The Build Up (66)

“Sure. It’s the least I can do after today.”

Porter scratched the back of his scruffy neck. “Well, I’m without a date next weekend to the Hampton Atlanta Alumni Gala. Will you go with me? As friends?”

I raised my eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I mean, my mom and Desmond will be there. And now that I know she’s such a huge fan of yours, how can I disappoint her? So, is it a date? I mean, as friends? Alums? I know my mom would love to see you again.”

I dipped my madeleine into my coffee as I pondered the invitation. “Bella’s always begging me to go. I never do. I guess I can make an exception. I’d hate for you to be all dateless in your tux. Wait, is it black tie?”

I hadn’t worn a formal dress since Bella’s wedding. The anxiety of sequins, control top garments, and back zippers made me sweat. The one downfall of being single is not having someone to zip up your dress. Zippers in the back should be banned.

Porter nodded. “Of course, it’s black tie. But before you start worrying about your outfit, can we finish breakfast?”

As Porter reached over for a madeleine, I smoothed his hair down, running my fingers through the short curls. He closed his eyes, allowing my hand to tame a stray hair. His lashes fluttered against the palm of my hand as he turned his lips inward, grazing the inside of my wrist.

“You had a piece of lint from your sweatshirt in your hair,” I lied, embarrassed at my need to touch him. To feel him. Dammit, Ari. You’re not making it easier.

“Thanks, Ari. These wild curls, you know,” Porter said, slightly above a whisper, his lips dangerously close to my wrist. His faint, heated breath tickled my skin and hastened my pulse. I sat perfectly still, trying to gather my words.

I pulled my hand back. “Truthfully, I don’t know how to react when you tell me how you feel about me. This is new for me. Someone who wants me this way.”

Porter frowned. “What way is that?”

“Honestly. With so much confidence, it spills over. It’s too much to handle, PJ.”

“You deserve that level of honesty for a change.”

I blinked back tears, turning to look out of the window. The older couple were no longer there, replaced by skateboarders in oversized shorts. I looked back at my tablemate. Porter’s eyes were transfixed. His green eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement.

“What’s so funny?”

“You called me ‘PJ.’ I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me that.”

“Oh... Wait. Is that what you took from my entire spiel here?”

Porter laughed. “Of course not, woman. But it’s good to know you’re comfortable enough with me now to call me PJ. And I heard you. I hope you heard me too.”

I nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“Since we’re prioritizing honesty, can I be frank?” Porter exhaled deeply, then continued. “Ari, you challenge me. You’re so sure of yourself in ways that I’m not. You’re sexy and smart. Sometimes I just marvel at your ability to just exist and be. Nothing rattles you. The partners. Other people. Assholes like Greer. I’ve never met someone who just knows who they are. Whether it is work or anything else. I realize I can be myself with you, Ari, because you see right through my bullshit and call me on it. That is scary and new for me.”

Porter’s fingers fiddled with his zipper. “I’ve just been in relationships that work because we never got deeper than surface level. Never have to work at it. And I liked it that way. I could just put on the suits, go to the dinners, and just leave it at that. You’ve opened yourself up to me, and I’m opening myself up to you in ways that I never have with anyone. You don’t want a relationship right now. Cool. I’m a patient man, Ari. I’ll wait for you forever if you’ll allow it, but I’m not going anywhere. But if I had the opportunity to make you mine, I wouldn’t dare fuck this up.”

I sat back and looked at Porter with astonishment. “What do you mean, I’m confident in ways that you’re not? Porter, I’ve had years of building myself up all because people want to tear me down because of the way I look. Being a big woman is difficult. Being a big Black woman is ridiculously challenging, especially in the industry we work.”

Porter folded his arms. “And do you think things are easy for me?”

My mouth parted in bewilderment. “PJ, what does that mean?”

Porter rubbed his forehead. “I know what it feels like for folks to make assumptions based on how you look. I have the great misfortune of looking exactly like my late father and my grandfather. You know, amongst certain groups of our people, a light complexion is still a hot commodity that comes with a lot of unspoken privileges. People assume—with the eyes, the complexion, the hair—that I’m this arrogant pretty-boy who knows it all. Everyone thinks that I’m skating by because of my looks and connections. I’m a Harrison, the great senator’s grandson. Even Greer hints at that any chance he gets. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’m an insecure, shy, nerdy guy who just played the role people expected of me. A people-pleaser who went to the right college, picked the right major, joined the legacy of a frat, had the girls, drove the fancy cars—all because that’s what’s expected of a guy like me. Ari, I hate fancy suits. Maintenance on my car is a beast. I live in an overpriced loft. I’d much rather be painting than doing 3D renderings. Deep down, it’s all a facade. It feels like a life someone else designed for me.”