Walker: What's worse?
 
 Iris: You don't seem like the type who bruises easily.
 
 Walker: Hmm.
 
 Iris: I'm doing it again, aren't I?
 
 Walker: If the… what the hell defines a shrink?
 
 Iris: A "Hmmm, interesting, tell me more," a couch, and a box of tissues?
 
 Walker: That's quite the stereotype.
 
 Iris: That's what you're looking for.
 
 Walker: You go to therapy?
 
 Iris: You really don't have game.
 
 Walker: Shit? I'm not supposed to ask babes about therapy either?
 
 Iris: I'm pretty sure that's a hard no.
 
 Walker: Damn. You're blowing my mind.
 
 Iris: Am I?
 
 Walker: No. But you… well, I have enough game to know babes don't like the words "blow job."
 
 Iris: We don't.
 
 Walker: Why is that?
 
 Iris: It isn't sexy.
 
 Walker: You prefer "suck me off"?
 
 I swallow hard.
 
 Walker: If it's not a barked order?
 
 Iris: I'm not sure.
 
 Walker: What if it is?
 
 Uh…
 
 Heat pools between my legs. I don't get it. I don't like being ordered around.
 
 Or maybe…
 
 Maybe I just didn't like it with Ross.
 
 Maybe with Walker, it's different.
 
 We've only been together once, and I already know everything is different with Walker.
 
 Walker: I'll have to try it out.