The rain starts to fall harder, all around us, and I start to sob all over again. “Porter…the grant got denied. Unless I figure something out, they’re going to close the library. I messed everything up.”

  He reaches out for me, and I drop my purse and the keys on the sidewalk, and I stand there, letting him hold me while I sob into his uniform, hating myself for using him like this. And he’s here, just holding me unquestioningly, just… being a great guy, just like Cheyenne said he was.

  And I’m the asshole.

  Maybe I’m more like my family like I thought.

  I realize, with horror, that instead of Porter abandoning me…I abandoned him.

  Just like they did to me.

  My stomach clenches, and I am sick in the bushes next to the library bench. I’m just like them. I can’t get away from it.

  I had someone good and I ruined everything.

  Porter, being the good guy that he is, smoothes back my hair, and insists on bringing me home in the front seat of his cruiser instead of letting me drive. “You’re not in any shape to be behind a wheel, Zoey,” he says, as I sit in the front seat with the purse in my lap.

  I don’t argue. He’s probably right. I can always walk to work tomorrow, or have Zoey drop me off.

  We drive in silence for a few blocks, listening to calls come in through the radio, but I can feel Porter watching me. Finally, when we’re parked outside of the garage we live above, he asks me.

  “Do you want to talk about why you’ve been avoiding me, Zoey?” He’s not even angry anymore. His voice is gentle. Kind. Forgiving.

  Everything I don’t deserve.

  “I kind of freaked out,” I admit. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, and I’m afraid if you do that you’ll just leave me.”

  “Why do you think that?” he asks.

  “Because it’s not good. You come from this great family and it seems like you have these awesome brothers and sister and stuff and me….” I trail off. “When I lose the library, I won’t have anything, Porter. I’ll have to leave this town and you and Cheyenne, and I’ll be alone again, just like I always am.”

  He’s silent for a few moments, but it feels like an eternity. “I wish you’d give me the chance to decide for myself.”

  I look at him, considering. “It’s not that I don’t think you deserve that chance, Porter. It’s that I’m not ready to give it.”

  “What are you saying?” he asks. His voice is tight. Strange. He’s upset. His hands tighten around the steering wheel.

  “Maybe you deserve better, Porter.”

  “That’s not an answer, and that’s bullshit.” The quiet anger that bleeds through in his voice raises the hair on my arms.

  “Maybe I don’t have an answer for you right now!" I raise my voice, and I don’t mean to. I never want to raise my voice at him.

  “I want to be with you, Zoey,” he says. “I love you.”

  “And I…” I pause. Shit. I almost said it back. Right then. I almost told him I loved him. But he doesn’t deserve to be tangled further in my stupid, confused web.

  “I think I need a little space, Porter.”

  And before I can take it back, I get out of the car and run, sobbing again, into the garage.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cheyenne sits with me at the local bar. Lola was here earlier too, but she left. She never hangs quite as long as we do. Plus, she had like four tequila shots straight away and started feeling like she was going to vomit, so she called someone to give her a ride. Which was fine, because I needed to talk to Cheyenne. Alone. I’d been on the verge of a breakdown all evening.

  Actually, I’d been on the verge of a breakdown since the moment I told Porter I needed space.

  “I don’t know what else to say,” she says, finally. “I don’t think this is a Porter thing, Zoey. I think it’s a you thing.”

  I sigh heavily, slumping over on my barstool, stirring my third Bushwhacker milkshake with my straw. I’m very drunk.

  “I know it’s a me thing. I just don’t know how to fix it. He told me he loved me again after comforting me about the library and I told him I needed space and ran away.” I lower my voice. “I was worried about him abandoning me like my parents did and then I did the same to him.”

  Cheyenne grabs my face and makes me look at her. “Stop, Zoey. Listen.” She laughs. “I sound like Vanilla Ice!” She giggles. “Anyway. That’s not important. I have a few points to make.” She’s slurring her words, or maybe my ears are slurring. I’m not sure which.

  “What?”

  “First of all, you aren’t a bad person. Your parents left you when you were seventeen, not the other way around. And that’s going to have reseninal—residenal—residual effects on a person,” she says, finally getting her mouth around the word.

  “So?” I say. “Doesn’t change the fact I’m a d-bag.”

  “You’re not a d-bag! You’re my sister and I love you! Not like, my actual sister, but like my sister. For real. And I know we’re both kind of wasted right now but like I love you and Porter loves you and even though you won’t admit it, you love Porter a lot. And you guys have some hot sex, because even when you turn up your music I can hear it through my wall and it makes me want to die.”

  I take a sip of my milkshake. “Um. Sorry.”

  “So. Here’s what you do. Apologize to Porter and tell him you’re done freaking out. And then you figure out how you’re going to save the library because I cannot survive in this town without you. I would have to rely on Frankie even more, and then he would annoy me, and then I'd have to kill him. Just... straight-up kill him. Do you want me to go to jail for homicide?”

  "I guess not," I say. "I like Frankie." I shrug and almost knock over the half-full Bushwhacker, but manage to save it. I take another drink.

  “Who knows?" I add. "I was talking with Mariah and Elmer about a silent auction. We’d hold it downtown and people could bring stuff to donate. Elmer has a couple of rare books, and Mariah’s mom could donate like a cut and a highlight since she works in the salon on 7th.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Cheyenne says. “Frankie and I can donate car stuff. Like tire rotations, oil changes, maybe a gift certificate or something. What do you think?”

  I hug her, right there in the middle of the bar. “I think you’re the best friend in the entire world ever.” Ooops, maybe I’m slurring.

  “Did you put out the call on Facebook yet?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No. We don’t have anywhere to actually have the auction.”

  She rolls her eyes so far up in her head I’m afraid they’ll get stuck. “Ummmmm we live behind a giant parking lot? How about next Saturday? We can bring in the tables from the library for everyone to set their stuff on. It’ll be a big deal. You can put it on the library Facebook page now.”

  “Don’t you need to ask Frankie?”

  Cheyenne snorts. “Guess who owns half the garage, Zoey? Trust me. It’ll be fine. I know everyone thinks I’m just the receptionist, but I get to make decisions, too.”

  I pull up my Facebook and create the event. “Are you sure this is right?” I ask, passing my phone to Cheyenne. My eyes are a little blurry, anyway. Maybe it’s not the best idea to be creating an event super drunk, but right now, I don’t really care.

  She looks at it. “Looks great! Besides, we can tweak it tomorrow when we actually start inviting people.” She leans over the bar. “Hey! Bart! Can I get some waters over here for my girl? We’re drunk and we got stuff to do tomorrow!”

  Bart, the bartender, brings over two full pitchers. “I can tell,” he says, dryly.

  As I save the event, my phone vibrates twice.

  It’s a text.

  From Porter.

  I know you said you needed space… but I wanted to let you know I missed you.

  I crush the phone to my chest. I miss him, too. I miss him so much it hurts. I can’t deny it to myself anymore. I’m happier with him than without him.

  Maybe it’s time to actually tell him that.

  “Do you know that the last time I was this drunk, I kissed Porter at Oktoberfest?” I say, bitterly.

  “Maybe it’s time to do something else that crazy,” Cheyenne suggests.

  So I text Porter back.

  I miss you too.

  Maybe to anyone else, it’s small. But it feels like the bravest thing I’ve done in a long time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I stand up on a small makeshift stage that Frankie Miller built for the auction in the back of the garage. He worked on it all weekend, as a favor to Cheyenne and me. It was about the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen an ex-husband do, and I've never even banged him.

  “Well, I don’t want to see that library go anywhere either, Zoey,” he said. “And for that matter, I don’t want to see you go anywhere. It was about time you came home.”

  I smiled hard at him then, hoping he didn’t see I was getting all choked up. “Thank you, Frankie.”

  So now I’m standing here, and there’s a pretty good sized crowd of people, all here to save our little library. True to their words, Elmer donated signed books, Mariah donated a hair care package (with added products) from her mother, and even though Cheyenne and Frankie were already doing a ton of work, they still donated car services and a gift certificate.

  Other businesses and some locals donated items too: restaurants donated gift cards, teachers donated tutoring sessions, a local electronics store donated a drone, and we even scored an unlocked mobile phone. There were other things too, but still: I was scared it wasn’t enough. Terrified, actually. We were accepting monetary donations in addition, but what if no one donated? The Save the Library page hadn’t exactly been a roaring success.

  We needed just over $22,000. We’d barely raised anything.

  I clear my throat, surveying the crowd. There’s one face missing, one person I have yet to talk to: Porter Banks. But I had to start the show. I couldn’t wait for him. We’d texted a little—very little—but he’d been true to his word. He’d given me the space that I asked for.

  And I hated it.

  Cheyenne gives me a thumbs up from the back of the crowd. It’s time to go.

  “Good afternoon! I’d like to personally thank each and every one of you for coming out to the silent auction! We appreciate you all so much for coming together to save our library. As you all know, we’re facing a bit of a city budget crisis, and it’s our beloved library that’s on the chopping block, unfortunately. I know that this library has been more of a home to me than anywhere else my entire life, and it means so much to me to save it.”

  The crowd claps politely, and I hear Cheyenne and Frankie whooping from the back of the crowd, giving me courage to keep going.

  I check my phone. “The silent auction officially begins in one minute. Please note that the local theatre has kindly agreed to supply popcorn and soda pop to everyone here for $1 each. All proceeds go to the Save the Library fund. When I hit the bell, you may begin bidding.”

  The bell, of course, is just the library bell, which I’ve borrowed from the help desk. It’ll be amplified by the microphone. We had to cut corners here and there, after all.

  “A special thank you to all those who have donated items here, and all who are looking to bid. We appreciate each and every one of you. If you’ve won an item, you’ll be contacted within 48 hours, and you’ll be required to pay within a 24 hour time period. If we do not receive that payment. We’ll move onto the next bidder. Now, any—"

  I’m cut off, quite suddenly, by the low growl of a motorcycle cutting through the crowd.

  No. It can’t be.

  He wouldn’t.

  No.

  But it is.

  Porter Banks. The officer previously known as my Porter Banks. The thought tugs painfully at my heart.

  But what is he doing? Why is he driving that motorcycle through the crowd? And it’s a beautiful motorcycle—shiny and chrome and stunning. Very vintage. I don’t even know what it is, if I’m telling the truth, but I know that Porter looks gorgeous astride it. Powerful.

  Sexy.

  He parks it, right in the middle of the gathering, and hops off.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I say, “Porter Banks!”

  Everyone applauds, like I totally planned this whole thing.

  Porter jogs up on the stage. He reaches for the microphone. “If I may, Zoey?”

  I stare at him, terrified. What is he going to say? Still, I hand the microphone to him.

  He smiles at me, the full, gorgeous wattage of it turned on, and suddenly I’m not worried anymore.

  He turns to the crowd. “Hey, everyone. If you don’t know me, my name is Porter Banks. I’m one of your friendly neighborhood police officers, and I sure hope you don’t mind me holding up your silent auction here. I have a little bit of a late entry, you see. I bet you’re wondering what it is.”

  He sneaks a sideways glance at me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m paying attention.

  I am.

  “Restoring old bikes was something I used to do with my dad before he passed. And that one there—see, that one is a Harley Sportster worth about twenty-five grand, ladies and gentlemen, and I have restored her to her natural glory. And I can’t think of any better purpose for her than to save the library here that Miss Zoey Winston loves so much. So if we could start the bidding at fifteen thousand, please. Zoey, if you could ring the bell? And Cheyenne, I believe you have the paper made up already?”

  Shocked, I look toward the back, where Cheyenne is gleefully holding up a sheet of paper where people interested in the bike can place their bids. I look toward Porter, and back toward Cheyenne. She was in on it. They were both in on it.

  I cover the microphone, and stand on my tiptoes to hiss in his ear. “Porter! You can’t sell your motorcycle!”

  He smiles at me, so tenderly I almost melt right there on the stage. “If it keeps you here, there’s nothing I want to do more. Now Zoey, please ring the bell.”

  My jaw drops.

  Porter holds up the microphone. “Zoey?”

  I hit the bell, and the crowd takes off toward the table—except for a large clump of men and women, who stand around the bike, admiring it.

  “Porter,” I whisper. “Porter, you gave up your bike. For me.”

  He tucks his finger under my chin and lifts my face up. “I wanted to show you I’m serious about you. That I don’t care if other people left you—that I’m not going to. It’s you and me, babe.”

  I bite my bottom lip. “Cheyenne told you.”

  He nods. “I was going crazy without you. I didn’t know what to do. You got under my skin, Zoey. I’m…I’m so in love with you I didn’t know what to do, but I wanted to give you space. Cheyenne ran into me at the bar, and she told me how it was for you guys in high school. How your parents disappeared and left you totally alone. And how it's just been you and Cheyenne for a long time.” He lets his breath out. “I’m just sorry you had to go through that.”

  My heart hammers in my chest. “I know it’s stupid, but I was scared you were going to leave me too. So I panicked. I thought I needed space, but I was wrong. I needed you.” A single tear drips down my cheek. “I love you, Porter. You’re everything to me.”

  He kisses me, right there in front of everyone, like half the town isn’t in the parking lot of the Miller garage, and holds me so tight to his chest I think I might explode with happiness.

  “Say,” I whisper in his ear. “I think everyone’s pretty preoccupied right now. And I have a key to the library. Unless you want to stay here and answer questions about your motorcycle.”

  He grins. “You know, I put all the specs on the bid sheet. I think we can probably slip away for a few minutes.”

  Ten minutes later, Porter’s pulling down my jeans in the reference section, which is the middle of the library, far away from any windows. The library is too old—and too poor—to have cameras, thank God. Although that might be kind of hot.

  I unbuckle his jeans hastily. He’s already hard as steel. Harder than I’ve ever felt him.

  And ready for me.

  “Turn around, Zoey,” he growls.

  I obey. “Yes, Porter.”

  “Now hold on.”

  He presses his length into my opening, not bothering to go slow or be gentle. He slams into me, his girth stretching me deliciously, and I cry out again and again as he thrusts into me, over and over as I hang onto a shelf. My cries and moans echo in the empty library.

  His hands come around to massage my breasts, and I tiptoe on the precipice of orgasm.

  “I never want to leave you again,” I tell him. Never.

  He pulls out and spins me around, and throws me on a table. He pushes back inside of me. “Then marry me, Zoey,” he demands. There is no room for argument, and I don’t want to. I want him.

  I push forward, sliding further onto him, forcing him to fill me the rest of the way. This is how we belong. We fit together. Loving, fighting, fucking. This is how we work.

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes, baby. Yes, Porter. You and me, forever.”

  He wraps his arms around me and I wrap my legs around him, and we come together as he releases into me, finally and forever one.

  Want morefromthe Small Town Sexy series?

  Turn the page for the first three chapters of

  book two, BEST BAD IDEA!

  BEST BAD IDEA

  A Small Town Sexy novel

  Book Two

  Morgan Young

  Chapter One

  When your wild best friend is about to marry a cop, move to the suburbs, and most likely become a Stepford wife, you accept her barbecue invitation.

  It’s the least I can do, really. Especially since I’m the one who dared her to kiss that very same cop all those months ago, inadvertently getting her arrested. I’m pretty sure Zoey forgives me for that, though. Her guy is criminally hot.

 

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