Small Town Sexy by Young Morgan

Author:Young, Morgan
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2017-08-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

At the end of the day, I show up at Porter’s apartment exactly as he asked, even though I really don’t want to. I’m sore from carrying books, and kind of exhausted at heart, too.

It’s not that I don’t want to be around Porter: It’s just been a hard day.

He greets me at the door with a kiss. “How are you doing, baby?”

I try to smile, but he can tell I’m tired. “What smells good?” I ask. Something actually smells delicious—I can’t put my finger on it. And of course, as usual, he looks good enough to eat in a green button-up and jeans.

“My buddy came by with takeout earlier. The smell always hangs around. But come on.”

He leads me into the bathroom.

I stop, and gasp. Inside, he has lit candles, and drawn a bubble bath for me. There are brand new shampoos and conditioners and soaps that he must have just bought sitting on the side of the tub, and soft music is playing from a speaker in the corner of the bathroom.

“So,” he says. “I kind of lied about the takeout. Hard-working girlfriends deserve rewards. So you soak away your day, and your sore muscles, and I’ll be in the kitchen finishing up dinner for us.”

For some reason, I want to cry. Instead, I turn around and kiss him, hard. And for some reason, something like love is burning in my chest.

He opens the bathroom closet, and comes out with a soft, fuzzy robe. I slip out of my sweaty clothes and into the bathtub. The water is perfectly warm, like he’s been tending to it, waiting for me to walk in the door. Why is he so perfect? What did I do to deserve him? I lean back begin to scrub myself clean, and before I realize what’s happening, the day overwhelms me and Porter is shaking my shoulder gently.

“Zoey. Zoey. You okay? Dinner is ready.”

I start. I’ve fallen asleep in the bathtub.

“Oh. Yeah.” I smile at him, feeling lazy and self-indulgent and…happy. Just happy.

The feeling is starting to become something like a habit, and when it’s not making me nervous, I actually enjoy it. How strange.

“Do you want to get out of the tub and come eat?” He grabs a fluffy towel off the rack and holds it open for me, and I let him wrap me in it to dry myself off. Then he opens the robe for me. For once, I feel like someone cares. Someone other than my best friend. Like, really cares.

“You don’t know how hard it is for me not to ravage you right here,” he says, sliding his hand up my thigh and kissing my neck. “But I made something special.”

He takes my hand, and walks me into his dining area, which is set for two, the food already plated and served with two glasses of red wine. I gasp, covering my mouth. Who is this man, and what did I ever do to deserve him?

“Porter,” I whisper. “This is incredible.

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