“September, but I'm headed to TAFE in March.”
Just in case you're wondering if I'm old enough to fuck you, I think.
Porter's eyes melt into me, as if he's had the same thought.
My dirty mind keeps twisting every word he says.
“I'm sure it will be worth the wait,” he smiles. “You gonna follow my lead?”
“Huh?”
“You're doing a level three hospo cert, like me?”
“Oh. Yeah, certificate first. Then maybe a Diploma in Event Management.”
Dirty, dirty, dirty mind.
“I reckon you'll love it,” he grins. “Nothing to be nervous about.”
“No?”
“You can take it as slow as you need. You'll fit in there so well.”
Fit where, exactly?
I know where I’d like to fit.
“Plenty of hospitality jobs around here, too. I only picked Franko cos he's one of the few who offer accommodation. He's a grumpy bugger sometimes. But as long as you follow the rules, he's alright.”
Compared to my dad, Franko is probably a saint.
I want to ask about Porter's family, but it feels too risky.
What if the question is asked in return?
Just mention Beth, I decide.
Pretend you're adopted.
It’s not that far from the truth.
“So... you can cook then?” I raise an eyebrow. “That makes one of us.”
“Cooking is the love of my life,” he croons.
Bet I’m the only guy in that kitchen who’s never boiled an egg.
“I suck.” Around him, that word makes me shy. “At cooking, I mean. I was planning on having cornflakes for dinner.”
“Not on my watch, you won't.”
Porter's voice is stern, almost protective.
Kind of hot.
“Tonight's on me. When you get your first pay check, I'll teach you the basics.”
???
