Porter (Men of Lovibond 3)

Now this house is mine.

Lawry and I stand side by side looking at what I repeatedly refer to as a sound financial investment. But it’s more. So much more even if I don’t admit it.

“I hope you’re not having buyer’s remorse.”

“No buyer’s remorse today. At least not until I have to fork over the payments.”

“Your first home, Ollie.” My first home. I like the idea and sound of those words a little more than I thought I would.

Lawry puts her arm around my waist and leans in for a side hug with her head pressed against my shoulder. “I think you’re going to be very happy here.”

“I think so too.”

I fish the house key from my pocket and dangle it before us. “All those boxes aren’t going to move themselves.”

“Agreed. We better get started.”

“Sorry, sis. You’re not moving boxes.” Lawry’s eyes roll upward. “That’s not an attractive look for you.”

“You’re being ridiculous and really making me wish I hadn’t told you.”

Who is she kidding? No way my sister could keep something this important from me. “Well, you did tell me.”

Her balled hands come to rest on her hips. I’m amused by how much she reminds me of Mom when she stands that way. No genetic connection yet so much alike. “I’m reevaluating that decision at this point.”

Tap would side with me on this one. “I guarantee your husband wouldn’t let you haul heavy boxes either. Especially while wearing that damn long-ass hippie skirt.” I can imagine her feet tangling in it, causing her to tumble down the brick steps in a whirlwind of blonde tresses and patchwork floral print.

She attempts to climb two steps, testing her ability to move in it. And steps on the hem. “See? Total fall hazard.”

“Easily fixed.” She yanks the waist of her skirt up and rolls it down a couple of times. “You do realize I’m not pregnant yet?”

She follows me inside after I unlock the door. “You’re working on it, so you don’t know one hundred percent you’re not.”

“We just started trying. If I were, I’d be all of five minutes pregnant. So you’re being dumb.”

“Five minutes or five months. No difference to me. Pregnant is pregnant.” Lawry and Tap already know conceiving may not come easily, so I won’t have her taking unnecessary risks.

“I can see right now you’re going to be just as bad as my husband if it happens.” I’m protective of my sister. Have been since I was old enough to swing a punch, even if she’s older, but my protectiveness doesn’t match that of Lucas “Tap” Broussard. My brother-in-law is like a damn alpha wolf guarding his mate when it comes to my sister.

Damn. I was so wrong about Tap in the beginning.

“You got the husband. You’ll get the babies too.” Tap will see to it. Of that, I’m certain.

“Would cleaning the floors also be on the list of tasks you deem unsafe?” She rolls her eyes again, this time giving me the eyebrow lift, indicating her question is not about permission. Sassy hippie. “I’d really like to do that before the furniture arrives.”

I forego telling her I’ve already had a cleaning crew come in to take care of that. With Lawry, it’s better to let her believe she’s contributing. “Sure.”

Lawry goes to work on cleaning my clean floors while I haul boxes from my truck. Stacks at least six feet high litter the floor of my dining room.

Wow. The contents of my bachelorhood are compressed into these cardboard rectangles. I have a strong feeling Lawry will try to make me trash most of it. Try. Operative word. After Lawry’s gone, I’ll put my man shit where I want it.

A box with Brewster written in big black letters across the top catches my eye. My first home-brewing beer kit. Got this bad boy before I was even old enough to drink beer… legally, that is.

Fuck, that first batch was nasty. Skunky. But my failure didn’t stop me. I started the next round before the first one soaked into the grass behind my apartment.

I wouldn’t part with this little beauty for a million bucks. It started it all: my love for tasty beer and the science behind what makes a great brew. This old, worn plastic barrel ignited a fire in me and played a huge part in making me who I am today.

A flattened palm raps against the door facing leading into the dining room. “Well, I’m here, motherfucker. What do you need me to do?”

Asshole is two hours late. “I just love how you show up after I’ve already unloaded everything from the truck.”

He looks away and shrugs. “I was doing shit.”

Porter has been doing shit a lot lately. It started out as him going missing for an hour here. Another hour there. Three hours for lunch. Now he disappears for whole weekends at a time. “I know what kind of shit you’re doing. Just not who you’re doing it with.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Why so secretive? Is she fugly?”

Porter shakes his head and looks around my new place. “What do you need me to do?”

Totally avoiding the question. Not an unfamiliar play. It was Tap’s MO when messing around with Lawry behind our backs.

I’ll table it for now. “I need help getting my furniture out of my apartment.”

“Lawry’s letting you bring that junk over here?”

He forgets how much she loves pre-owned shit. “My old stuff is going to her workshop so she can refinish it. Wants to give it life again.”

“How could I forget? Turn crappy into happy.” He does a stellar impersonation of my sister. Always has.

He runs his hand over the box labeled Brewster. “Wow. I haven’t seen this in a long time.”

“Me either. Been boxed away for years.”

“You should put it on display. Maybe down at the brewery if Lawry won’t let you do it here.”

“Not a bad idea. Like a where-it-all-began plaque.” It deserves recognition. Not to be hidden away in storage.

Porter moves to the large window facing my front lawn and pulls the sheer curtain aside. “This is very you.”

“The floral shit will be the first thing to go.”

“I meant the house and quiet neighborhood. The privacy. Your own driveway. Garage. Workshop.”

“I’m hoping I can pick up my woodwork projects again.” Maybe that’s something Dad and I can do together when he and Mom visit. I’ve missed that time with him.

“The only thing you’re lacking now is the wife and kids to complete the full package.”

“I think I’ll just take the house for now.”

“Do you ever think about it? The full package?”

I did with Eden. And look where that got me. “I haven’t for a few years.”

“Right.” I don’t have to say her name for him to understand.

“There’s a house for sale two streets over if you’re considering giving up condo life.”

“Well, that all depends.” He pushes open the drape farther.

“Depends on what?”

“If all the women in this neighborhood look like the one walking up your driveway right now. If that’s the case, house sold.”

“No idea. Haven’t met any of the neighbors.” I move to the window to investigate Porter’s sighting.

Damn. He isn’t wrong. That is one smokin’ hot redhead. Just my brand. And she’s coming this way.

“Looks like I have a visitor to receive.” I stop when Porter doesn’t follow. “You comin’?”

Porter shakes his head. “Nah. You go on. I’ll wait in the truck.”

“Wait in the truck?” This may be the first time Porter hasn’t shoved me out of the way so he could get to a hot piece of ass ahead of me.

Fuck. I recognize the hesitation. The retreat from a hot woman. The pattern. “Who is she?”

Porter shakes his head, wearing a wide shit-eating grin. “Already told you, dude. Nobody.”

“Damn liar.”

Porter chuckles. “She’s your type. Go meet her. I’ll be in

the truck when you’re done.”

Porter has been my number-one bro since our freshman year at Alabama. Pals for almost twelve years. We’ve been through a lot together. Booze. Careers. Women. Lots of women. And never once has he handed one over willingly. Not even a fugly one if he thought he could get laid.

“This conversation isn’t over.”

“Whatever.” He catches my truck keys midair when I toss them in his direction.

“Gimme five.”

“Got a Benjamin in my wallet that says I don’t see you for at least fifteen.”

Never been able to refuse one of Porter’s bets. It’s our thing. And we always pay up. “Sure. I’ll take that bet. I can always use an extra hundred bucks.”

He holds up his phone. “I’ll even give you a whole minute to get out there and initiate the conversation before I start the timer.”

“You’re on, fucker. Get ready to pay up.”

I step onto my front porch and find the flaming beauty talking with my sister. “Ollie! Come meet your neighbor.”

Damn. This good-looking woman is my neighbor. That does not suck.

“This is Adelyn Maxwell. She lives next door.”

Adelyn Maxwell. Adelyn Maxwell. Adelyn Maxwell. I repeat her name in my head. Three times guarantees I’ll never forget it. Not that I’m likely to forget her.

Her small, delicate hand nearly disappears inside my large one. “Oliver Thorn. Pleasure to meet you.”

I point to each of the neighboring homes. “Which is yours?”

She gestures over her right shoulder. “White two-story.”

Ah. The house with the pool. Many images dance through my head and all of them include Adelyn Maxwell in a bikini.

Wonder if she has a husband. Don’t see a ring but that isn’t always an indication.

Kids? Probably not with a body like hers but can’t always go by that.

I glance over at her place and see a fine black F-Type coupé parked in the drive. She ain’t hauling kids around in that.

“Are you married or do you have any children?” Thank you, Lawry, for asking the burning question.

“Nope. Just me. Do y’all have kids?” Well, hell. She thinks we’re together.

Laughter slips from my lips like one of those sneaky little farts that bolt for freedom the moment you become a little too relaxed. “Oh, no, we’re not a couple. She’s my sister.”

“My bad. I assumed you were married. But in my defense most people in this neighborhood are.”