Page 113 of Hooking Up
"And this?" He traces the outline of my thong over my dress.
"Being prepared."
He laughs. "All right. My point. Fuck, what are we even talking about?"
"Your scene."
He nods. "We probably hit the same party once or twice. We'd go out to the valley if we heard the girls were hot."
I shake my head. "I went to three parties all of high school."
"Still."
It's a strange thought, high school Iris and high school Walker meeting. I wouldn't have paid him any attention back then. Even if he was ink free. I didn't go through a bad boy phase. I always liked nice guys. Clean-cut, Captain America types.
On the surface, we'd be a classic good girl bad boy pairing.
But he's a responsible business owner.
And I…
Well, I'm not that old Iris anymore.
The last customer finishes his order and moves aside. I step forward. Turn my back on my true love coffee to order my old favorite. Grapefruit green tea. Half sweet.
Walker orders a lemon black tea. With only twenty-five percent sweetness.
That explains a lot—there's no way he mainlines sugar looking the way he does.
Though twenty-five percent of the sugar in a bubble tea is still a fuckton of sugar.
He leads me to a metal table outside.
I sit in the clear plastic chair. It's that same chair in every single trendy coffee or tea shop. Only it's clear instead of white.
He leans in close. His eyes find mine. They promise to blow my mind.
And to make my stomach flutter.
And to make me feel safe and warm and—
"Fuck." Walker leans back. Pulls his cell from his jeans. "I have to take this."
I shake my head. "No game." But my voice doesn't quite come across as teasing. Frustration is spreading over his expression.
"I know." His voice doesn't hit teasing either.
I motion to the counter. "I'll get the drinks."
He nods. Moves around the corner.
This particular strip mall—the micro-neighborhood Little Osaka is basically three strip malls and a short row of stores—is dead quiet. There are a bunch of empty offices and the restaurant taking up most of the space is anall the drama happens insideplace.
I move into the store. The conversations are a quiet buzz. Two teenagers grab beige drinks from the counter. Milk teas. A guy grabs a light pink drink. Something strawberry, I guess.
The barista, tearista, bobarista? sets two massive teas at the counter. He calls my name.
I grab the drinks and straws. Go back to the table. Stab the plastic covering of my beverage with a giant straw and take a long sip.
