Page 139 of Hooking Up
Okay, I'm projecting.
But, God, the way he clams up when he mentions her…
There's no way he'll be with a former addict.
There's no way he'll be with me.
He looks to me. "You can stay here or I can drop you off."
I shake my head. "I'll come."
He arches a brow. "You want to?"
"Yeah." I… I have to see this. I have to understand. I have to know if the possibility of us is totally fucked.
* * *
Walker's sistersits in the backseat, her arms folded, her gaze on the window. She doesn't apologize, or try to explain, or comment on the music.
Walker keeps his hand pressed against mine.
He's trusting me with this. With something he doesn't share with anyone. With something that could break his heart.
And I'm holding onto my secret like my life depends on it.
I have to tell him.
But I can't.
The way he looks at his sister—it's like she's tearing his heart out of his chest and stomping it with her heeled boots.
If I tell him, he'll leave.
And he'll never touch me or kiss me or hold me again.
I'll never see his smile, hear his laugh, watch his dark eyes fill up with joy.
My coffee shop music is the only sound in the car. It's soft music, but it's still too loud. Too emotional. Too everything.
I press my lips together.
I stare out the window, watching fancy stores blur together. Then over-sized houses.
We slow.
Park in the driveway of a massive Spanish style house in that neighborhood just north of Santa Monica Boulevard.
Roses line the brick walkway. The lawn is lush. Green. The beige and tan paint is perfect.
Walker turns the car off and slides his keys into his pocket. His eyes find mine. They beg for understanding, comfort, honesty. "Help me with her."
I nod even though he doesn't need my help. He can carry me, no problem, and his sister is a lot slimmer. Though, she is taller. So it might even out.
He gets out of his car.
I follow suit.
I watch him open the door for his sister, undo her seatbelt, sling her arm over his shoulder.
