“Or, you know, me the most because of that free pussy thing,” Wren says.

“Ew.” Winston groans. “Stop talking about your nasty vagina.”

“Actually”—Foster holds his finger up—“it’s not nasty. Can confirm that one.”'

Winston gags, and we all laugh at him.

“There we have it. I’m the clear victor.” Wren pats herself on the back. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll accept chocolate in lieu of congratulations.” She looks pointedly at Foster when she says this.

“Noted,” he tells her, winking.

“Do you guys know what you want? Or did you need a minute?” I ask.

“I want the Grilled Cheese Cheeser for sure,” Wren says. “And some breadsticks.”

“Naturally,” I say. “For you, Porter?”

“I’ll do a slice of what she got and one of the Biscuit ’N’ All the Gravy too. And then can I have a kids-sized slice of the Mac ’N’ Cheese, Please pizza.”

“Kids-sized?” I scrunch my brows. “You sure you don’t just want a regular slice? It’s really good and totally worth the extra calories.”

Porter points to the other side of the booth, and for the first time, I notice the little girl who is completely zonked out.

Her hair—which is the exact same color as her father’s—is pulled into a lopsided top knot, her lashes so long against her tan cheeks.

“It’s for my daughter.”

“Oh.” It comes out a whisper, like we haven’t all been talking in normal voices for the past five minutes. “I didn’t even see her there.”

“She’s a little bitty thing,” he says. “She hides easily.”

I grin down at her. “She’s precious.”

Wren snaps her fingers together. “Shit! Why didn’t I think to ask you before? Drew, who is the lady you have watch Riker?”

“Lady? Don’t you mean little girl? She’s like sixteen or some shit,” Winston interjects.

“Who, Doris? She isn’t sixteen. She’s nineteen. She’s in community college.” I look to Porter. “Do you need a sitter?”

He nods. “Not yet, but I will eventually. Someone able to be a live-in nanny would be ideal.”

I’m not sure Doris would be up for a live-in nanny position, but I do know she could really use a better place to live and more stable income. No harm in throwing her info out there just in case.

“I can have a talk with her and give you her number. She’s fantastic with my three-month-old. I bet she’d love to help you out.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

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