Porter’s fingers flipped through my designs with a slow sensualness. “Your résumé is impressive. Northwestern for graduate school. Hampton for undergrad. Which is crazy because I also went to Hampton. When did you graduate?”
“2001.”
“Wow, I graduated in 1999. Funny. I wonder why we never ran into each other. Our department was so small, it’s a miracle we never had a class together. Everyone knew everyone.”
I swallowed. “Apparently not everyone.” There was no way a man this fine would have been in any circle I was in. The extent of my collegiate life was the library, architectural studio, watching Anime, and singing in the Gospel choir. I was semi-reclusive.
Porter looked up. “Guess not. Do you attend homecoming? I mean, I would have remembered running into you there.”
“I haven’t been to homecoming in a while,” I confessed. “Major projects have kept me busy these past years.” I realized Riddle’s emphasis on commonalities was something Porter had taken to heart. Hampton homecoming was legendary, but there was no way he’d recognize me in a sea of thousands.
“Did you pledge anything?” Porter asked. “A sorority, that is.”
“No,” I said flatly. Now, it seemed, he was grasping at straws. I hoped he wasn’t one of those snobby, entitled, party-all-weekend frat boys I used to see running around campus. Porter looked like the type of dude on campus who went to all the frat parties, was on the sailing team, summered in Martha’s Vineyard, went horseback riding, and had a ton of well-connected, old-money friends. Guys like that were not checking for me back then.
Porter folded his arms. “Oh…it’s just so weird we’ve never run into each other. Not in the department. At an alumni event. Nothing. I feel like… Never mind.”
What was this dude getting at? I watched as Porter continued to peruse my designs with his rather large and capable hands. Great, now I wondered how he looked holding well-worn leather reins.
“I was in Gospel Choir,” I blurted out, trying not to think about…horseback riding.
Porter scratched his temple. “Oh. Okay. I didn’t know anyone in choir. Partying on Saturday night with my frat brothers kind of took precedence over the Lord. You know how it is!” He let out a little chortle.
Well, he was indeed a frat boy. But the snorting? A pleasantly awkward, adorable surprise that came from a devilishly handsome face. The jury was still out on the “snobby and entitled” part.
I forced a smile on my face and Porter, following my lead, did the same. The difference was that his smile was genuine and reached his eyes. It was an incredibly gorgeous fucking smile, making me clench my abs.
“Anyway,” Porter continued, closing my portfolio. “We have all the time in the world to get to know each other better. I’ll let you get settled. Welcome home… I mean…well… You know what I mean.”
He scratched his head of low curls sheepishly. Cute, humble, and awkward, but with the face of an Adonis? Talk about rare.
“My office is across the hall, so holler if you need me, fellow Pirate.” Porter put his hand on my shoulder, then quickly removed it. “I’m going to go. I have another call in a minute. So…let’s meet back up after that? Say thirty minutes?”
I nodded, with a dumb smile plastered on my face, completely transfixed, and trying hard not to look at Porter’s butt as he left my office. It was so perfect that I’m convinced that if you bounced a quarter off it, you’d get five nickels.
I looked at the sticky note and quickly dialed up Ms. Gayle.
“Yes, Ms. James? Those things brought by the courier working out for you?”
“Yes, they are.” I looked across the hall at Porter, who gave me a wave. And…was that a wink? I smiled, then turned my back. Nope. This will not work. Not if I have to work with…all of that. I have too much riding on this.
“Ms. Gayle. Is there any way I can get some blinds on my door? I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure thing, Ms. James.”
Chapter Two
Porter
I stood at the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on my face for the tenth time, replaying everything that just happened—Spike Lee style.
Heat pricked the tips of my ears.
Shit, shit, shit.
She was here.
The girl from the train.
My God, she was gorgeous. Thick legs adorned with modest heels and a fitted （no, tight） black skirt. I’d seen her tug at it this morning, trying to hide the run in her stockings, which had to suck. I didn’t understand how women could wear pantyhose in this heat. All I had to worry about was picking out the right suit and maybe color coordinate my socks. She’d pulled her look together with an ivory shirt that was working overtime to hide an ample bust. The fabric clung to her nipple, which had hardened and was peeking out a bit from under the stain. I’d had to reposition myself in my seat as I felt myself growing wildly uncomfortable in the crotch. She wore her makeup light and beautifully natural, enhancing the deep caramel undertones of her skin.