10. Quinn
10
quinn
The Joint is one of those places that every resident of Rolling Hills has fond memories of.
It’s always had good food at reasonable prices, so it’s not unusual for families to come in for some burgers or wings before the bar rush hits.
And for many of us who grew up here, this is where we took our first legal drink.
Emphasis on legal.
Let’s be real, most of us were drinking in a random field on the Rolling Hills city line before the days of Life360. Which, thank God. If John and Demetria Banks had known what I was doing—or really, any of their kids besides Ainsley—none of us would be alive today. And frankly, none of us should be. How I survived the days of Four Loco I’ll never know.
So even though I was attending the University of Tennessee when I turned twenty-one, I made sure to come home the day before my birthday so that I could make sure my legal first drink was at my hometown bar. It’s Rolling Hills tradition.
Which is why it’s giving me a great pleasure to pour this birthday girl her first legal drink.
“Here you go! One green tea shot on the house. Happy birthday!”
Her friends, and what looks like her parents, all line up their phones to take photographic evidence of the drink, cheering her on as she slings it back. The lack of recoil on her face, or even the tell-tale look of liquor hitting your system, clearly says this is in no way her first drink.
Mom looks shocked.
Dad looks pissed.
And for some reason, I feel oddly proud.
“What are you smiling at?”
I nod my head toward the birthday girl, not making eye contact with Porter. Which is hard. I swear I get a hot flash every time the man is near me.
This is the third shift we’ve worked together this week—and our first Friday night—so there have been plenty of encounters, none of them overtly sexual. But that didn’t stop my body from having a reaction. He brushed behind me once as I was making a drink because he needed to get to the wine cooler. We ran into each coming around the bar at the same time. I looked into his eyes to see if he had any sort of reaction when my chest was pressed against him, but nothing.
That was a little disappointing.
Then there was last night when he walked in as I was cleaning a toilet in the women’s bathroom when we were closing. Nothing is more unsexy than that. And yet, the way he stared at me made me wonder if that we could lock the door and see what kind of workmanship they put in on those counters.
I need to stop it. Snap a rubber band on my wrist or something every time my mind wanders. Because he’s right. I’m here now. We can’t do it. Especially because Porter is Mr. Calm, Cool and Collected while I’m over here being Miss Hot and Bothered.
So there’s only one thing I can do until I can retrain my body—don’t look at him unless absolutely necessary.
“I remember my first legal shot and pretending around my parents it was my first. I did at least pretend to choke on the whiskey. This girl didn’t even try.”
Porter lets out a small laugh as he grabs a beer for someone who just made their way to the bar. Not that I was watching him do it. I caught it out of the corner of my eye.
“Did I hear you say that it was on the house?”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug while also suddenly feeling the need to wipe down the cooler. It’s better than looking at his ass as he digs for a Miller Lite.
“You know we don’t do that?”
I figured he didn’t. But I was hoping he wouldn’t hear me say that so I could sneakily slip the money into the drawer when he wasn’t looking. “You should. It’s good will. Plus, every person deserves a birthday shot.”
“I didn’t even get a free birthday shot, and my dad owned the place.”
Now I can’t help but look over to Porter, who’s now nonchalantly pouring four drinks at once and is completely unbothered by the statement he just said. “Really? Not even one?”
He shakes his head as he grabs the soda gun. “Nope. He didn’t believe in free anything. I’m pretty sure he even paid for food he brought home for us.”
“Okay, that’s insane,” I say as I glance up and down the bar to make sure no one needs served. “The man owned this place for what? Thirty years? You’re telling me in three decades he never gave, or took, anything?”
Porter thinks about it for a second as Jenny flags me down to make her drinks to take to her tables.
“Nope. Not once.”
“Jenny? Is this true? Porter’s dad never gave out a free drink?”
Jenny is just as much a part of The Joint as Porter is. I’d guess she’s in her mid-fifties and has been serving here since she was old enough to pour a beer. The town loves her, she doesn’t put up with anyone’s shit, and if she serves you once, she’ll remember your drink for the rest of her life.
She also knows more gossip than anyone in town. If it’s happening, Jenny knows about it.
“Not a once,” she says as she organizes the Jack and Cokes on her tray. I feel Porter getting closer behind me, but I don’t turn to take in his proximity. “Actually, I think the only night we’ve ever given free drinks was Frank’s wake.”
“Oh wow,” I say, trying to keep my face even as I turn away from Jenny. But just as I do, I actually run into Porter’s broad chest. I’d have bounced back if his hand wasn’t there to catch me.
The feel of his hand at the small of my back, and Jenny talking about that fateful day has my memory flooding back to that night.
And judging by the heat in Porter’s eyes, he’s thinking about it too.
The night that started it all.
Is this happening?
Am I really walking next to Porter, his hand on the small of my back, as he leads me up the stairs to his bedroom?
At his house? Where he sleeps?
I realize I sound like I’m sixteen years old again, but that’s because I feel like it. Because if you would’ve told that version of me that she was about to go have sex with one of the hottest guys at Rolling Hills High School, she never would’ve believed you.
But here we are.
How is this happening? I didn’t even want to come out tonight because of the Douche Who Will Not Be Named, but my sisters reminded us that everyone in town needed to pay their respects to Frank. And that’s true. The man was a Rolling Hills institution. But the more the drinks were flowing, the more sad I became, which is why I stepped outside. I needed some air. I needed to cry in private.
Never did I think I’d see Porter.
And never did I think I’d be here right now.
His bedroom is dark, but I can still see remnants of the older guy in school who always made me smile. I’d heard that he moved back in with his dad after he had his heart attack a few months ago. But the room is like I’m stepping back into a time machine: Football trophies and track medals are lined on a shelf. A bookcase with a few books and some pictures. A sparse desk and a queen-sized bed fill the space.
How is this real life? I had a crush on this man for years. I mean, most girls did. I knew who he was growing up—he was in Maeve’s class and played football with my brother. But when I saw him on my first day of Rolling Hills High School, I was immediately smitten.
And then, somehow, by the grace of God or Kelly Clarkson, Porter started talking to me. Me! Quinn Banks. The pain in the ass of the Banks children—which says a lot considering who my brother is. The girl who was always in trouble, but never really punished. The girl who became famous for her pranks and antics. Everyone’s friend. But no one’s love.
But I was okay with that. I get it. I wasn’t beautiful like my sisters. I always struggled with my weight, had a smart mouth, and generally never cared what people thought of me.
At least, that’s what I portrayed. And after a while, I started to believe it.
Which is why I always turned down Porter when he asked me out. I knew he wasn’t serious about it. He couldn’t have been. No one else in that school ever asked me on a date, and you’re going to tell me that Porter McCoy, one of the most popular guys at Rolling Hills High School, was the one to do it?
Please. I’m the Queen of Pranks. I can see one coming at me a mile away.
I always told him no, even though parts of me wished it were real. But I knew it wasn’t, so I saved both of the us the embarrassment. Because I know he would’ve gone through with it if I’d have said yes. And then I would’ve had my heart broken when I found out it was just a joke, or him being nice.
No. Turning him down kept my heart intact.
Which is why right now I need to tell myself that this is just one night. I can’t think about my crush. I can’t think this is more than two people needing comfort on a very shitty day.
And most importantly, I can’t spend the night. I can’t wake up in his arms or feeling him next to me.
I won’t be able to take it in the morning when he tells me it was a mistake. Or when he asks me to leave with regret in his eyes.
So no. I’ll let myself enjoy tonight. I’m going to let my body enjoy this. But without a doubt, I’m going to protect my heart.
And I did. That night was like no other. The way Porter kissed and held me? It was like nothing I’d ever felt in my life.
At that point, I’d been with a few guys, and the sex was enjoyable-ish. But nothing that made me want to write anonymous posts on the internet bragging about the earth-shattering orgasms I’d just received.
Over the years, I tried to date, even as Porter and I were in the midst of what we were. I didn’t feel bad. We were just having fun. And I assumed he was dating while I was away too. But I found that, at least in my case, the men who wanted to be with a bigger woman didn’t want to date her. They just wanted to fuck her like a dirty little secret that they could only have in their bedrooms but God forbid take her to an Olive Garden for some breadsticks.
Then I’d come to Rolling Hills, be with Porter, and remember why at least in the bedroom, no man was stacking up. He turned on a switch in me that’s never been turned off.
Porter and I are still standing pressed against each other, neither of us moving. He’s so close. I could just tilt my head up and easily kiss the scruff of his jawline. He hasn’t shaved for a few days, and right now he’s sporting the perfect amount of beard that I don’t even have to close my eyes to remember how it feels between my thighs.
God, how am I going to be able to do this? I’m not strong. I’m just a weak bitch with a good vibrator. I told Porter for years that we weren’t going to do it again, and every time I crumbled at the first mention of chicken wings. Or a wink he’d send me across the bar.
“Quinn…” My name on Porter’s lips is more of a groan than anything. But before he can finish, the deafening sound of glass breaking snaps us out of our trance.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” The apology is coming from the birthday girl, who apparently dropped her drink. “But everyone! It’s my birthday!”
The crowd cheers and forgets about the glass breaking. And if they were looking at Porter and I, their attention is now diverted.
Thanks, drunk birthday girl.
“I’m going to go clean that up,” Porter says, giving his head a shake before turning to walk the long way around the bar so he and I don’t have to touch for him to make his exit.
I in turn head to the ice chest and take a few cubes out to rub them on the back of my neck and drop a few down my bra for good measure.
Because I might’ve turned the light switch off in theory when it comes to Porter, but apparently the fucker still has current flowing to it.