We should be naked in his apartment forever.
Away from all the ugly things in the rest of the world.
He stops at the next light. Montana. "You there?"
I nod. "Can't think."
He chuckles. "Same thing happens to me when all my blood is in my cock."
"How are you so coherent?"
"Practice." He looks back to the street. Strokes me with that thumb. He moves it higher. Higher. "You look fucking amazing, sweetness?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah. I thought about bending you over the counter, rolling that skirt to your waist, and fucking that gorgeous ass."
My cheeks flush. I… uh…
"You want to?"
"Yeah." The words fall off my lips. I… I do? No. I do. A lot. The idea never appealed with Ross, but with Walker… "Tonight?"
"No. I need to feel your cunt around me tonight."
I… uh… "You're doing this on purpose."
His lips curl into a smile. "Yeah." He rubs harder. Harder.
Almost.
The light turns green. He taps the gas. We move forward.
One more street and we turn right. A few more and we turn left. Right. Left. I lean against the seat, arch my back, let a moan fall off my lips.
The car slows to a stop. It turns off.
I stare into Walker's dark eyes. They're filled with desire, yeah, but that's not the most inviting thing about them.
It's the affection.
He undoes his seatbelt. I grab mine and kick the door open. My movements get fast. Reckless.
He clicks the lock. Wraps his arms around me. Pins me against the underground garage wall and kisses me hard.
Fuck, he's hard.
And I want that.
"Not here." I bring my hand to his hair to pull his head away. "Need a bed."
He nods and steps backward.
Our path to his front door is messy. Every few steps, we stop to kiss. To tug at clothes. To pant and groan and express everything except our feelings.
Finally, he slides his key into the door and turns the handle.
He whisks me inside and pins me against the door.
But we're not alone.
There's a woman here.
She's tall and thin, with long dark hair and the same dark eyes as Walker.
And she's…
No.
He pulls back to follow my gaze. "Fuck. Bree, what the fuck?"
Bree. His sister.
I… I've seen her at NA.
His sister is a drug addict.
And she knows I'm an addict.
And he…
Fuck.
Chapter Twenty-One
Iris
She stares at me with recognition in her dark eyes. But it's hazy. She's hazy.
She's high.
Walker is already on the other side of the room. He's calling someone. His parents, I think.
I can't stop staring at his sister.
She keeps asking him to bail her out of messes. That must be an understatement.
But she is trying. I've seen her at a few meetings. The ones in Beverly Hills. One of my friends from rehab talked me into going to sessions that were well-known for celebrity sightings.
We saw a ton of TV actors and musicians, but I still switched to meetings on the Westside. It felt shady trying to see famous people at their weakest.
She was there. Walker's sister.
She tilts her head. "You're Walker's girlfriend?" Her voice is easy. Slow.
"Close enough."
"And he knows you're…" Her brow furrows as she considers her words. Or tries to.
"No."
"Oh."
He tosses his phone on the counter. Runs a hand through his hair.
His eyes go to his sister. "You can't stay here."
"Are you… are you going to let me explain?" She pulls her arm over her chest. Wraps her fingers around the crook of her elbow, covering an injection site.
But it's too late. Too slow. Walker sees it.
His voice drips with frustration "What could you possibly say?"
Her eyes turn down. She looks wounded. Like she really is sorry she's hurting him. Like she has no idea how to stop.
No. It's not like.
She doesn't.
I know. I've been there.
He looks to me and mouths sorry then looks back to his sister. "I'll drive you home."
"But." Her eyes go to the floor. "I'm sorry."
He shakes his head no, you aren't.
But she is. It's all over her face.
This is way too familiar.
She's here because she trusts him. Because she has nowhere else to go. Because, deep down, she wants help.
Okay, I'm projecting.
But, God, the way he clams up when he mentions her…
There's no way he'll be with a former addict.
There's no way he'll be with me.
He looks to me. "You can stay here or I can drop you off."
I shake my head. "I'll come."
He arches a brow. "You want to?"
"Yeah." I… I have to see this. I have to understand. I have to know if the possibility of us is totally fucked.
Walker's sister sits in the backseat, her arms folded, her gaze on the window. She doesn't apologize, or try to explain, or comment on the music.
Walker keeps his hand pressed against mine.
He's trusting me with this. With something he doesn't share with anyone. With something that could break his heart.
And I'm holding onto my secret like my life depends on it.
I have to tell him.
But I can't.
The way he looks at his sister—it's like she's tearing his heart out of his chest and stomping it with her heeled boots.
If I tell him, he'll leave.
And he'll never touch me or kiss me or hold me again.
I'll never see his smile, hear his laugh, watch his dark eyes fill up with joy.
My coffee shop music is the only sound in the car. It's soft music, but it's still too loud. Too emotional. Too everything.
I press my lips together.
I stare out the window, watching fancy stores blur together. Then over-sized houses.
We slow.
Park in the driveway of a massive Spanish style house in that neighborhood just north of Santa Monica Boulevard.
Roses line the brick walkway. The lawn is lush. Green. The beige and tan paint is perfect.
Walker turns the car off and slides his keys into his pocket. His eyes find mine. They beg for understanding, comfort, honesty. "Help me with her."
I nod even though he doesn't need my help. He can carry me, no problem, and his sister is a lot slimmer. Though, she is taller. So it might even out.
He gets out of his car.
I follow suit.
I watch him open the door for his sister, undo her seatbelt, sling her arm over his shoulder.
"I'm okay." She pulls her arm to her side. Stumbles up the walkway.
Walker jogs to meet her. He pulls out his keys, unlocks the front door, steps inside.
She follows.
Then I do.
The inside of the house is just as beautiful. The foyer is a big, airy room with a winding staircase. Skylights let in the glow of the stars. They're dull the way they always are in the city, but they're beautiful all the same.