Chapter 5 - Charlie
A chair is knocked over somewhere behind us, the loud crash breaking the spell we both seemed to be under.
Getting my first good look at him since the wedding I actively have to tell myself not to drool. In the soft lighting of the room, his dark eyes seem to get lost in the shadows, remaining completely still as he watches me. He moves and stands up straight, no longer leaning on the bar in front of me and I forgot how tall he is. I'm not a short woman and I'm also not a height snob. Some of the best lovers I've had have been equal to my 5’10 or shorter. It's like they know they're playing to a slight disadvantage being shorter than the desired 6-foot something. Porter, however, feels at least a foot taller than me and I have to tilt my head back slightly to drink him in. I never did get the chance to run my hand through his dark hair. It's cut so short that I know I'll get that soft prickly sensation if I brush my fingertips against it.
“I take it you got my meals then?” he drawls, his voice deep and gravelly, a small smile cut across his face.
“I did, thank you. It's been a big help to have something I can just heat up at the end of the day. I was thinking I might be able to buy some each week to have in the fridge for the nights I don't want to cook.”
I can't help but give myself a mental pat on the back for my amazing idea. If I get meals from the bar then I’ll always have an excuse to come and see him. I feel like Dr Evil with how good my plotting is.
“Whatever you need, I can sort it for you. If you want to eat here or take them home, I'll look after you.”
Did he just say he’ll look after me ? What do I even say to that? I don't know if I should jump into his arms or run away. I'm usually in control of my emotions, never expecting more from a person than they can give. I have exclusive situationships, only. And yet for the first time ever, my wants and my desires seem to be lining up.
Do I want Porter to look after me?
I definitely want him to fuck me again but not at the risk of making everything awkward, especially as I’m considering hanging around for a while. My lack of response as I mull over this sudden internal dilemma seems to prompt him into further conversation. A small dip in his brow forms as he picks up a clean glass and starts shining it.
“So what brings you to town, Charlie?” he says, flicking his gaze between me and the glass.
Is he nervous?
Taking a quick look around me to make sure no one is near that could overhear me, I quickly whisper, “Because of the baby.”
He seems a bit confused and stops what he's doing. He must not have heard me so I slowly mouth the words because of the baby again, pointing toward my stomach.
He tilts his head a little, looking like an adorable dog that's unsure of the information he's receiving. Suddenly, he drops the glass on the ground, the sound of it shattering causes the low murmur of the other people nearby to stop talking and look toward us. Before I have time to register what's even happened, he's rounded the end of the bar and is storming toward me, the look of hurt anger in his eyes. Grabbing my hand he tugs me back the way he came, stopping for a moment to call out over his shoulder for everyone to leave cash on the bar for what they owe.
Pulling me through a door marked staff only, we end up in a small hallway, which I can barely get a look at before he opens another door and shoves me inside.
I'm starting to get a little annoyed now. I didn’t come here to get dragged around and I can’t help but snap at him, “If you wanted to fuck, you just had to ask me, Porter. I'm only into consensual manhandling. Note the key word being consensual.”
Slamming the door shut, the wall rattling from the impact, he turns and stalks toward me, causing me to retreat until the backs of my thighs hit the edge of the large desk in the centre of the room. He crowds me, leaning his body forward and placing his hands on the desk, not quite touching either side of my hips. I have to perch my ass on the edge and lean back on my arms to hold myself up. My legs on the other hand betray me as they open to let him stand between them. His face is so close to mine that I could kiss him if he wasn't being all weird caveman on me.
“Is it mine?” he growls.
“Is what yours?” What the fuck is he talking about?
“Is it mine … the baby … is it mine ?” he says, as he breaks eye contact with me for the first time. Dipping his head to my shoulder as he rests his forehead against it.
Gasping, I try to shove him away from me, shocked at what I'm hearing.
“You and Mila slept together?” I hiss. “How could you? How could she? Does Dante know? Oh my gods, we're going to have to get you both into witness protection. Do I just call the government directly to arrange that? Do you know the extension?”
He holds my head gently, stopping my ramble but not stopping my ability to glare at him. There is an odd pain in my chest that’s tight and uncomfortable. Moving his hand he places it gently on my stomach, flexing his fingers slightly as if he wants to grab me harder but won’t.
“Your baby, Charlie. Is it mine? Is it our baby?” he says, his eyes downcast as he looks down to where his hand is.
“Oh my gods! I'm not pregnant Porter!” I say almost shrieking as I gather enough strength to push him away. Practically leaping from the desk to move as far away from him as I can in the small room.
“You’re not? But you just said you were?” he says, running his hand through his hair.
“MILA is pregnant you idiot. Did you not hear me out there?” I say, gesturing toward the bar area.
“Mila is pregnant?” he questions again, looking at me with uncertainty.
“Porter, this is probably one of the few times I can unequivocally say that I am not pregnant. I can also confirm that Mila is absolutely pregnant with Dante’s baby. Exclusively with Dantes baby.”
He looks bashful now, clearly putting all of the puzzle pieces together. Stepping closer to me, he takes my hand and pulls me towards him. Our position is now the opposite from moments earlier as he leans against the desk and I stand between his legs. He lifts his hands and rests them gently on my waist, squeezing them slightly as he says, “I just thought … we didn't use anything that night. At the wedding. We didn't use protection and I guess I just thought you were saying, you know—”
“I’m on the pill. I don't want kids,” I say not quite yelling at him, but there is a note of uncertainty in my tone. The sudden worry that this could be the end of us before we've even started.