Mountain Man Bad Boy Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
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“The works?”

“What does that come with?”

“Beans, beef, rice, tomatoes, lettuce, guac, sour cream, and our three-cheese blend.” He rattled off the ingredients like someone who had done it millions of times.

“Yes, that sounds great.”

“You can sit in the lobby, but there’s a park behind the library.” He threw a couple of tortillas on a grill and spun them expertly, ladling out all the fixings.

“Thanks.” I collected my lunch as he handed it across the counter. I grabbed a few napkins and stuffed them in the bag, stepping out into the early afternoon sunlight. Spotting the library across the street and down a block, I crossed and ventured behind until I came to the park. A few walking paths and trees made up the bulk of it, not much bigger than a soccer field. In the center, a war memorial held court on a platform of granite. Park benches formed a loose circle around the installment, providing a perfect place for me to sit. I vaguely remembered coming to this park as a child on the days that my mother was sober enough to bring us.

I pulled one warm package from the bag and peeled back the tinfoil. Digging in, I felt my stomach rumble in appreciation. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Before I had a chance to finish one taco, my phone rang.

I set my meal down to answer, assuming it would be work or possibly the vet with information about Evil. Instead, a voice I hadn’t heard for years assaulted my ears.

“Gina?” my brother George rasped. “I need help.”

21

PORTER

Idrove home after work, intending to grab a shower and a change of clothes before meeting Gina at the diner. When I got to the house, however, I found her sitting on the front porch steps. She looked incredible, her hair different somehow, flowing over her shoulders like a waterfall. But there was something wrong; she seemed small. It was as if she had folded in on herself, arms around her knees, head down.

“Hey.” I came close, slipping my keys into my pocket.

“Porter,” she sniffed, uncurling to stand. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, falling against me before releasing a sob.

“Hey, hey,” I soothed, running a hand along her spine. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care that I hadn’t had a chance to shower. There seemed to be more important considerations at the time. “Come inside.” I led her through the front door, into the foyer with its consistently disreputable appearance. The trash in the communal trash can was overflowing, the mail stuffed haphazardly into people’s boxes. “I’m sorry you have to see this.”

“It’s nothing.” She attempted a laugh. “My building is hardly any better.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I said, holding her hand as we mounted the stairs. I imagined her living in a fancy high-rise in Nashville, with a butler to open the door. That was unlikely, but I was positive her lobby was at least swept on a daily basis. “It’s a third-floor walk-up.” I continued to apologize.

“Okay.” She nodded bravely.

We passed one of my housemates on the way up, a young woman who was screaming angrily into her cell phone. “I don’t care what you have to do, just get it!” she roared as she thundered down the stairs. She disappeared out the front door before we could hear any more of her conversation.

“Do you think she was trying to score?” I asked wickedly, trying to lighten the mood.

Gina shrugged, intent on her own misery.

“Or maybe she’s ordering dinner?” I tried again.

This time I was rewarded with a thin smile. We reached the third floor, and I unlocked the room, standing back to let her pass. She took one step inside before realizing there wasn’t any more to it. Standing on the threshold, you could see all four corners of the room, the bed in the center, the dresser, and both windows. At least it’s clean and smells fresh, I thought to myself, inching inside behind her.

“Wow,” she said.

“Yeah.” I nodded, throwing my keys on the dresser. “I told you it was small.”

“I didn’t think it would be this small,” she whispered.

I sat down on the bed to pull my boots off, tossing them back toward the door. She shifted deftly to avoid the missiles, momentarily shocked into action. I grabbed the one pillow and propped it against the wall, making myself as comfortable as possible.

“Come here,” I instructed, holding my arms open.

She collapsed against me without any further prompting. I held her close, stroking her shoulder and smoothing the hair from her face. She decompressed for a few minutes, crying softly into my dirty work shirt.

“I haven’t had a shower yet,” I said gently.

“You smell like sawdust,” she answered, her eyes hopeful beneath the tears.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” I asked.


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