Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
Someone once said, ‘ It’s strange how knowledge changes perception .’ Learning about Porter and his past changed everything.
The drive to pick up boxes passed in complete silence. His silence held meaning now. What was he thinking? What could he possibly be feeling, knowing that he was about to face the woman who had up and left without saying goodbye?
I glanced over at him. He looked casual with his t-shirt and baseball cap. His movements were calm and relaxed. No emotion marred his features. He didn’t even look like he was deep in thought.
Was he feeling anything? Did this matter to him? Why had he asked me to come? For moral support? Or did he actually need me there to help carry his boxes?
We turned down a cute street that was lined with big, leafy trees and old brick apartments. He parked on the side of the road, killed the engine, then leaned forward and studied a building through the windshield.
I sat silently beside him. And we just sat there. He inspected the building, and I tried but failed not to look at him.
Moments ticked by .
He wasn’t moving, but he was thinking. Those intelligent grey eyes took in everything about that building. But still, he didn’t move.
The words blurted out of me before I could stop them. “What’s her name?”
“What makes you think it’s a woman?”
“It’s always a woman.”
He rubbed his face, then turned that intensity on me. But he didn’t speak.
Those eyes. How did I ever think these eyes held no emotion? Right now, they were the color of a turbulent sea. Stormy grey.
“Do you want her back?” My question lingered in the cab. Like a faint perfume.
He dropped his gaze. “I don’t know.”
We sat there in silence, then he gave me a tight smile that was so full of regret and ambiguity, it made my heart ache.
“Do you want me to come in with you?”
He thought about that for a moment and slowly nodded. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay.”
I started to gather my purse.
He spoke again. “Can you do that thing?”
I froze. “What thing?”
He shrugged. “The thing.”
My eyes were on his face. “Could you be a bit more specific?”
He opened the door. “The thing. Just do it.”
I watched him walk around the front of the trunk before I scrambled after him. What the fuck was the thing ? I had lots of things.
I caught up with him at the front of the building. He was buzzing an apartment.
A throaty voice filled the crisp air. “Hello?”
“Felicia. It’s Porter.” His voice was clipped. Cold.
“Come on up.”
He held the door but didn’t look at me. A staircase circled around, but we stood and waited for the rickety elevator that was so old, you had to physically shut the door yourself.
I wanted to ask him about the thing, but I didn’t. He was too focused. Too intense. It felt wrong to disturb him. The elevator creaked and groaned, carrying us up to the third floor.
He stepped out ahead of me. I heard that same voice.
“Porter, over here.”
By the time I stepped out of the elevator, there was nothing but an empty hallway, but an apartment door at the end was open.
We walked towards the apartment. Porter pushed open the door, and we stood at the entrance, looking around. The apartment was warm. Cheerful. Homey. Artsy. I hadn’t expected this.
Her voice sounded from the kitchen. “Port, when did you get into New York?”
Ballsy, how she acted like he was an old friend that she’d recently seen last week. She was so casual, so damned relaxed about this, it made me want to scream. This was not how you treated a significant other that you dumped without warning.
It felt disrespectful.
Four large boxes were stacked up against the wall. This was what she was giving back to him? A box for every year they were together. She got all the furniture, the bedding, the towels and the artwork, and he got his personal mementos back.
What a shit deal.
Movement caught my eye. A tall guy unfolded himself from the couch. He looked Bohemian with his man bun and beaded smock. I hate man buns. And hated them even more since this dude was wearing one.
“Hey, man.” He sounded stoned, but maybe that was all part of his hippie persona.
It was all so cliché, I would have laughed had it not been at Porter’s expense. Porter swallowed but didn’t move a muscle.
“That’s Marley.” Felicia's voice drifted from the kitchen. “He’s been an absolute lifesaver since I moved to New York. ”
Marley shrugged with a self-content expression. “I do what I can, right, babe?”
“You’ve been a fucking lifesaver,” she answered back. “You’ve been fucking everything.”
I hated her.
On behalf of Porter, I despised her with all my heart.
Porter and I made eye contact. I couldn’t get a read off what he was feeling, but whatever it was, he was working to contain it. He was almost vibrating in his attempts to restrain his emotion.
Fucking fuck.
“I wished you had opted for the prison break in,” I muttered under my breath.
His voice was so low, I barely heard him. “Roger that.”
“Porter, when did you say you got to New York?” Her voice was so sexy. Alluring. Faintly husky.
“A few days ago.” Porter’s voice was flat. Emotionless. “Are these boxes for me?”
“Where are you staying?” She finally came out of the kitchen.
Felicia. Damn, she was hot.
Where did I even start?
Elegant bare feet. Cut off denim shorts that showed off extremely sexy legs. A ripped tank top that didn’t entirely hide her smooth, feminine abdomen. Braless breasts that were the envy of every woman.
But her face. Petite, delicate features. Big, expressive blue eyes. Long black hair that hung down her back with that perfect, messy, just fucked look. Pillowy, pouty, pink lips. I needed to stop before I started to second-guess myself.
She stopped short, taking me in. She was shocked. “Who are you?” Her eyes drank in Porter, but they flicked back to me. Assessing me.
Well, I assessed her back. I could tell by the way she raked her eyes over him, she was still very much attracted to him. In fact, I would go as far as stating that she emotionally wanted him back .
So badly.
And suddenly, I knew what ‘the thing’ was. I knew what Porter was asking of me.
I was the fake girlfriend.
I tilted my head and held her in my gaze. Calmness washed over me. I knew what I needed to do. “I’m Beth.”
Her eyes focused on my face. Weighing me. Measuring me. “Beth?”
She found me lacking. She took one look at me and dismissed me as a non-threat. I think when you’re a petite version of a Victoria’s Secret model, you can do that with pretty much every woman and be correct 99% of the time.
But there were two things she didn’t know about me. For my entire childhood education, I had attended the most elite, all-girls prep school in New York. A place that taught us life skills to navigate the most atrocious social situations. And when our backs were against the wall, we learned how to go for the jugular. Secondly, if tested, I would score off the charts for being protective of friends and family. It was my thing.
I was a threat. She just didn’t know it yet.
I leaned against Porter. He stood solid and strong. It was like connecting with a warm brick wall. “Porter is staying with me.”
Porter continued to look at Marley like he wanted to throat punch him. I understood it, but it didn’t add to my confidence.
She licked her bottom lip. This was not going the way she thought it would. “Port, you never told me you were dating someone.”
“You never asked.”
Delicate nostrils flared. “How long?”
I patted my hand on his flat stomach and beamed at her. “Long enough to know he’s the catch of a lifetime.”
Porter did the slow blink but didn’t respond.
“My parents are absolutely in love with Porter.” Smiling, I gave him a flirtatious glance. “Aren’t they? ”
That did make him look down at my face. I wasn’t even sure he was still in his body. He was on automatic. He didn’t speak.
I turned back to Felicia. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Felicia.”
Porter bent down and picked up three boxes, still not saying a word as he waited for me.
“Nice meeting you, Marley.”
I picked up the fourth box. It was smaller than the rest, so I shifted it to one hand and placed my spare hand intimately in the back pocket of Porter’s jeans. My heart pounded as we left a stunned Felicia in our wake, and the tight curve of Porter’s ass burned my hand.