Page 125 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“See? She’s my favorite.” Kyrie grins triumphantly.

“What a little shit,” Porter mutters so only I can hear.

“Your kid,” I remind him.

He grunts and continues scanning the menu I’m sure he’s read a million times by now.

Then suddenly his hand is on my thigh.

Not in a sexual way, but on my thigh nonetheless.

Luckily our menus are tall enough and close enough together to hide his touch from the prying eyes of Fran and Kyrie.

“Dad, why are you touching Dory’s leg?”

I love this kid. I love this kid. I love this kid.

Kyrie pulls herself back up from under the table, and Porter stares her down with a look that goes right along with what’s running through my head.

“Because, nosy, she keeps jiggling it and I’m trying to get her to stop.”

“I was?”

Porter nods at me. “Yep.”

“Sorry,” I murmur, forcing my leg to cease its bouncing. “Must be nerves.”

“Nerves? Why?”

I give him a look that saysYou know why.

We’re crossing lines. We’vebeencrossing lines ever since our bathroom fun time at Winston and Drew’s, and Kyrie catching us today made it that much worse.

Like I told Porter, we’re walking a tightrope.

And unlike him, I’m not so good with balancing.

Brad comes back with a tray of milkshakes and distributes them to their rightful recipients. We give him our order, and he promises to be back shortly.

“Oh my gosh, I hope he hurries up. I amstarving,” Kyrie complains, splaying herself across the table.

“Starving? What, do I not feed you enough?” I tease her.

“Need. More. Snacks.”

“Drama queen,” Porter singsongs.

She glares at him, then steals the cherry from his milkshake.

“A drama queenanda thief? What kind of child am I raising?”

“A really,reallycute one,” she says, batting her lashes.

“Notthatcute,” Porter argues.

“I don’t know. I think she’s a little angel.” Fran pinches Kyrie’s cheeks.

“That’s because you don’t have to live with her.”

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