Page 12 of Roommate's Guide to Love

“Well, look who’s back.”

I purposely don’t give him a reaction, because that’s how this game goes between us when we’re in public. He openly flirts with me because he’s a bartender and he can. I pretend I’m not affected because I have a reputation to uphold, or something like that. Then, give or take a few hours, and after one of us says the code phrase, we’re ripping each other’s clothes off. Most of the time we make it back to his house. Sometimes we fuck in his office. I’ve always wanted to do it on the bar, but I’m still wrapping my mind around the logistics of that.

All in all, it’s a solid system that’s been honed and perfected for nearly a decade.

And I’m the dumbass who forgot to shave her legs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say in my casual way. “I’m just here wondering if I can get a round of drinks for my sisters?”

The glint in his eye says more than any words could say as he goes and starts pouring the drinks he’s memorized that we’ve ordered for years in this establishment—beer for me, Jack and Diet Coke for Maeve, vodka and soda for Stella, and a club soda with a splash of cranberry and a lime for Ainsley.

“What brings the lost sister home?” he says as he hands me Ainsley’s drink. “Another family party that you justhadto come home for? Maybe your niece is having another milestone you justcan’tmiss?”

This is what I get for telling Porter why I’ve been home more often than I have been in years. Thosewerethe reasons I came home. But my dumb ass just had to overly defend that I was home for my family and not to see him.

I wasn’t.

Mostly.

“Actually, this was a spontaneous trip,” I begin, figuring it’s best to stick with the same lie for the time being. “I had a long weekend and expiring travel miles. Figured why not come home for a few days.”

Porter raises an eyebrow. “Really? That’s it. No other reason? None at all…”

God, he looks good. Too good. His brown hair is messy, but you can tell it started the night styled. Actually, it looks like when I try to rip it out of his head when his tongue is trying to kill me. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off forearms that shouldn’t be sexy, but they are. And is his drawl thicker? I feel like it is. Either that or I’m just thinking about how deep it gets when he tells me to suck his cock.

“Nope,” I say with a pop at the end. “Just wanted to hang out with my family. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He gives me a “I don’t believe you for a second” nod as he hands me my beer. “That’s good. Family’s important.”

“I agree.”

“I’ll start you a tab,” he says as he arranges the drinks on a tray for me to take back to the table. But just as I’m about to pick it up, he crooks his finger for me to come closer.

What is he doing? It’s one thing to flirt with me—Porter is known for being a shameless flirt behind the bar—but to bring me in like he’s telling me a secret? This feels a little bold. A little dangerous.

A lot hot.

“Good to see you. I hope you order the chicken wings tonight.”

I swear my body has a Pavlovian response to that phrase. And while I know that probably by the end of the night I’m going to be ordering, for now I feel like I need to play it cool. A little mysterious. A girl can’t be too eager, you know?

“Maybe later,” I say coyly as I back away. “Not sure if I’m in the mood tonight.”

This makes him chuckle. “We’ll see about that.”

I don’t say anything else as I pick up the tray of drinks and make it a point not to show that my heart is beating faster than I’d like it to as I walk back to the table my sisters snagged. I mean…sex does sound good. Especially Porter sex. Not that I’ve had other sex in the last…I don’t know when…but that’s because what Porter is able to do to me makes every other man pale in comparison. I figured that out when I tried to date a guy back in Phoenix. The first time he went down on me, he bit my clit. Not nibbled. Not sucked a little too hard. No, the motherfucker nearly took a chunk out.

Clearly he took the phrase “eating out” a little too literally.

But not with Porter. I bet that man would say that he literally didn’t care about my stubbled legs and still throw them over his shoulders. I wish my brain was functioning enough this morning before I got on the plane to think about that. In my defense, I just wanted out of Arizona. I couldn’t bear spending any more time in my apartment, staring at the wall, wondering what the hell I’m going to do with my life.

“Hey! Watch it!” I stumble backward, not realizing who I just ran into. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Big Girl Banks was coming through.”

Ah yes, a trip to The Joint just wouldn’t be complete without Rolling Hills’ off-brand Regina George.

“Hi, Emily. Always great to see you. How’s the chlamydia?”

Did I start that rumor in high school? Yes.

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