Iris: Why?
Walker: 'Cause I want to. I don't have complicated motivations. I want something. I do it.
Iris: Okay. In two weeks. I'm supposed to try new things.
Walkers: Supposed to?
Iris: It's gonna sound stupid.
And I can't tell him.
Walker: I have a much higher bar for stupid than you do. I promise.
Iris: I'm doing this ten step program.
For life after addiction.
But I need to spin it some other way. I'm not letting another person look at me the way Alice did. I'm not letting anyone else hurt me like that.
I'm not telling anyone until I'm sure they're worth trusting. Until I'm sure I want to trust him. Until I'm sure I want more than easy.
Iris: For life after a breakup. And that's one of them. Trying new things. Finding new hobbies.
Walker: Ah.
Iris: Ah?
Walker: Sleeping with tattooed manwhores is a new thing.
Iris: True.
Walker: What have you tried so far?
Iris: Barre classes.
Walker: Verdict?
Iris: You ever done one?
Walker: Really?
Iris: I've never seen a guy at one, but you might live to defy stereotypes.
Walker: Not that one.
Iris: I wasn't into it. Too much stuff that isn't scientifically accurate.
Walker: Yeah?
Iris: Yeah. There's no such thing as toning. And you can't make muscles longer. I don't like those classes that focus on how you look.
Walker: You look fucking amazing.
Iris: Yeah?
Walker: Yeah. Your ass is perfect.
Iris: I always thought it was a little big.
Walker: That's not a bad thing. And your tits. Fuck. You're trying to get me to unzip, aren't you?
Iris: You did this to yourself.
Walker: No. I never get this hard by myself.
Oh. My cheeks flame. Then my chest. How is he so casual with that information?
I want to be a dirty talking sex god too.
Does that count as a hobby?
Iris: Thanks. I guess I've also tried tattooed manwhores.
Walker: How was that?
Iris: Good.
Walker: Only good?
Iris: Great.
Walker: You busy Friday?
Iris: Not in the evening.
Walker: I get off work at four. Come to my place. At six. I'll fuck you senseless. And I'll… it's a surprise.
Iris: I don't have your address.
He sends it.
Walker: Just do me one favor, Iris.
Iris: Yeah?
Walker: Skip the panties.
Chapter Nine
Iris
Friday, I wear my best casual but sexy, I totally get that we're friends with benefits dress.
At least, I think this black skater dress says I'm fun, and also hot, and I'm not going to put strings on you, and you better not put strings on me.
It's a lot to ask from a dress. I admit that.
I wait until I'm parked in front of Walker's building to slide my panties to my feet.
I press my knees together. Following his dirty demand makes me hot.
I guess, when it's Walker, I don't mind being bossed around. At least not like this.
I slide my panties into my purse, step out of my car, click the electronic lock. We're in that northern part of Santa Monica. Close to the beach but far enough away from the action of Third Street Promenade that there's parking.
This is such a normal apartment building.
But it feels like I'm stepping into some other universe. One where I demand what I want. Where I know what I want. Where I get what I want.
I cross the street, move to Walker's apartment, knock lightly.
Footsteps move toward the door. "Hey."
"Hey."
He pulls the door open. Gives me a long, slow once over. His eyes light up. With excitement. Passion. Desire. "Come in."
I step inside.
He closes the door behind me. Clicks the lock.
The living room/den/kitchen is a nice size for an apartment this close to the beach. And there's a closed bedroom door in the back corner of the room.
He motions to the kitchen. There are bags and bowls and measuring spoons laid out on the counter.
I shoot him a curious look.
"You have any idea how to bake a cake from scratch?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"Good. It's a new thing."
"You're going to teach me to bake a cake?"
"Fuck no." He laughs. "I've never done it." He presses his palm against my lower back and leads me toward the kitchen. "We're gonna learn together."
That… actually, that sounds really fun. And delicious.
He unpacks the paper bag. Sets flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, cocoa powder on the counter. "You sucked down those sugary coffees like you couldn't get enough."
"True."
"I'm not gonna say something stupid about you like sucking shit."
"Good. That would be stupid."
He slides his hand to my hip. Pushes me against the counter. His dark eyes meet mine. They're on fire. "I am gonna get you so wet you're begging me for it."
I… Uh… "Oh." I swallow hard. How did he transition to dirty so seamlessly? "Now?"
His smile gets devious. "Now. And later." His fingers skim the edge of my dress. "This first." His voice switches right back to normal. Like his hand isn't inches from my ass. He taps a paper sitting on the counter. A printed recipe. "Had to use the shop printer."
"Really?"
"Dean gave me hell."
"He seems like the type."
"Leighton—the girl with your haircut—"
"I noticed that."
"I like it better on you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He brushes my hair behind my ear. "She thinks it's sweet."
"It's different."
"I still have no game?"
I laugh. "You could stand to work on your smoothness. Some lines like baby, this isn't sweet compared to you."
"Sounds like romance."
"Only if you mean my personality." My cheeks flush. Did I just say that? Did I really suggest he talk about how I taste?
His lips curl into a smile. "Dirty girl."
I feel like one. Like he's already turning me into a sex freak. "You like it."
"Fuck yeah." He turns so he's facing the counter. Reaches for the cocoa powder. "You like chocolate?"
"Who doesn't?"
"I hear rumors." He motions to the coffee maker on the other side of the counter. "We're doing chocolate with mocha frosting."
"Ambitious."
"There's no point in doing shit if you're gonna half-ass it."
"Can I put that on a poster somewhere?"
"Sure. As long as you credit it to Walker, the guy who makes me come until I can't stand it."
Mmm. Yes. Now. Please.
Who needs cake when sex is on the table?
Even delicious, sugary cake with coffee flavored icing.
He leans closer. Slides one hand over my ass. Brings his lips to my ear. "You're adorable on the edge."
"Adorable?"
"Hot as fuck." He drags his hand over my hip as he pulls it back to his side. Then, like he isn't teasing me, he picks up the recipe. "We're supposed to start with flour."