Page 42 of Doughn't Let Me Go

She usually lets up for a few weeks or months before she decides to knock me on my ass again.

Not this time, apparently. The bitch must have a vendetta against me, and I want to know what I did to deserve her wrath.

I recognized him immediately, like his image is burned into my retinas.

Which, let’s be honest—after our night together, it is.

It’s been over twenty-four hours since I last saw him but only minutes since I last thought about him.

I’m not hung up on him or anything, but I just can’t believe I let my libido ruin my chances of getting out of this shitty chapter of life I’ve been living in.

Change was so close, and I missed my shot.

I try to slide by without him noticing, but it’s no use.

“Dory?”

Stupid small towns.I knew running into him was inevitable eventually, but so soon? And with his daughter here too?

“Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming!” the little girl inside the cart sings loudly.

Kids always have something to say about my name, but I let it slide. It’s a lot cuter when they do it than when the adults do.

Except for Porter, maybe.

Turning, I smile at his daughter, who’s sprawled out, surrounded by a whole mess of things I can’t quite figure out.

“Swimming, swimming, swimming.” Then I wink.

“I thought you didn’t want to be equated to a fish,” Porter says.

“She’s cute enough that I’ll let it pass.”

His brow shoots up and one side of his mouth curves. “And I’m not?”

“I like your tiara,” I say in answer.

“What?” He grabs the plastic crown, adjusting it. “This old thing?”

It takes everything I have not to smile.

I let my eyes trail over him, noting that this is the first time I’ve seen him in anything other than dress slacks and a button-down shirt.

He looks…good. Somehow even better than before.

The dark jeans he’s wearing hug the legs that tangled with mine, and his black shirt molds to his sculpted chest. I glance at it and smother a laugh. There’s a stick figure holding the control key from a keyboard and it saysTaking Control.

I like that he’s nerdy.

“Who are you?” the little girl inquires.

I stick my hand out. “I’m Dory. What’s your name?”

“Kyrie Jones.” She slides her little hand into mine like a full-grown adult.

“I love your name,” I tell her. “It’s very beautiful.”

Porter makes a noise next to me, but I don’t acknowledge him.

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