Page 71 of Doughn't Let Me Go

Her birthday.

Shit. I almost forgot.

I’ve spent so much time the last few days annoyed with her for constantly running away from me I completely spaced on today being her birthday.

“Seriously, Porter? What the fuck?”

Her frustration slices through my thoughts.

She’s in a mood tonight, and I feel like flirting with danger.

Grinning, I set the book down and look over my shoulder at the dark-haired beauty standing next to me. “Evening, Doris.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Knives cut at me.

No, wait—that’s just her tongue.

I tsk tauntingly. “Now, Doris, that’s no way to talk to your boss.”

“You’re not my boss right now. I have the night off, remember?”

Oh, I remember.

My eyes slide over her body, caressing her in a very unprofessional way.

Does this chick own anything other than band tees? And are any of the bands she listens to even popular now?

She’s swapped her leggings and hole-filled jeans for a skirt tonight. Short.Veryshort. Black. And she’s sporting high-top knock-off Chuck Taylors.

All she’s missing is a flannel and a choker to look like she just stepped right out of the nineties.

I turn away from her. “Quit hovering and sit.”

“You’re not my boss.”

She growls when I grin around the beer bottle I’ve pulled up to my lips.

“Technically—”

“Leave,” she barks.

“No. It’s a free country.”

“Then I’m leaving.”

Muttering curses my way, she pulls something off the stool, and I look to see what she’s grabbed.Ah, there’s the flannel.

Her hands reach for the book, but I yank it out of her reach before she can steal it.

“Give me that!” she argues.

“No way. Finders keepers.”

“It’s mine, you moron.” Another growl.

Someone’s feisty tonight.

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