Page 37 of Hooking Up
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.
Notawoman.
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?"
"What the fuck, Bree?"
She looks at me with tired eyes. "I need a place to crash tonight."
"I took your key."
Her expression gets sheepish. "I had an extra." She turns toward me. "Please, Walker."
"Beverly Hills too far for your Uber driver?" Our parents keep threatening to cut her off and failing to pull the trigger. But, hey, they'll use those purse strings to convince her to check into rehab stint six. And she'll guilt them into paying her rent when she bails on that one too.
"Just for one night. I promise."
"Why aren't you staying with Mom and Dad?"
"You know how they are."
