Keeping What’s His by Jamie Begley Find the Author: Website, Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, Amazon
Published by Young Ink Press on September 29, 2015
Genres: Romance
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Source: Tasty Book Tours
The Porter Brother's were raised to live and die by Three Rules
One, a Porter stands his ground
Two, a Porter leaves no enemy standing
Three...
Sutton Creech was a cheat and a liar. Tate Porter had found that out when he was eighteen, and he had no intention of letting her make a fool out of him again. He didn’t care how much pain he saw in her eyes or how old memories tugged at his unforgiving heart until, the night a hidden secret is revealed and everything Tate had believed about their past is shattered, proving he had let the woman he loved get away.
Between trying to protect his family and running their pot growing business, Tate doesn't have time to play the "Nice Guy". He'd just have to remember the most important rule his father had given them: A Porter always keeps what's his.
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“He’s old enough that we don’t need her anymore.”
“You going to drag your ass out of bed to take him to school in the mornings? Wash his dirty clothes? Fix his dinner? I don’t notice you putting up a fight when Holly washes your dirty clothes, and you sure as fuck don’t have a problem wolfing down those meals she cooks.”
Greer shrugged. “She’s earning her keep.”
Tate snorted. “What keep? That small bedroom she sleeps in or the house where you refuse to remodel the kitchen? The floorboards are so thin one of our feet is going to go through it one day.”
“It’s fine.” Greer crossed his arms against his chest stubbornly.
“It’s a shithole, and you know it, but you’re hoping to run Holly off. I thought you were smarter than that. Holly won’t leave Logan. She’d die for that boy, which is more than I can say about you.”
“What in the fuck does that mean?”
“It means, after we sell the pot, we’re getting a new kitchen,” Tate stated firmly.
“You’ll be using your share, then. I have better uses for my money.”
“What? Drinking or whoring?”
“Both.”
Tate’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, controlling the impulse to punch his brother in the face. Bringing the truck to a stop in front of their house, he turned to stare coldly at Greer.
“We’re getting the fucking kitchen.”
Greer opened his mouth then closed it, smart enough to realize Tate’s mind was made up.
“Fine, but there better not be any fancy shit in it.”
Confused, Tate stared at his brother. “Like what?”
“No dishwasher nor any of that frosted glass. If I want anyone to see what’s in my cabinets, I’ll leave the doors open.”
Tate laid his head on the steering wheel instead of banging it against it the way he wanted to. “Do you have to be such a hillbilly?”
Greer got out of the truck without answering the obvious.
Tate climbed out after taking a deep breath. Greer would try the patience of a saint, and he sure as fuck wasn’t one of those. He lowered the tailgate, pulling the box that held the groceries toward him, and then each brother lifted several bags into their arms.
“You think she’ll stay around a while?”
“Holly?”
“No! The woman we saw at the hotel.”
His brother had the attention span of a gnat.
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