Dick Dynasty: Porter Part 4

She shuffled her way through the living room and into the kitchen, yawning and stretching as she went. Her flaming red hair looked like a flock of pigeons had nested in it over night and she wasn't wearing anything but an emerald green bra and a silk g-string to match.

I turned my attention back to my comics while she went through the laborious process of ruining her coffee with precisely three tablespoons of sugar and a quarter cup of cream. She was so picky about her coffee that she had brought her own coffee mug to my house so that the coffee-to-junk ratio wasn't ruined.

How she managed to keep her figure was a mystery to even the wisest of cardio queens.

As expected, my grumbly best friend and her miniature bucket of coffee flavored sugar milk joined me in short order. It only took two sips before she jumped into her play-by-play of my drunken temper tantrum from the night before.

I kept my face schooled in a mask of cool indifference, but on the inside I grew more mortified with every word out of her mouth. I could only pray that I hadn't had a melt down of that caliber before I had left the party. I needed to call Preston and see if he could fill in any holes for me.

I was pretty sure I hadn't been blackout drunk until the bottle of wine, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Becks finally stopped talking to breathe and take a sip of her latte. I pounced on the opportunity to derail her.

"I know I've said it a thousand times before, but I mean it this time. I'm never drinking again."

She snorted into her nearly empty coffee bowl and rolled her eyes at me.

"You wouldn't do that to me," she announced as she rose to refill her caffeine supply, "Last night was comedy gold, honey. If anything, you need to be drinking more often."

I stood and followed her into the kitchen to retrieve my cell phone. If she was this happy about how much of an a.s.s I'd been, I needed to text Preston and apologize profusely before I called him to figure out what I'd done.

I hit the power b.u.t.ton and waited for the screen to flash to life. Every ounce of Becks' concentration was focused on making sure her scientific calculations were correctly executed, so I used the few moments of silence I had to practice the conversation I was about to have.

"Hey, Preston! Sorry I ruined your party last night... Let me know if I need to write a check or something." No.

"Hi, P! I hope I didn't break anything or throw up on someone last night!" No.

"Whatever happened, it wasn't me!" Tempting.

I suck at apologizing.

My phone buzzed to life in a frenzy of long and short vibrations as the push notifications from text messages, emails, missed calls, and voicemails began to come through. The drunken party girl side of me told me to just hit the power b.u.t.ton again and walk away until I went back to work the next day.

The meaner, fun-sucking adult side won the day and I pulled up my email first.

It didn't take more than a couple flicks of my finger and a quick scan of the subject lines to ascertain that there was nothing that couldn't wait until Monday and closed the app.

Text messages were next on my list. Becks had wandered off to the living room again, so I read through them all and fired off responses to the ones that weren't business related. I promised myself the rest could be dealt with first thing the following morning.

I dialed my voicemail and put my phone on speaker as I turned to refill my own coffee cup. I dropped an ice cube into the steaming black liquid as I listened to the half dozen or so short updates about projects that had been green-lighted or cancelled in the twelve hours since I'd been on my self-appointed mini-vacation.

"I thought you weren't working this weekend." Becks was propped against the wall just inside the kitchen with her coffee cradled to her breast like an infant.

"I'm not," I pressed the nine b.u.t.ton on my keypad to save the message for later and waited for the last of the voicemails to play, "I'm just checking my messages and making sure the world didn't end while I was ignoring my phone last night."

"Hey, Holly, it's Porter-er-Ryder. h.e.l.l, I don't know what you know me as," Becks and I exchanged surprised glances and she all but leapt on top of the counter to better hear what he was saying, "I figured I should probably call and apologize for last night. I was a bit drunk and p.i.s.sed off at my idiot brother and I wasn't paying attention to what was going on around me and I didn't mean to run you over and I hope you can forgive me. If any damage was done when I spilled your drink all over you like a stumbling idiot, I'll pay to have it repaired, cleaned, or replaced. Whatever you think is best. I'd also like to take you out for drinks or dinner or something to say thanks for not stabbing me in they eye with the stem of your martini gla.s.s. We can go wherever you want, whenever you want, and I'll pay. Please let me know. Again, I'm so sorry for being such a total p.r.i.c.k last night. I hope to hear from you soon."

He left his phone number and the message ended with a click.

Becks and I stood there gaping at each other in total shock.

Had he sounded nervous? He'd definitely been rambling.

Before I had time to respond, Becks s.n.a.t.c.hed my phone off the counter, ripping the charger out of the wall as she did so, and took off like a flash down the hallway. I heard the door to the bathroom slam shut and Porter's m.u.f.fled voice begin to play once more.

She wouldn't...

Oh yes she would!

"Rebecca Sloan! You get your a.s.s out here right f.u.c.king now!" I pounded my fist against the locked bathroom door and heard her giggle as Porter's voice repeated his telephone number. I put my ear to the door as I furiously and uselessly jiggled the door handle. She wasn't making a sound. I hammered my fist into the wood a few more times and yelled obscenities I didn't even know I had in my vocabulary.

My phone slid through the crack under the door and I heard her break into hysterical laughter.

I stared down at the tiny black square of gla.s.s, metal, and plastic at my feet.

What had she done?

I bent down and retrieved the device with a trembling hand.

The screen flashed to life when I pressed the unlock b.u.t.ton and answered my question. My stomach sank as my mind raced to come up with a way to fix it.

I sank down against the wall opposite the bathroom door and sat there staring at the text message that was still on the screen.

Dinner sounds great. Friday. 7:30. Spago Beverly Hills.

I closed my eyes and pushed my head back against the wall. I knew at that very moment that I was going to have to fake my own death. Or possibly go out in search of some heinous crime to witness so that I could testify and go into the Witness Protection Program.

My phone chirped in my hand and I dropped it like it had transformed into a spider.

An eye appeared under the door across the hall, "What did he say?" I could hear the excitement in Becks' voice even with her face pressed to the floor.

"I don't know and I'm not going to find out," I said curtly, "I'm going to put you in my car, set it on fire, and drive it into the L.A. river. They'll a.s.sume the charred remains were mine and I can slip away to Mexico unnoticed."

"You're being dramatic, Holly."

"No, I'm being dead serious. I am not going on a date with a p.o.r.n star. I have a career to think about. Can you imagine what the headlines of 'People' would read? Ugh. That's not the kind of P.R. nightmare I want to deal with. No. Either you fix this, or your charred corpse is going for a swim."

"So," her eyeball disappeared from the crack beneath the door, "does that mean I can come out without you trying to hurt me?"

I kicked my phone back under the door, "No. You can fix it from there. The moment you set foot outside that bathroom, I'm going to bludgeon you with your own coffee mug."

"Well, I'll have to take my chances then because he says he can't wait to see you. I'll stay in here all night if I have to, but you're not getting out of this. You have a date with Ryder Ruff in just over twenty-four hours and, by G.o.d, I'm gonna make sure you show up for it."

I let myself slide sideways onto the cool hardwood and curled into the fetal position, "I hate you so much, Rebecca. You're going to h.e.l.l for this."

"Thank me tomorrow," she responded from her self-imposed prison cell, "Oooh! Think I can get him to send a d.i.c.k pic?"

I lunged at the locked door, sending her into a fit of cackling.

"It was a joke, Holly! Christ! Calm down!"

"It wasn't a joke and we both know it!"

"Well, it was mostly a joke," she admitted.

"I hope the toilet overflows on you," I spat with one final kick at the door, "It'd serve you right for being such an awful friend."

"It'd be so worth it."

I left my post outside the bathroom and retrieved my coffee from its spot on the kitchen counter.

She had to come out eventually, and when she did, I'd be waiting.

Holly's text finally came through as I pulled into the gym and my first reaction was to call her and thank her for understanding. I didn't want to push my luck though, so I just shot back a short response and called Preston. He was always my go-to guy for all things involving women.

"Well, I guess I didn't f.u.c.k it up too bad," I said when he answered, "She agreed to meet for dinner this weekend."

"Really?" There was more surprise in the single word than there should have been and I knew something wasn't quite right.

"What do you mean, really? Why are you so surprised by that?"

"It's just, I dunno, I figured she'd forgive you, not set up a dinner date."

"Preston, it's me. I could go through the phone book and call every number in alphabetical order and a good ninety percent of the people I talked to, male or female, would agree to a dinner date with me."

"Trust me, I know, Porter. I was just sure she was in the other ten percent is all. She hates the p.o.r.n industry. She was ready to bolt the moment I opened the door for her at the party last night. It's not her scene and she's kinda grossed out by it all."

Not her scene? Everyone likes p.o.r.n. What the h.e.l.l did he mean 'not her scene'?

"Porter, I gotta go," a loud slap interrupted Preston's goodbye, "You son of a b.i.t.c.h! You're not even inside me! There was no need for that!"

"Are you on set?" I asked, choking on the laugh that threatened to rumble out of my throat.

"Yeah, but this dumb son of a b.i.t.c.h can't manage to keep it up, so we're all just kinda sitting around while he grinds his hips into my a.s.s. It's not like I have anything better to do with my day! Anyway, I think I'm gonna have to teach this straight boy to bottom so we can get the h.e.l.l out of here before I'm too old to enjoy my good looks. I'll talk to you when we wrap."

"Go easy on the poor guy."

"One more slap on my a.s.s cheek and I'll split the b.a.s.t.a.r.d in two."

The sharp crack of hand on flesh came over the line just before it went dead. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy. If he really was straight, he had just crossed a line he probably hadn't intended on crossing when he showed up for work that morning. Preston's d.i.c.k is almost as big as mine and he had a reputation for getting a little bit rough with his bottoms. The potential for st.i.tches was high.

I cringed as I tossed my phone into my gym bag.

The familiar sounds of clanking weights, grunting meatheads, and the over-caffeinated Jazzercise instructor welcomed me to the second best place on Earth.

I'll be the first to admit I'm a gym bunny. My body pays my bills and keeping it tuned up is part of my routine seven days a week.

I hit the locker room and changed into my loose pair of basketball shorts and a demolished t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. I'm all about cardio, so I had to be able to move.

"Porter!"

I cringed before turning around to face Vanessa, the over-caffeinated Jazzercise instructor.

"Hey, V. How was cla.s.s today?"

"It was great! Really invigorating! We miss seeing you in there!"

I'd had a momentary lapse in judgment a few months prior and found myself in her cla.s.s a few times. All the bouncing t.i.ts and a.s.s had been like a siren call to my over-imaginative loins.

I ended up hooking up with her once and never set foot in her cla.s.s again.

"Yeah, it just turned out to be more of a hindrance for my training. It's good to see you though!"

I turned to walk away and she grabbed my forearm in a vice-like grip, "How about a spot?"

She walked to a nearby flat bench and loaded up the bar with a hundred pounds of iron.

Not wanting to offend her, I took my position over her head and gripped the steel bar on either side of her hands.

"Now this takes me back," she winked up at me.

The tip of my d.i.c.k was dangling inches from her face and it took every ounce of my willpower not to roll my eyes and walk away as she stared at it absently licking her lips.

I hefted the weights out of the bar catchers, drawing her focus back to the task at hand, and let the bar settle into her palms.

Her form and breathing were flawless and her endurance admirable. I spotted her through four sets of twenty before she called it quits and allowed my to guide the bar back into its cradle.

"Thanks, Porter. If you ever need to add a little extra cardio to your day, you know where to find my bed."

She leaned up on her toes and kissed my cheek before drifting off to the women's locker room.

I absently wiped the spot with my shoulder and headed for the nearest treadmill. The need to run was reaching a critical point.

I programmed in a two mile run at six miles an hour and hit start.

My body took over and quickly settled into the familiar rhythm. My pulse, breathing, and footfalls synched up perfectly and all thoughts of Vanessa were quickly pushed from my head.

As I pushed myself through the quick two miles, the stresses of the day sloughed off like dirty clothes. The booze from the night before poured through my pores in steady streams of sweat and left me feeling invigorated and pure.

When my warm-up run was over, I moved on to lunges, then weighted lunges, twenty-yard sled pulls, and leg presses. With twenty minutes to go, I headed back to the treadmill and hit the hill. Six miles an hour with a five percent incline would push me just enough that I'd be exhausted, but still be able to walk the next day.

That last twenty minutes, I found myself with only one thing on my mind: Holly Nash.

I could still see her slender, incredibly long legs perched on top of those sky-high f.u.c.k me heels. The way her dress clung to her hips and showed off her tiny waist and powerful thighs was emblazoned in the forefront of my memory. I had spent most of the night thinking about them wrapped around my hips. Her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s with their deep cleavage and long slender arms tipped with delicate unpolished fingers had ravaged my dreams. Her plump, rosy lips and soft, supple tongue had worked my shaft with expert precision as she stared up at me with her incredible hazel eyes. My hands had been fisted in her impossibly soft auburn hair and I was moments from watching her swallow my load when Preston had shaken me awake.

Running became increasingly difficult as more of my blood found its way from the brain in my head to the one between my legs.

Cold shower. I need a cold shower.