Page 5 of Hooking Up
Okay, who am I kidding?
The framed scene of Luke on Tattooine, looking out at the setting suns, is the coolest ink I've seen in forever. And I've been staring at ink nonstop for the last few months.
"You're a nerd?" I ask.
"And you are too."
"Maybe." I pull my cell out. "Hold on." Walker seems like a normal, non-ax-murderer, but safety first.
I text Sandy.
Iris: I invited your friend Walker over.
Shit. How does this go? I'm telling her where to find me. And him. That's it. I think.
Sandy: OMG! Girl, get some. He's fine. If I wasn't with John, I'd be first in line.
Iris: He's safe?
Sandy: He's a good guy. I've known him forever. But he is a slut. Make sure he wraps it up ;) Have fun xoxo.
I set my cell on the dining slash coffee slash studying table.
My apartment is a decent size for Brentwood, but that isn't exactly huge. The main room is cozy.
He raises a brow. "Someone you want to talk to?"
"Checking in with Sandy."
"Did she tell you to sleep with me?"
"Yeah. How did you know?"
"It's not the first time."
I can't help but laugh. "You're that irresistible?"
"You did invite me here."
He is. And he knows it.
Usually, that annoys me.
But I kind of like it on him.
Walker.
The tattooed, slutty sci-fi fan.
He's intriguing.
Too intriguing. I'm not opening myself up to heartbreak again.
I know I shouldn't stereotype, but the tattoos and the man-whoring don't suggest stable, supportive boyfriend material.
Then again, clean-cut guys haven't exactly been good to me.
I move to the kitchen—it's on the other side of the coffee table—and grab a glass. "You want water?"
