Page 100 of Hooking Up

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I want that.

But not until she's ready.

If she's ever ready.

There's a picture from this morning. She's standing with all her equally fit girlfriends, sipping a green smoothie in her spin gear.

Her last week is all cute business casual outfits and fierce eye shadow. She always looks good. She taught me how to do my makeup. And hair. And how to style my outfits. And everything, really.

Mom was involved too, but her style was—still is—trapped in the 80s.

Lily is trendy. Pretty. Fun.

My backpack buzzes.

My cell.

Walker: What are you doing?

I should work. I have a lot to do.

But I have all night. A little break can't hurt.

Iris: Thinking about you naked.

Walker: Ditto.

Iris: About me or yourself?

Walker: Myself. I'm too fine. It hurts.

Iris: It's true. Looking at you is like looking at the sun. If you do it directly, you'll burn your corneas.

Walker: It's my curse.

Iris: Is this a booty call?

Walker: At four in the afternoon?

Iris: It's happened before.

Walker: To you?

Iris: My lips are sealed.

Walker: What are you really doing?

Iris: Trying to decide on my summer internships.

Walker: What are your options?

Iris: There's a great one in New York.

Walker: Manhattan?

Iris: Yeah. And a few here. Well, driving distance. One in San Diego. Did I tell you I went to USCD?

Walker: Take that one.

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