"It's fine." She pulls her shirt over her head.
I take her to the counter. Give her my usual after care speech. Accept a generous tip. Ignore Leighton's glare.
The customer's smile gets wider. Her eyes fix on mine. "I know you're probably sick of this song, but my friends and I are doing this karaoke thing, and I'm gonna sing it, and probably flash the entire room." Her cheeks flush. "You could come. If you want."
Leighton glares.
"Send me the details on Instagram." I walk the customer to the door. Yeah, her name eludes me at the moment. Now that I'm out of the chair, every bit of sense in the world eludes me.
"You smell like pussy." Dean pushes himself onto the counter. Offers Leighton an ain't I cute smile.
She shakes her head no, you're not.
I stare back at Dean. "I don't." I showered last night. And again this morning. I scrubbed myself raw trying to erase the scent of Iris.
It didn't work.
I can still smell her shampoo.
I have no fucking idea how the smell of her shampoo found its way onto every item of clothing in my closet, but it did.
My entire apartment is mocking me.
The entire world is mocking me.
"No. But you look just fucked." Dean nudges Leighton. "Doesn't he?"
She pushes her lips to one side. "Kinda, yeah. A lot." Her lips curl into a frown. "Does that mean it's over?"
"No."
She arches a brow.
"It was her."
She claps her hands together. "Really? You're back together? That's great, Walker. I knew you'd come to your senses."
"No." I run my fingers through my hair. I don't know how to explain this. Even to myself.
"Was it breakup sex?" Her voice gets soft. "Don't do breakup sex. Trust me. It's so much worse after."
"You tell me now?" I don't sell it as a joke.
"She wants to be with you." Leighton slides off her stool. She moves around the counter. "She's sorry. You're crazy about her."
"And?"
"What's stopping you?"
"Why do you care?"
"You're my friend, you idiot."
"Thanks for the concern."
"You are being an idiot," Dean says.
"See. That means a lot coming from him." Leighton slides her hand into the pocket of her denim skirt. "Why do you want to be miserable?"
"Why do you care?"
"I told you—"
"Why do you really care?"
"I TOLD YOU!"
"That can't be it."
"It's not a conspiracy. I like you. I like Iris. I like you and Iris together. I like hanging out with her. You have good taste in girlfriends."
"Then call her."
"You're okay with that?" she asks.
No. I'm not okay with anything. I'm not okay with the sun shining or the world turning. But—"We're not together. She can do what she wants."
"I'm going to."
"Good."
"Really, Walker. This isn't a dare. I'm going to call and take her out."
"Are you asking permission?"
"Kinda."
"Are you going to fuck her?"
"No. I'm not into chicks. What if I was?"
I shrug, but I don't sell it.
"You know she's going to fuck someone else one day," she says.
"You have a point?" Irritation seeps into my voice.
Dean and Leighton exchange a look. Something about me. About how pathetic I am.
But I can't muster up any concern about that either.
They're right. I'm pathetic. I'm sulking instead of figuring this out. I'm giving into every ugly impulse in my head.
I need this to make sense.
How the hell do I do that?
"You know she's an addict," I say.
"Yeah, everyone at that party knows thanks to you. Which was a dick move, by the way. You know there are ways to have fun that don't involve drinking yourself stupid?"
"Enjoy it," I say.
"I will." She folds her arms. Stares back at me. "This isn't a bluff. I want to be her friend. And I want to take someone to eighties night."
"You know I'll always go with you, Leigh," Dean says.
"Someone who won't scare off every guy nearby," she says.
"You're breaking your dry spell?" He raises a brow. "You promised you'd put me at the top of the rotation."
She laughs. "I did not. And you don't even want to sleep with me."
"Babe, how could you say that?"
"You don't."
"You overestimate me."
"Not possible." She looks to me. "I am going to invite her."
"Good." But I don't sell that either.
Chapter Forty-Two
Iris
Why is it so purple in here? At least it suits Leighton's hair. It's this amazing silver-lavender color. It's so cool. She's so cool. Even right now, in this sweaty, all-ages club, she has this effortless air about her.
The same as Walker's.
Only with a lot more tough chick and a lot less surfer boy.
She throws back her glass. "That really doesn't work with diet coke."
"Or orange juice." I finish my last sip. Drop it on the counter. Tap my toes together. The stool at the bar is perfect. Especially since there's no booze tonight. This is one of those clubs that does all-ages once a week.
Tonight is the night.
Eighties night.
Thank God for that.
Ice clinks as Leighton tilts her glass from one side to the other. She looks at me. Presses her plum lips together. Tries to think up something to say besides Walker is an idiot, huh—we covered every ugly detail on the drive here. And the walk to the club. And for our first round of mocktails.
He is.
But I'm tired of thinking about that.
Of waiting for him.
Of staring at my blank cell phone screen, wondering when he's going to finally call.
I have to live my life. Even if there's a gaping hole in my heart.
"You're thinking about him again," she says.
My nod is reluctant.
"What about?"
"Everything."
"Hmm."
"Is he as miserable as I am?"
"Worse. No. You're pretty bad." She slides off her stool. "But it's less sympathetic on him."
"I'm the one who fucked up."
"No. I've heard this from both of you. Well, more from you, because he's all sulking I don't talk about my feelings, that's for girls about it. But I know enough. This is on him too." She offers her hand. "Come on. Let's dance. You'll feel better."
"I'll feel better if he forgives me."
"True. But I can't help with that."
I laugh. "Don't make me repeat the serenity prayer."
"You don't like that stuff?"
I shake my head. "Feels like I'm reciting from a poster."