I got dressed and tossed her backpack on my shoulder, and together, we set out. Portia held my hand as we walked down the street, and she carried the pie in the other. We didn't speak, but her thumb caressed the top of my hand and spoke a language all its own. Ever since we were kids, she'd done it to reassure and calm me, and now I was grateful for all those years so I understood its quiet meaning. It wasn't the Ritz Carlton, but I wasn't Donald Trump. The hotel was within walking distance, didn't charge by the hour, and most importantly, didn't ask for ID, so I was sold. Portia set the pie on the nightstand, along with the two forks I'd grabbed on our way out the door. I set down her bag, and it dawned on me that I hadn't brought anything of my own. Not that it mattered. I just wanted time with the girl I'd seen every night in my dreams yet hadn't been able to touch. She sat on the mattress and peered up at me with large, curious eyes. I didn't move, and I wasn't sure how to proc
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