Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
I stood outside on the balcony, breathing in huge lungfuls of air. I needed to cleanse myself from everything Bayswater. I should make it my mission to find Porter because who knows what kind of conversation he was having with Dad, but I couldn’t seem to move my feet from that spot. I stood there rooted, breathing, trying to calm the erratic emotions that threatened to bubble out of me.
“Are you okay?” that damn smooth voice spoke from behind me.
I spun around. Porter stood there, his hand in one pocket, looking at me.
“I’m sorry.”
His shoulder moved a fraction. “For what?”
I shook my head, ignoring his questions. “How were things with my dad?”
“Fine.”
He moved over beside me, and together we examined the immaculate golf course. There wasn’t a blade of grass out of place. Not a single leaf on the hedge had the balls to grow out of formation. It was complete overkill. I had no idea why people thought this represented beauty. For me, it represented control .
“What’s your goal here, Beth?”
I swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you start all of this in the first place?” His lips moved to an almost smile. “Besides the fact that you’re an obvious SD.”
“What’s an SD?”
“A shit disturber.”
I paused and blinked at him. “Have you been talking to Emily?”
He smiled. “Nope. But I knew that about you the second I laid eyes on you.” I wanted to ask him why he thought that, but he steered me back to the topic at hand. “What do you want, Beth? What is my role in all of this?”
“I’m sorry I mixed you up in all this. I just wanted some space to breathe. I never knew it would go this far.”
“And you thought having a fake boyfriend would buy you that space.”
“It was an impulsive move when I was drunk, but yes. In theory, I thought it would.”
“You know what we call that in the military?”
“What?”
“A disruptive technique.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, we disrupt the status quo of the enemy, and it shifts their energy to deal with that disruption, and their focus is pulled off the real issue at hand.”
“You’re my disruptive technique?”
He shrugged. “It’s working, isn’t it?”
My lips parted. “What do you mean?”
“If I wasn’t here, what would you parents be talking about?”
“My lack of a career, and how they want me to move back home. Don’t forget my lack of fashion sense, and when exactly do I plan on taking Yates back? God forbid I don’t take back a cheater.”
“And what are they focusing on tonight?”
“You.”
He smiled. “It’s working. ”
“But it sucks for you.”
“I’m the fake boyfriend. It’s doesn’t matter what they think of me.”
I blinked. Who even thought like that? “But doesn’t it hurt your feelings?”
“Sweetheart, most days on my job, someone is trying to kill me. That’s the kind of shit that gets me worked up, not whether or not your mom thinks I should go to college.”
I debated his words. “ People try to kill you?”
“They haven’t succeeded yet.”
I took a deep breath. “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you.”
“Because you need my help.”
“Yup.”
I looked back into those amazing grey eyes. “And after you get my help?”
“If this works for you, it works for me.”
“For how long?”
“When it stops working, it’ll stop.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay.”
“Ready to go back inside?”
“Yeah. Let’s say goodbye to my parents and get out of here.” I paused. “What did my dad talk to you about?”
“Oh, not much,” he dismissed. “All the usual stuff about wanting me to take care of his daughter.”
“You don’t have to take care of me.”
“I know.”
So why did it feel like he was?
When I walked out of my bedroom the next morning, Porter was stretched out on the couch and looking at his phone. He had folded up the bedding, and everything was back in its place. As far as houseguests, he was stellar.
I glanced down as I passed him. I saw a glimpse of a photo, but he placed his phone down too quickly for me to get a good look.
“How did you sleep?” I asked him.
He sat up. “Not bad.”
How long had he been up? It was Sunday, sure, but I knew military-types got up early.
There was coffee on the kitchen counter. It was cool, so he’d probably been awake for some time. I poured myself a cup and took a sip, studying him. His attention was drawn back to his phone. Staring at an image that I couldn’t quite see.
“So, is today the day I learn my fate?”
He glanced up at me. “About what?”
“The thing you need my help with.”
He didn’t answer.
I tried again. “I’m pretty sure after last night, you’re favor could be illegal, and I wouldn’t complain.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “You’d help me deal with a body?”
I winced. “Not quite there yet, but maybe armed robbery.”
He stood up. “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”
“No, but I could be the getaway driver.”
“Do I have to share the loot?”
“Nope.”
He put his hands in his pocket. “You don’t need to help me.”
I froze. “Why not?”
He didn’t speak for a moment. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Where will you go?”
He shrugged and gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something was off.
I pressed again, “I want to help.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. ”
A long, suffering pause sidled between us. And then those grey eyes lifted up. “You sure?”
“Yes. Whatever it is, I’m in.”
He studied me a bit longer. “I need to go pick up some boxes.”
What? That was the favor?
“Will I need my flack jacket?”
The corners of his lips twitched upward. “Nope.”
“Are we hitting the mob?”
“No.”
“Breaking into a prison?”
Another smile. “No.”
“Okay. I think I can handle it.” I turned to put my coffee mug in the sink. “Are we leaving now?”
He was looking down at his phone again. “3 P.M.”
“I’ll clear my schedule.”
“You have a schedule?”
I shrugged. “When you watch as much Netflix as I do, you need a schedule.”
He was full-blown smiling now, and it felt victorious. “I’m going for a run.”
“No problem.”
I smiled as he left, but as soon as he closed the door, it wilted. Call it instinct, but I knew something was bothering my hot guest. And I needed to find out exactly what that was.