Page 29 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“No food?” Porter asks.

I shake my head. “No. I’m too nervous to eat.”

“Nervous? Because of me?”

Yes.“No.”

“If you’re not here for lunch, what brings you to Slice?”

“Sometimes I just like to come here and inhale the scent of pizza. Pleasure without the pounds.”

He pauses mid-bite, side-eyeing me. “Really?”

I laugh. “No, but it’s good to know you’re a little gullible.”

“Not gullible, would just be surprised if I found someone else who does it too.”

My eyes widen. “Are you joking, or…?”

He shrugs and grins but doesn’t answer.

Somehow, I can believe he does just that. The body I felt all over mine last night made it clear that Porter takes good care of the vessel he was given. I wouldn’t put it past him to bethatdedicated to keeping himself trim.

“I’m here for a job.”

I don’t know why I tell him, but at this point I’m not surprised I do. There’s just something about Porter that makes me blurt out things I normally wouldn’t.

“Really?”

I wave a hand over my getup. Even though I’m dressed in my Sunday best, it’s still painfully obvious there’s a massive socioeconomic difference between the two of us. “It’s clear I’m not swimming in cash,” I tell him. “Some of us still have to work to make a living, you know.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it but since you mentioned it…” He leans my way, smirking. “Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming,” he sings quietly.

I glare at him. “I hate you.”

“You didn’t hate me last night.”

When he sees that my glare doesn’t let up, he backs away, tucking his lips together to hide his amusement.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking anything but.

“Anyway,” I say pointedly, “I’m working toward a degree in social work, but I’m too broke to go to a four-year school. I don’t want anything lavish, just enough to get my degree so I can start helping kids.”

“I think working for tips is a bit of a gamble, but you’re clearly a hard worker, and I respect that.”

I don’t correct him on the fact that I’m not here for an interview to work at Slice. Lottery logic and all.

“Why social work? It’s a little depressing, no?”

Something in his voice sounds like he’s waiting for this epic answer, but if he thinks I’m going to spill my guts to someone just because I slept with them, he’s got another thing coming.

I don’t do kissing because I don’t do feelings.

And my reason for going into social work involves a whole lot of feelings.

“Someone’s gotta do it.” I lift my shoulder.

“Fair enough.”

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