Porter (Dick Dynasty #1) Read Online Free

head, trying to Etch-a-Sketch the visual away.
    “If you ever change your mind, let me know. I’ll make some calls.”
    Before the conversation could get any further off course, heavy bass began thumping through the speakers in the house.
    “Looks like Parker found the stereo again. We should probably get back in there before he trashes my house. Again.”
    I nodded in agreement, “He’s an asshole and not good for much most of the time, but the man knows how to work a crowd. He’ll have them in a frenzy in no time.”
    We stepped into the dining room where Preston always set up the bar during his parties. Parker had managed to set up a miniature stage, lost his shirt, and gathered a small group of women and gay boys to squeal at him while he danced. Dollar bills were quickly piling up at his feet and forming a hula skirt of sorts at his waist.
    “Leave him be, Porter. He’s harmless for now. Let him dance it off and have some fun.” Preston had to shout over the tooth-chattering hit of the bass, but I got the message loud and clear: He didn’t want to cause a scene.
    If there’s one thing our brother is good at, it’s causing a scene.
    “I need a drink.” I turned on my heel and before I could take two steps, slammed into someone, nearly knocking her over. Her squeal as she teetered backwards had my arm shooting out to catch her before she could crash to the floor with her martini.
    Holly lifted her head and shot me an accusing glare. There was so much anger blazing in her eyes that I half-expected her to shoot laser beams at my head.
    It made my dick hard again.
    “I’m so sorry, Holly,” I apologized lamely.
    “I know you’re probably used to using people as doormats,” she spat, “but you do know that’s just a figure of speech, right? You should probably watch where you’re walking.” She shook the spilled booze from her arm and stormed off toward the front door as Marco appeared to clean up the broken glass.
    “Fuck me!” I yelled as I sidestepped Marco.
    I hit the bar with a vengeance and poured myself a triple shot of Jack, which I tossed back like a college boy.
    I’m going to regret that in the morning…
    I put away two more before leaning down on the polished bar top and glowering in the general direction of the stage, invisible through the throng of adoring fans trying to stuff dollar bills down my little brother’s pants.
    “What’s wrong, Peanut?”
    The nickname brought a sentimental smile to my face even as I rolled my eyes.
    “Nothing, Ma. It’s just been a long day.”
    “Don’t you bullshit me, Porter Joshua Hale. I’ve been reading between your lines for thirty-two years, young man. Something is bothering you and you’re going to tell me what it is.”
    I’ve always had a weird Pavlovian response to the use of my full name. When I was a kid, I knew I was in deep shit if she threw in the middle name or, God help me, the words “Just you wait until your father gets home!”
    My whiskey-muddled brain fired in a furtive attempt to come up with a placating statement that would get me off the hook.
    “I’m worried about Parker is all,” knowing that she could sniff out a lie better than a drug dog could sniff out my brother, I had to go for a light version of the truth.
    “You mean his drug problem?”
    I couldn’t mask my surprise and felt my eyebrows shoot so high they damn near joined my hairline.
    “Don’t look so shocked, Peanut. I was married to your father for twenty-eight years, God rest his soul. I know what this industry does to people. Honestly, I’m just thankful that only one of you struggles with it. Your father used to come home from parties just like this one higher than a kite. Parker’s lucky to have you looking after him. If anyone can talk some sense into that boy, it’s you. You always could.”
    “No pressure or anything,” I muttered under my breath, praying that the deafening pounding of the speakers would keep it from reaching her ears.