Chapter 15
the fifteenth chapter
MARK
My eyes raise to meet his, heart pounding in my chest.
Turning back toward the entrance, I do a quick double take.
This is definitely the right door, the right restaurant.
But this guy can’t possibly be Franko.
Blonde waves and a soul melting gaze.
Must be eighteen or nineteen at the most.
“Franko?” I ask anyway.
“Nope,” he grins. “I have better hair.”
His smile edges on flirty as he holds out a hand.
I reach forward to shake it, but he grabs the handle of my suitcase instead.
Awkward.
“I’m guessing you’re Mark?” he asks.
He said my name.
Oh my God, he said my name.
“I was told to wait down here. When I saw your luggage, I just assumed…”
“Me. That's me, I'm Mark…”
I stumble over the words, unable to form coherent sentences.
“I'm Porter,” he replies. “You timed it well, we're closed on Mondays. But half of us live upstairs. I’ll take you to your room.”
He can take me anywhere he wants.
Lifting the heavy load with ease, he carries it up the stairs.
“This is you on the left.”
He wheels the case through a wooden door with flaked paint.
“And... this is me.”
His hand rests on the door frame next to mine.
“We're neighbours?”
My cheeks are burning.
It’s been years since I met someone my age.
Especially a sexy someone.
This shyness, my coy smile? It’s such a giveaway.
I’m already smitten.
And Porter seems to clock the swoon.
“We certainly are,” he murmurs.
He looks at me as though he's discovered a secret.
One that he’s willing to keep, I hope.
We linger for a moment, close enough to notice the flecks of hazel in his eyes.
At first, neither of us speak.
Is he waiting for something?
Has he asked me a question?
“So is it?”
“Huh?”
“Is it true that you've never been to the city before? Ever?”
He seems intrigued by this.
I’m hesitant to answer.
Some queries teeter on the brink of topics I’d rather not discuss.
“Never,” I confess. “Guess I'm a city virgin.”
Porter's tongue swirls softly against the inside of his cheek, eyes burning into mine.
“Country boy, huh?”
His inhale is slow, his smile as shy as mine.
He nods toward the stairs.
“I'm heading down to the waterfront in an hour. I could show you around?”
How wild to imagine a river with tall buildings on either side.
I’ve seen it snake across the map, weaving in and out of the urban sprawl.
Probably nothing like my river back home though.
The one refuge where I could always find peace.
“Count me in.”
I try to sound casual, but my mind is racing.
Something about him stirs a hunger I’ve spent half a lifetime trying to suppress.
“Bus ride must have been tiring,” he says.
He opens a nearby cupboard and hands me two neatly folded towels.
“Feel like a shower?”
He gestures to the door at the end of the corridor.
I fail to push the image from my mind.
Our naked bodies, together under the water.
“I usually shower alone,” I tease.
Fucking idiot, I tell myself.
Keep your mouth shut.
Flirting is the last thing I should be doing on my first day here.
Barely walked through the door five minutes ago.
But standing in such close proximity to this handsome stranger?
It rouses something in me.
I hold the towel in front of my dick.
“That's a shame,” he smiles. “Come find me when you're done.”
And with that he disappears, leaving me to stand in the hallway.
◆◆◆
“What the hell was that?” I mutter to myself behind the shower curtain.
Dumb move.
So much for being professional.
Although… I can’t shake the fact that my flirt was willingly received.
Returned, in fact.
Adjusting the pressure of the tap, steam billows around me.
Two bottles of shower gel balance on the rack.
One of them is labelled with a familiar name.
Would it be wrong of me to open it?
I flip the lid and take a sniff, then put it back before I get caught.
That masculine scent makes my erection so much worse.
Not to mention the fact that Porter has stood here nude on many occasions.
Placing a hand on the wall, I satiate my stiffy with a firm fist.
Ohhh…
I reach climax within minutes.
No surprise there.
Toweling off inside the cubicle, I pad barefoot to my room.
The bed is simple but comfy.
It groans a little when I sit on it.
A wood framed window overlooks a tree on the pavement.
And beyond that, the train station.
This restaurant used to be a tavern or a lodge of some kind, apparently.
Franko likes to hire and train newbies like me.
Offering board keeps his hourly rate low.
The walls are paper thin.
I can hear Porter’s bed squeak whenever he moves.
I kind of like that.
Feels like he’s in the same room as me.
I listen as he shuffles through the songs on his playlist.
Lacing a pair of sneakers, I sling a hoodie over my shoulder.
There’s a tiny mirror on the back of the door.
My hair is sticking up at all angles, cheeks pink from the steam.
I grab a cap to hide my wayward locks, then check my nose for boogers.
Maybe I should brush my teeth, too.
Just in case.
Just in case what? I sigh.
Get a grip on yourself.
The irony of that thought makes me smile.
I spent most of my shower getting a grip on myself.
But now I’m super nervous.
I distract myself with a quick call to Beth.
“So good to hear your voice, love. You settling in okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Everyone making you feel welcome?”
“Very,” I grin.
In ways I didn't expect.
When the call is done, I pause outside Porter's room.
A deep breath.
A simple knock.
“Coming,” he says.
When it opens, a whiff of Lynx trails out the door.
As if this man needs help being attractive.
“Need anything at Coles while we're down there?” he asks.
“Coles?”
“Groceries,” he explains. “Kitchen usually feeds us, but not on Mondays.”
“Like IGA?”
I’ve been to the one in Longreach.
“Kind of. But way bigger.”
“Do they sell cornflakes?”
“Yep. And I've got a tiny fridge in my room if you wanna stash milk or beer.”
It will never be beer.
That’s my least favourite smell.
“Let me find my wallet,” I say.
◆◆◆
I’ve never seen anything like it.
A footpath suspended above the water.
Concrete on stilts, sturdy enough for pedestrians and cyclists.
Towers loom overhead, dotted along the shore.
A bridge shaped like an M spans from one curve to another.
Nature laps at the edge of the hustle and bustle.
“Nothing like the river I'm used to,” I admit.
Keeping one hand inside my pocket, I finger a loose coin.
Must have slipped from its pouch.
But it helps to ease my nerves.
“Heard you were from Longreach,” he says. “Didn't know they had a river.”
I like the sound of being from Longreach.
No need to correct him.
“Rivers out west have a mind of their own,” I explain.
“One minute they're dry as a bone. Days later, they're flooding half the county.”
“This one burst its banks a few years ago.” Porter points back toward the dock. “I had an after school job at the plaza. It was ages ago, before I became a commis. My friend's dad used to work there. Probably the only reason I got the job,” he laughs.
“And it flooded?”
“Big time. We lost months worth of ingredients because our cooling rooms were stored underground. Entire basement filled with water. Thick brown sludge. I'll never forget the smell. Drains blocked for miles. Plates and cups floating. You ever been in a flood?”
“When I was nine,” I nod. “Only interesting thing to happen in our town.”
I hush suddenly, fearing that I’ve said too much.
I'm from Longreach, I remind myself.
I'm from Longreach.
Technically, it’s true.
I’ve lived there.
For eleven weeks, anyway.
My new legal guardian lives there.
Nobody needs to know anything beyond that.
My eyes veer south to Porter's crotch.
Again.
A generous package beneath paper thin shorts.
I wonder if he’s taken a peek at mine.
The thought makes me giddy.
Time to find a distraction.
What else can I talk about?
“You're a commis?” I ask.
He must do the same kind of stuff that Rocco does in Beth's kitchen.
“Thought you were a kitchen hand like me.”
“I was at first,” he shrugs. “But now I'm enrolled at TAFE. Almost nine months in.”
“So you're seventeen?”
“Nearly eighteen.”
“You're a year older than me,” I smile.
“When’s your birthday?”
“September, but I'm headed to TAFE in March.”
Just in case you're wondering if I'm old enough to fuck you, I think.
Porter's eyes melt into me, as if he's had the same thought.
My dirty mind keeps twisting every word he says.
“I'm sure it will be worth the wait,” he smiles. “You gonna follow my lead?”
“Huh?”
“You're doing a level three hospo cert, like me?”
“Oh. Yeah, certificate first. Then maybe a Diploma in Event Management.”
Dirty, dirty, dirty mind.
“I reckon you'll love it,” he grins. “Nothing to be nervous about.”
“No?”
“You can take it as slow as you need. You'll fit in there so well.”
Fit where, exactly?
I know where I’d like to fit.
“Plenty of hospitality jobs around here, too. I only picked Franko cos he's one of the few who offer accommodation. He's a grumpy bugger sometimes. But as long as you follow the rules, he's alright.”
Compared to my dad, Franko is probably a saint.
I want to ask about Porter's family, but it feels too risky.
What if the question is asked in return?
Just mention Beth, I decide.
Pretend you're adopted.
It’s not that far from the truth.
“So... you can cook then?” I raise an eyebrow. “That makes one of us.”
“Cooking is the love of my life,” he croons.
Bet I’m the only guy in that kitchen who’s never boiled an egg.
“I suck.” Around him, that word makes me shy. “At cooking, I mean. I was planning on having cornflakes for dinner.”
“Not on my watch, you won't.”
Porter's voice is stern, almost protective.
Kind of hot.
“Tonight's on me. When you get your first pay check, I'll teach you the basics.”
◆◆◆
Pan sizzling, he spreads a dollop of minced garlic alongside a knob of butter.
Such a heavenly aroma, it makes me hungry.
This is kind of romantic.
Dinner for two, prepared by a handsome chef.
He has an apron and everything.