Page 28 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“Have a seat.”

He gestures to the stool next to him, that fancy watch of his drawing my eye—another reminder that whatever we did last night needs to stay there.

We don’t belong together.

He’s riches, and I’m rags.

“I, um…”

“Please.”

I hate the way the throb increases at the word.

It’s the same thing I said to him last night when he was poised above me, teasing me with his length.

Please, Porter. Please.

I check the time on my phone, which is clutched tightly in my hand. I’m early. I have some time to spare. A few minutes can’t hurt, right? We’re both mature adults here.

“Please.”

I break.

“Just a few minutes.”

I take the same seat as last night.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” he says, sliding into his stool.

He’s careful this time, not letting his long legs touch mine.

I’m grateful for it and miss the contact all at once.

“It’s a small town,” I remind him. Something we probably should have thought of last night.

“That it is,” he murmurs.

He picks up his pizza and takes another bite.

Chew. Swallow. Avoid.

His lips curl around his straw, and I briefly wonder if he’s still mad at me for not kissing him.

Judging by the way his body is angled just slightly away from mine, I’d say he is.

Then again, I’m probably overthinking it. Porter doesn’t seem like the type to hold grudges.

He lifts a hand, flagging down the waiter who abandoned us when he realized there was obviously something happening between us.

“Another water for me, please, and whatever the lady is having.”

“No, Porter. You don’t have to do that.”

He pins me with his sharp eyes. They sayLet me do this.

I do.

“Just a Coke, thank you.”

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