"You want another?" I take my last sip.
"I have to study."
"I have a one o'clock. I'm not gonna take up your afternoon." I push my empty cup aside. "I don't bullshit. Or play games. If you're not interested, say no. It won't hurt my feelings."
"Not at all?" Her lips curl into a smile. "That doesn't make me feel special."
"I'll be devastated. Spend the entire week wondering if I'm a lousy fuck."
"You're not."
"Yeah?" I lean back.
"Yeah." She copies my posture, leaning back, spreading her legs.
"I know you're mocking me, but you're gonna make me hard if you keep copying poses from last night."
She presses her knees together. "Okay. I'll take another coffee. The same one. Thanks." Her gaze goes to her new ink. She's transfixed.
You are not your mistakes.
I've done a lot of tattoos the last five years. Thousands. Plenty of them were similar sentiments.
But I've never wanted to pry one apart before.
I've never been hungry for the story behind the words.
I don't dig into this kind of shit.
I don't do late-night conversations or heartfelt promises or teary confessions.
I don't let anyone that close.
Anyone but Bree.
And Bree's the only person who hurts me.
Math has never been my strong suit, but it doesn't take a genius to add that up.
I move to the counter. Order another round of coffees. The guy at the register gives me a look. Really, more already?
I hand him a ten and stuff the change in the tip jar. He's an asshole yeah, but I know working shit jobs. I moved out of my parents' house the second I could and I refused to take a dime. Pride or self-reliance, I don't know. Or care.
It was what I wanted.
So I did it.
I waited a lot of fucking tables while I was apprenticing.
I never skimp on the tip.
Or associate with anyone who does.
Iris is looking at her cell. Whatever she's staring at must be important. Her brow is furrowing. Her blue eyes are focused.
I meant what I said.
I'm not going to hog her afternoon.
Dean is right. I like her. But I don't want her carving out space for me.
I want easy.
Casual.
There. I grab our coffees, move back to the table, hand hers over, take my seat.
"You like making me wait." She slides her cell into her backpack.
I let my voice drop. "Yeah. I do."
She takes her straw between her lips. Looks me in the eyes as she sucks coffee into her mouth. "I'll get you back for that."
"Good."
She moans as she takes another sip.
Fuck, I want that moan again.
She drops her cup on the table. Looks me in the eyes. Raises her brows. "Something you want to say?"
"You moan like that again and I'm gonna be late for my one o'clock."
Her teeth sink into her lip. "Here?"
I nod to the bathroom in the back corner.
"Really? A bathroom?"
"You've never wanted it that badly?"
"Well…" She pulls her arm—the now tattooed one—over her chest. Wraps her fingers around her other arm. "For a guy who doesn't play games you're taking your time explaining this."
I take another sip. "I've never done the fuck buddy thing before."
She cocks her head to one side. "Really?"
"Is it that surprising?"
She holds up her thumb and forefinger in the a little gesture. "Okay. Well. I do like you, Walker. I already know you're… skilled."
My smile spreads to my ears. "That's it?"
"Not that you brag?"
"Never."
"That was…" She takes a long sip. "It was the best sex I've had in a long time. I'd like to do it again."
"That's it. We meet up. Do it again."
"Then?"
"Whatever we want."
"But is it this—" She motions to the table and the coffee. "Or is it—" She puts her hand in the shape of a phone and brings it to her ear. "Hey, Iris, babe, want to come over? I've got an appointment at three, but I can squeeze in a few orgasms. We do our thing, then I go home, and I call you the next time I'm in need of satisfaction?"
"Like this."
"Sounds like dating."
I shake my head.
"Okay. We can make that a rule. No dates."
"A rule?"
"Rules are good. They help you outline your boundaries."
I can't help but smile.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I sound like a shrink, don't I?"
"It suits you."
She sticks her tongue out no thanks. "Fine. We won't call them rules. We'll call them—"
"Call it what it is."
"Okay. It's a rule." She stirs her drink with her straw. "No one else."
I nod. "Of course."
"And we… we can hang out as friends. But no dates. No roses or moonlit walks on the beach. No romance."
"I don't do romance."
She must believe me, because she nods. "We can call it off whenever. No questions asked. No explanation required."
"Sounds fair."
"Okay. I, um. I'm not sure how you seal this kind of agreement."
I nod to the bathroom.
She laughs. "Let's stick with this." She offers her hand.
I shake.
Her eyes go to the clock on the wall. "You're gonna be late."
"I know." I pull my cell from my pocket and slide it to her.
She picks it up, punches in her number, sends a text to herself.
Her phone buzzes in her backpack.
She hands my cell back to me.
Walker: Hey, babe, this is Walker, your booty call. I want some of that sugar, but first I need to brag about how great I was the other night.
Her lips curl into a smile. "I think I nailed you."
"I'm flattered."
She pushes herself to her feet and slings her backpack over her shoulder. "I'll see you soon, Walker Williams."
"And I'll see you soon, Iris—"
"Iris Avery."
My last appointment takes forever. We go for broke, finish the back piece. When I'm done, I'm tired and achy and ready to crash.
But it's chest and triceps day.
I head to the gym down the street with Dean. It's our thing. We're on the same routine. I spot his chest presses. Then he spots mine. Then we devolve into bragging about who has the bigger biceps.
Amongst other things.
It's as fun as working out gets.
And it feels good. Like I'm accomplishing something. Getting bigger. Better. Stronger.
We spend the hour teasing each other.
I drive home. Park in the underground lot. Get lost in the familiarity of moving along the walkway, unlocking the door, tossing my keys on the table.
"Hey." A woman's voice grabs my attention.
Not a woman.
My sister.
She's on the couch in all black. Her palms are pressed into her thighs. Her expression is soft. Apologetic. "Is this okay?"