I want to know the guy behind the carefree smile. I want to know why his dark eyes turn down. Why he frowns when he thinks I'm not looking.
I'm not willing to share my secrets. I can't ask for his.
I shouldn't even want his.
"Here." He moves into his bedroom. A few moments later, he returns with a pair of boxers and a Metallica t-shirt.
I shake my head.
"You don't like metal?"
"No. But I don't see the relevance."
He smiles. "Fuck off."
My chest gets warm. His smile does things to me. It does too much.
Chill out, Iris. It's the oxytocin flooding your brain. That's what happens after sex. Especially after mind-blowing, orgasmic sex.
It's a chemical reaction.
That's all.
Like heroin induced bliss.
But then love is a chemical reaction.
Really, everything you feel is a chemical reaction.
"You want something more hardcore?" he asks.
"Of course. Only the purest, least sell out bands."
"And who's that?"
"Uh…" I don't think I know a single metal band from the last ten years. Not my thing. Too loud. And my thoughts already scream at me.
"What do you listen to?"
"Electronic stuff." As long as it's mellow.
"Like…"
"Electro-pop. Depeche Mode. Soft Cell. That kind of thing."
"Anything from the last thirty years?"
I name a dozen relevant bands.
He motions to the laptop sitting on the dining table. "You can put something on."
"While we…"
"I'm not gonna work up your appetite then send you home hungry."
My smile spreads over my cheeks. "Your game is improving."
"Must be your help." He motions to the computer. "Put on your favorite album."
"You won't like it."
"Because I own a Metallica shirt?"
"Well… yeah."
"You continue to stereotype me."
"Maybe." I let my eyes roam his body. Narrow waist, defined torso, broad shoulders, strong arms and ink everywhere. "You're yet to find me a shirt."
"Wonder why."
"My clothes are a sweaty mess."
"You don't need to wear clothes."
"It's too cold for that."
"Music. Then I'll grab you a shirt."
Okay, fine. It's a compromise of sorts. After all, those are his clothes. I don't have any right to them. Even if it's normal post-fuck behavior.
He has his own boundaries.
Or he's teasing me.
It's probably the latter.
I move to the dining table anyway. All this talk of electro-pop is giving me a serious Tegan and Sara craving.
I take a seat and open the laptop.
A lock screen pops up.
"This is password protected." Which is smart. But certainly another point in the he's teasing me column.
"Is it?" he calls from the bedroom.
"I'll wait for you."
"It's I Like Big Butts and I Cannot Lie."
"It is not." I check anyway.
He laughs as he moves into the main room. "I bet you tried it."
"I plead the fifth."
He tosses me a grey and pink The Last Ones to Know t-shirt and a pair of blue boxers.
I shoot him a curious look.
He arches a brow.
"You like metal and emo music?"
He laughs. "I have eclectic tastes."
"Uh-huh."
"Look me in the eyes and tell me you never pined after some broken lyricist."
"I plead the fifth." I pull the top over my head. The boxers under my towel. Then I lose said towel.
"You can strip in front of me." He slides into the chair next to mine.
"I know."
He slides the computer over, taps his password, pulls up a music streaming app. "Anything you want."
I go to my favorite Tegan and Sara album and hit play.
Acoustic guitar flows from the speakers.
He cocks a brow. "This is electric?"
"I changed my mind."
"You like this coffee house rock stuff?"
"Yeah. It's relaxing. Introspective. It makes me feel calm. And a lot of bands write great lyrics."
"Lyrics?" He tilts his head to one side, playing dumb. "Kidding. I have to know them for karaoke."
"You do karaoke?"
"Sometimes. It's a shop tradition."
"Oh."
"You're welcome to come next time."
"I'll think about it." I hang the towel on the back of my chair. "Do you need to talk to your friend?"
"No. He needs to get over himself."
"It's kinda sweet… if he is worried he's going to lose you."
"Yeah. It is. In a Dean kinda way."
"You guys are close?"
"We hang all the time. Have for ten years now."
"That's nice." Really, it is. Even if I don't appreciate Dean's whole hot and cold what do you think you're doing intruding on guy time thing. I don't have any old friends. Three years of drug use was more than enough time to burn those bridges. And all the people I hung with while I was torching my past life are still using.
For the most part, I'm okay with it.
But I really, really miss my sister Lily.
"He can be an asshole, but he always has my back." Walker runs his hand through his wet hair. "Usually. Not today."
"Everyone fights."
"We did."
"I guess you can call it that." I press my lips together. "You promised not talking."
"You want to go again?" He motions to the bedroom. "I can be ready in ten minutes."
"Really?"
"I didn't convince you last time?"
He did. Mmm. It's tempting. But—"I'm starving."
His smile spreads over his cheeks. It really is a nice smile. Beautiful. Radiant. Everything.
Uh-huh. No feelings. It's just oxytocin. It doesn't mean anything.
Think about hot musicians.
Or maybe about how Walker is more appealing than a hundred millionaire rock stars.
He stands, moves into the kitchen, pulls the fridge open. "Shit." He presses the door closed then opens the freezer. "Not much."
"You like to cook?"
"Yeah."
"But you don't have any food?"
He shrugs. "I order in."
"Mmm."
He laughs. "I know that mmm."
Shit. He's right. It's total therapist mmm. "Why don't you cook more?"
"It's a lot of work when it's just me."
"But you… you don't have any fat."
He pats his stomach. "And?"
"Tell me you eat nothing but chicken and broccoli."
"I eat a lot of chicken and broccoli. Have plenty in the freezer. But I'm not gonna feed you that."
"No?"
"Unless you find it appetizing."
I stand. Move into the kitchen. "If you don't like it, why do you eat it?"