Roommate’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #3)

Prologue

prologue

Quinn

I am a weak, weak woman.

Both in the head, heart, and because of the positions I was just put in, legs.

I thought I was strong. I live on my own. I kill spiders. I build IKEA furniture without help—and sometimes there aren’t even pieces left. But there’s something about the moment that I step back into Rolling Hills, Tennessee, that makes me a weak, horny woman.

And that something is Porter McCoy.

“Jesus Christ,” Porter says, both of us still panting after the round we just went through. “I think you nearly killed me.”

“No murder charges here,” I say, making no attempt at moving or rolling over from my spot on his mattress. “I’ve gone this long without an actual arrest record, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Really?” he says as he kisses my shoulder before rolling to his side. “Hurricane Banks has never been arrested?”

I hate that nickname, but I’m too orgasm-drunk to fight him on it. I barely have the energy to turn to face him. Though I’m glad I do. The sight of a shirtless and sweaty Porter is never a bad one. “I haven’t. Close, a few times, but I technically have a clean record.”

This makes him laugh. “I think that might be a bigger surprise than you showing up at the bar tonight.”

I smile as I brush my finger up and down his sternum. I rarely take the time to just lie back and admire Porter’s body. His muscles are defined but not intimidating. There’s a smattering of chest hair that I love feeling against my skin when he’s on top of me. And even in the darkness of his bedroom, I can see a twinkle in his brown eyes.

The weak woman thing is starting to make sense…

“You can thank my new brother-in-law for that one. Surprise wedding dinner for him and Maeve required each family member to be there. And I figured since I was in town…”

“You’d come to your favorite bar for a nightcap and chicken wings?”

I smile at his use of our favorite code word. “Exactly.”

“Well, thank your new brother-in-law for me. Tonight was very, and I mean very, unexpected. And very, and I mean very, pleasant.”

Porter leans down to kiss me again, and because the theme of the night is me being unable to stop myself from doing things that probably aren’t the right decision, I let him. And I deepen it. Because eight years ago, when we started this, Porter put a spell on me. But instead of a wand, he used his dick.

And fingers.

And mouth.

God, that mouth…

I don’t know how I got so lucky as to have a fuck buddy who makes it his mission to make me his snack every time we’re together, but I’m not one to look at gift horse in the mouth.

Especially if he’s not tired of it after all this time.

Eight years is a long time for anything. Many marriages don’t last that long. But yet, Porter and I and our perfect arrangement have stood the test of time. Probably because we have our formula down.

I come home from where I live and teach in Arizona at least twice a year. Once around the holidays, once in the summer, and the occasional drop in, like tonight.

While here visiting my family, at some point I end up at The Joint, the neighborhood bar where everyone knows your name. There, I see the owner, Porter McCoy, who not only knows my name, but knows how to make me come in point-five seconds.

Each time I’m in said bar, I give myself a pep talk that just because I’m home doesn’t mean I have to fuck him. Then he gives me a look. Or a wink. Or he just exists as I sit back and remember that no man knows my body better than he does.

So, eventually, I saunter up to the bar, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, and tell him that I’d like to order chicken wings.

Which means sex.

I order sex.

From a bar.

Because that’s who I’ve become. A thirty-four-year-old childless cat lady who doesn’t date, but has had an eight-year secret situationship with the boy she had a crush on in high school.

Yes, I know it’s fucked up. Eight years is a long-ass time. Yes, I should talk to someone about this. However, I’m not ready to tell a therapist that I’m avoiding commitment by sucking on the same dick twice a year with no attachments.

In my defense, it’s a really nice dick.

“Porter?” I ask, his face between my tits.

“Yeah?”

I want to laugh at his mumbled reply, but the thought I’m having is serious—one I don’t know if I’ve ever been ready to vocalize until right now.

“What are we doing?”

This makes him pause, and he slowly brings his eyes to me. “Currently? You’re lying back while I reacquaint myself with my two best friends.”

I sit up, which naturally pushes him back. “I’m being serious. What is this? How have we let this go on for eight years?”

Porter nods and sits up, though he does a fantastic job of making sure that his dick is just barely covered by the sheet.

“I thought this is what we both wanted? Nothing serious. Just fun. Right?”

Everything he’s saying is exactly what we’ve talked about before. Hell, I’m the one who put down most of the rules. “It’s just… I don’t know. Maybe it’s because two of my sisters are now in healthy and happy relationships. Even Simon is settled down. I feel like what we’re doing is something people do in their twenties. Not in their thirties.”

Porter’s fingertips brush down my arm as he places his fingers through mine. “I get that. Things change. Has something changed for you? Do you want something more?”

It might be the darkness of the room, but I swear for just a split second I saw something that looked like hope in Porter’s eyes.

Hope for more? Or hope that I’m about to call this off? Not really sure.

“Nothing has changed.”

“See. Who’s to say this is wrong?” Porter scoops me up and somehow, despite my size, places me on his lap. “Just because what we have isn’t conventional, doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for us. And I think it works pretty well, don’t you think?”

“It does,” I admit.

“Then don’t worry about anything else. Don’t let what others are doing get in the way of what we are,” he says as he starts kissing across my chest and up my neck. “Just relax and have fun. Stay. Let’s enjoy this impromptu visit a little longer.”

I melt into the feeling of Porter’s lips traveling up and down my naked body as he lays me back on the bed. I know I should leave. I don’t stay the night. Ever. Porter knows that. And he didn’t mean “stay” as in “stay the night.” I know he meant stay for round two.

And I want to—God, I want to. Especially because the first round was so chaotic and hot that I didn’t get to enjoy him like I really wanted.

So why is my head being a bitch and trying to be responsible? Is it really just because Maeve’s now married? Or that Stella is living with the love of her life? I mean, I love my sisters and I’m happy for them. But I didn’t think their happiness would make me question what I’ve decided to do with my sex life.

My mind is going back and forth when Porter’s kisses suddenly stop.

“What?”

“I can hear your brain working.”

Porter sits me up in bed, his hand gently grazing down the slope of my cheek. “I know what we have isn’t traditional. But that doesn’t make what we have wrong. We’re two adults who enjoy each other. A lot. What we have works for us. Fuck everyone else.”

I nod. “You’re right.”

“See? So how about this? You get out of that beautiful head of yours, stay a little longer, and let me remind you of all the reasons why we’re so good at what we are.”

Words fail me as Porter’s mouth goes to work again. My hands immediately go into his hair, running my fingers through his chestnut brown locks as he sucks and laps my nipple.

This shouldn’t feel as good as it does. He shouldn’t feel as good as he does. Hookups aren’t supposed to make you feel some sort of way. They’re supposed to scratch an itch and then you go about your day.

And maybe that’s why I keep coming back. Keep going back on my word. Because no one makes me feel like Porter. No one knows my body like him. No one has ever made me scream or talk in tongues.

But he does. Every time.

Maybe he’s right? Why would I walk away from something that works? That’s just silly.

And I’m a lot of things—chaotic, wild, spontaneous. But I’m not silly.

“What do ya say, wanna stay?”

I grin as I push him back down on the bed, allowing me to straddle him.

“Depends,” I say. “What do you have in mind?”

He crooks his finger, bringing me closer.

“Sit on my face and let me show you.”