"You love it," he says.
She shakes her head. Turns to me. "A little detail? Please, Walker. You know I'm on a self-imposed dry spell."
Yeah. Something about how she's tired of making the wrong choices with men.
She looks at me with puppy dog eyes.
Her eye makeup is the same as Iris's was. That long line. Only hers is purple.
"I was at a party. She didn't want to be there. We went back to her place," I say.
Leighton nods go on.
"She sat on the bed. I rolled her jeans to her ankles. She was wearing this lace thong that curved over her soft hips. She made this hot as fuck gasping noise when I tugged her panties to her ankles."
"TOO MUCH DETAIL!" Leighton bites her lip. Desire spreads over her expression.
She asked.
I'm not about to skimp.
"She was so fucking eager. She started arching her back and letting out these needy sighs as I dragged my lips up her thigh. When I pinned her legs to the bed—fuck. She tasted good. And she was so fucking responsive. Like it had been ages since anyone licked her properly."
"Ugh." She bites her lip. "You're such a guy."
"Please, Leigh. Fifty bucks says your panties are drenched," Dean says.
"Yeah. But… Uh…" Her blush spreads to her chest. "How do you know she wasn't coming on some other guy's face the night before?"
"I know." All right, maybe she was with someone recently. But not someone who fucked her properly. Not with the way she groaned my name.
"You jelly 'cause you want my boy's tongue on your cunt?" Dean asks.
"Ew. You guys are like brothers. That's just… no." She shakes her head.
"You know Dean and I will take you out. Play wingman," I say.
She scoffs. "Yeah, that's gonna work. Two built, tattooed bodyguards scaring off every guy in a hundred-foot radius."
"You don't mean that." Dean feigns humility.
She cocks her hip. "You always start with your mouth?"
"Not usually." Fuck, I am stuck in a routine. The last dozen women, it's been the same thing.
How the fuck is it possible I'm bored of one-night stands?
She sighs. "Why do I do this to myself?"
"I'm sure Brendon has something that can take the edge off," Dean says.
"I'm not taking Brendon's used sex toys. Especially knowing he uses them on Kay." She sticks her tongue out. Shakes her head with disgust. "I have my own… you know what. Never mind. It's none of your business."
He turns to me. "Come on, Casanova. Keep going. It was just getting good."
"I'm not a porn site. If I was, I'd charge a fortune," I say.
"I don't want some porn site. That's fake shit. I need the real dirt," he says. "What was she like?"
"Different," I say.
"You like her."
"Of course I like her. I wouldn't fuck her if I didn't."
"No. You like her."
"I don't like anyone."
"I thought so. But I guess I'm the only soulless one here." He shakes his head. "Damn, Walker. First Brendon. Now you. Another one bites the dust."
"You can't trick me into offering more details."
He smiles wide. "You sure?"
No. He can. I usually love replaying my conquests. But it feels different with Iris. Like I shouldn't.
Fuck.
Maybe he's right.
Maybe I do like her.
But it's not like that means I'm going to fall for her.
Dean's wrong. Well, not about him being more soulless. But about me being at all open to anything beyond a fuck.
I like Iris.
I want to fuck her again.
But that's it.
It isn't going to mean more than that.
The bell rings.
That must be my eleven o'clock.
I shoot Dean a cut it out look and I turn to the door.
That's her. @FruedianSlip.
Iris.
Chapter Five
Iris
I slide my hands into my front pockets.
Of course Walker is a tattoo artist.
Of course, he's the one Sandy recommended.
Of course, she neglected to mention that last night.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. How does this go?
He's staring at me with those dark eyes. Expecting… something. I don't know.
The girl at the counter is staring too. But that's probably because we have the same haircut. This long bangs on one side, short on the other side pixie slash bob is trendy. After everything, I needed to see a different person in the mirror.
I know, I know. A dramatic haircut to signify a life change is a bit obvious, but it works.
I don't see Iris the fuck up in the tattoo parlor's mirrors.
I see Iris the PhD candidate who has her shit together.
Who's reminding herself she's not destined to past fuck ups.
Apparently, Walker is the William I've been emailing about said tattoo reminder.
Maybe tattoo artists have pen names. Maybe that's a normal thing.
A guy about Walker's height, with wavy dark hair and blue eyes, steps forward. "I'm Dean." He offers his hand. "You looking for someone?"
I shake. "Yeah. I have an eleven o'clock. With William."
He chuckles. "That's Williams." He nods to Walker. "Guy's got his names mixed up. Walker Williams. Should go the other way, huh?"
I try to laugh, but I can't quite manage it. This is weird. Twelve hours ago, he was naked in my bed. I was climbing on top of him.
And now I'm here.
And we're both dressed.
And his friends slash coworkers are watching.
"I, uh…" I move forward. I'm an adult. I can handle this like an adult. Really. I can. "I'm sorry I'm late. I, uh—"
"Needed your sleep?" Walker smiles.
I laugh. "That's a good way of putting it." There's something about his smile. It disarms me. Puts me at ease. That describes him perfectly. He's easy to talk to. He's just… easy.
Not slutty. Not un-slutty (last night is certainly a check in the manwhore column), but not necessarily slutty.
More… carefree.
Or is that how he wants to look?
He seemed pretty upset last night when he came over to me.
And he's at work. He has to be friendly.
Stop shrinking him, Iris. You're not even going to be that kind of shrink.
I clear my throat. "Yeah. I, um. I'm going to need coffee after this."
"It's a small piece. You'll be done in half an hour." Walker motions to a half-room to his right. It has high walls and an open doorway. It's some privacy. Enough for this.
Far too little for a second round, but enough for this.
"You ready?" he asks.
"Yeah. Thanks." I slide my backpack off my shoulders.
Walker looks to his friends. Dean, I guess. He shoots the guy a curt look. Then he shoots a softer one to the girl with the purple-grey hair.
God, she's cool. Between the three of them and their tattoos and ripped jeans, I'm hopelessly outclassed in the cool department.