Page 11 of Doughn't Let Me Go

He leans down to look into my eyes, the movement bringing him unnecessarily close.

He smells like he looks—fancy.

A deep, musky mahogany scent washes over me. He’s like my favorite candle from that bath store come to life.

“A deal isn’t a deal until you shake on it. I live and die by that rule.”

I don’t think, I just act.

The moment my fingertips brush against his palm, I know I’ve made a mistake. His skin is soft, but not too soft. There’s a roughness to it like, despite his fancy clothes, he’s not afraid to roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt and get his hands dirty.

His thumb caresses the back of my hand, the touch so minor yet so intimate.

Would his hands feel just as good on my hips?

The question blasts me out of nowhere, and I immediately drop my hand from his grasp like he’s the one who made me think it just by touch alone.

He doesn’t say anything about my abrupt departure, instead raising his hand to flag down a staff member behind the counter.

The waiter comes bounding down to our end of the bar top.

“You guys ready to order?”

“Yes. We’ll start off with a basket of fries.”

“Sure thing. Anything else?”

“I’ll take another beer, and Dory here will have…”

“A strawberry milkshake.”

His mouth drops open. “You dog.”

I lift a shoulder. “You’re the one who specified chocolate. I didn’t say I wouldn’t take other flavors.”

“I’m gonna have to watch myself around you. You just swindled me out of pizza, fries,anda milkshake.”

“You compared me to a fish.”

His lips twitch. “I see your point.” He turns back to the waiter. “Cancel the second beer. I’ll take a milkshake too. Chocolate, because that’s the best flavor.”

“I strongly disagree,” I say.

“I, too, have to disagree,” the waiter says. “Vanilla is the best.”

“Ew.”

Porter and I say it at the same time and our heads snap toward one another, mouths agape. Then we burst into laughter.

The waiter shakes his head. “I’ll be right back with your order.”

“I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I’m pretty sure I just earned bonus points.”

“You’re right,” I tell him. “You don’t want to be presumptuous.”

His grin grows, and so does mine.

“God, it feels good to laugh.”

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