Page 5

Nash

“And who are you? I haven’t seen you before, and I would definitely remember someone as hot as you,” a woman asked, all breathy and suggestive, as she and her girl posse closed in on me. I took a step backward, but my back hit the wall with a soft thud where I waited next to one of the tall tables for Porter to get back to me. I should have gone with him

The one who’d asked the question had long golden-blonde hair flowing over her shoulders like Margot Robbie in the Barbie movie while her sidekicks looked like her clones. Obviously, they were related. Maybe these were the infamous cousins Porter had spoken about.

“I… Yeah, I’m Nash,” I said, wondering what the hell was taking Porter so long. He’d deserted me so quickly, and I was beginning to wonder if this was some elaborate joke. Get the nerdy roommate to some swanky party then leave him alone to flounder.

“Nash,” one of the posse breathed. She reached out to stroke a finger along my lapel. “What brings you—”

“Back off, Barbie. He’s mine,” Porter growled, sliding in beside me, then reaching between me and Barbie—was that really her name?—to place two drinks on the table.

“Oh, rats,” the girl who’d spoken first said, grimacing. “I thought there was finally someone fun at one of these things. It figures he’s gay and with you.”

“Snooze you lose,” Porter returned, putting his arm around my waist. “Shoulda brought your own. Now back off and give my man a little room, would you?”

She huffed, but did inch away slightly. She reached out a hand. “I’m Claire, Port’s twin cousin.”

“They call us that because we were born the same day,” he told me.

I shook her hand then glanced at the other two. “You’re also his cousins.”

They nodded.

“I’m Barbara,” the one he’d called Barbie said.

“And I’m Darby,” the third woman said.

“B, C, D,” I murmured before I could stop myself as I noticed the pattern. “Is there an A?”

Claire snorted. “Yeah, Angela’s around here someplace. But she doesn’t care about fresh meat since she’d with her new British hubby.”

Oh, right…the wedding Porter had needed to go to in February.

“It’s really kinda sickeningly sweet,” Darby muttered with a fake gag. “And we all want our own. So…Nash. Tell us about you.”

“I…” What exactly should I say? What would Porter want me to tell them. We should have talked about this ahead of time.

Porter pulled me in to him and pressed his lips to my temple. A flush burned up my body, familiar prickles erupting down my spine.

“Nash is a genius,” he said. “Runs a tech company with his friends.”

“Really,” Claire asked. “How did you meet? The tech genius crowd doesn’t seem like a circle Port would find himself in—no offense, Port.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “Let’s talk about your makeup vlogs.”

“Shut up. At least I’m not knocking around a piece of rubber with death blades on my feet. Anyway, we’re talking about Nash.”

“I go to Rustin with Porter,” I said then glanced over at him, letting some of my pent-up desire show. My “date” would think it was an act for the girls, and that was okay. It freed me up so I didn’t have to hide for a night. “We hit it off right from the start. I’m not much into sports, so I didn’t know he was on any of Rustin’s teams when we met.”

Darby studied us. “How long have you guys known each other.”

I looked over at Porter. “A couple years.”

“You have not been dating a couple years,” she countered.

“He didn’t say we’ve been dating that long,” Porter growled when I tensed. “He said we’ve known each other that long.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t just get some random guy to come with you?”

“Darby,” Barbra chided under her breath.

“I’m just saying—”

“No,” Porter snapped, interrupting her, and if possible, the hand on my waist tightened. “Nash is my boyfriend.

He pulled me against him, so we were chest to chest. His hand cupped behind my neck and he brought my mouth to his. And God help me, I groaned at the sensation of his firm lips on me. Tension knotted in my chest and another more powerful, far more dangerous sizzle of arousal burned down to the base of my spine. I fisted his lapel, trying to get closer while my arm wrapped around him, my hand stealing beneath his coat to curl on his back.

Porter growled, his mouth forcing more than coaxing my lips apart, but I wasn’t resisting. I wanted the slide of his tongue against mine. Now, I had it and I tasted the alcohol he must have sipped on his way back to the table.

The world melted away as he tugged me tighter to him, all the power gained from constant training coming into play in his iron-like hold.

“Porter George,” a new voice hissed, cutting through the euphoria of our kiss. “We’re entirely tolerant and accepting of your life choices, but do you have to do that here . So publicly. Man or woman, it’s inappropriate.”

Porter pulled back, his forehead to mine as his turbulent dark eyes stared into me. His questions were clear. So was the realization that I’d been hiding more than my past from him.

“Sorry, Mother,” he said, not breaking our gaze. “I was just proving a point to Darby, Claire and Barbie.”

“Well, prove it someplace more private, would you, Son? Now, who is this?”

Porter sighed, his whiskey laden breath wafting over my cheek. Moving to my side, he slung his arm around my waist again and I found myself facing his cousins and a middle-aged couple who must be his parents. My face burned at them catching Porter and me in such a passionate kiss. They were right. It should have been private.

“Mother. Father. This is my boyfriend, Nash Higgins.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. And Mrs. George. Happy anniversary,” I said, extending my hand to first his mother and then his father.

“I have to say, it’s very nice to meet you, too,” his mom said. “Porter’s told us so much about you?”

I looked over at him, blinking in surprise. “He has?”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Porter cut in, “Nash and I…need a moment.”

“I would think so.” His father smirked, the expression another surprise. I’d expected everyone here to be so stiff. As it turned out, that was only me and Porter. And I had to be thankful my tux coat hid that right about then or meeting his parents would have been a million more times embarrassing.