Playing, p.19
Playing, page 19
"Really?"
"Yeah. Last few years of high school until I started doing ink. I felt like my life would never go anywhere. Like I was doomed to turn into my parents. I fucked around a lot. It was a good distraction, but it never really satisfied me."
"And now?"
"I love what I do. But I want more out of life too."
"Your friends?"
He nods.
"Your sister clean?"
"Yeah. That's the main thing now. Everything else—surfing, working out, reading—feels like a distraction. I love that shit. But it's not what I really want."
"And what do you really want?"
"To help the people I love." He looks up at me. "Find the people I love." He brushes my hair behind my ear. "What do you want?"
"I'm still not sure. Not beyond school."
"You'll get there."
I nod.
Right now, I believe him.
Right now, I believe it's possible there will be an us.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Iris
The past is the past.
I let myself believe it.
I let myself fall harder.
All week, I text Walker about nothing. I go to his place for dinner and a movie and a fuck. I spend the night in his arms. I chain drink coffee. I pour myself into studying and perfecting my research.
It gnaws at my gut.
What if the past isn't the past?
How can he really promise that when he doesn't know what it is?
With the way he looks at his sister, is there really any chance he'll be okay loving a former addict?
I push it aside.
I hold onto his words like they're my lifeline.
They are.
They make me feel strong, safe, confident.
They convince me I can do this.
It's late on a weekday when I pick up the phone and stare at Lily's number.
I press Call.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
Even if it means giving up the possibility for a hard no.
Even if it means a whole lot of hurt.
* * *
Ring, ring, ring.
My fingers dig into the table. I'm alone in my apartment, studying. Well, I'm supposed to be studying.
Ring, ring—
Voicemail.
Hello, you've reached Lily Avery. Please leave a message and I'll call you back.
She sounds happy. Normal. Healthy.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. "Hey Lily. It's Iris. Can we talk? I want to apologize. I… I want us to be okay."
I end the call.
My fingers move over the keyboard.
Iris: Can we talk?
I stare at my cell.
For ages, I stare at my cell.
My eyes get dry. My fingers go numb. My heart beats so hard it nearly bursts out of my chest.
Finally, my phone buzzes with a reply.
Lily: I'm sorry, Iris. But I'm not ready to talk to you yet.
Fuck.
I let my cell fall into my lap, I lay back on the couch, pull my knees into my chest.
And I fall apart.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Iris
My phone buzzes against my chest. Not in a sexy, fun way—would that even feel good?
In a neutral, here's a text message kind of way.
I take forever reaching for it.
It's not from Lily. Of course it's not. She isn't ready to talk. Which is totally understandable. Really. Lying here for an hour, staring at the ceiling, poring over every one of my past mistakes…
I understand.
It's an unfortunate reality, one of those things I can't change, like traffic or taxes or weather.
The sun is going to shine tomorrow. UCLA is going to be a clusterfuck. And I have to wait until my sister is ready to trust me.
Walker: What are you up to?
It's pure booty call. But then it's not. He always starts his texts like this.
Iris: Giving up on studying.
Walker: To?
Cry in the dark by myself.
Iris: I haven't decided.
Walker: You want some company?
Iris: That's a complicated question.
Walker: You say that a lot.
Iris: They all are. There are too many factors. Company is nice, especially yours. But it means giving up the peace of solitude.
Walker: Are you okay?
Iris: No.
Walker: Have you been drinking?
Iris: Do I sound drunk?
Walker: A little.
Iris: No. Just thinking.
Walker: You're being weird.
Iris: How can you tell in a text?
Walker: I can.
Iris: I guess I'm a little worn out.
Walker: What happened, sweetness?
Iris: I called Lily.
Walker: Oh.
Iris: Yeah.
Walker: You want to talk about it?
Iris: Not right now.
Walker: You staying up?
Iris: I'm not sure I have a choice. Why?
Walker: No reason.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, there's a knock on my door.
I push myself to my feet. Check my makeup in the mirror. It's a travesty and my wrinkled shirt isn't any better. At least my underwear is cute. And it's not like my boyfriend is going to complain I'm skipping pants.
"Just a minute." I move to the bathroom. Wipe away my eye makeup, wash my face, pull a hoodie over my tank top. Then I move back to the door.
"Hey." Walker's voice flows through the wood. "I have something for you."
I pull the door open.
He's standing there in jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. He looks normal. Well, normal hot.
Not like he's here to take all my pain away, to erase my past, to love me despite the devastation I've wrecked.
He holds up the paper bag in his hand. "I'll leave if you want to be alone."
I shake my head and motion come in.
"Fuck, Iris. I like that look."
My cheeks flush. "Thanks."
He steps inside. Presses the door closed behind him. His dark eyes find mine. They're soft. Understanding. "You don't have to talk."
I nod.
He wraps his arms around me. The paper bag brushes my back. It's cold. Hard.
Walker runs his fingers through my hair. "I'm sorry."
"I'll be okay." Eventually.
"You say that a lot."
"It's true."
"Yeah, but—fuck, I know this is weird coming from me—but you don't have to convince me you're strong."
"I'm not."
He pulls back, sets the bag on the counter, pulls out a pint of coffee ice cream. "How do you figure?"
"I give in to temptation too easily."
He motions to the ice cream. "Does that mean you don't want any of this?"
"No, I do."
His lips curl into a smile. God, his smile does things to me. It's the silver lining on a cloudy day.
He grabs two mugs from the cabinet, divides the ice cream sixty/forty, hands me the fuller mug.
"Spoons." I nod to the drawer below the microwave.
He grabs two, slides one into his mug, hands the other to me.
I settle onto the couch and wrap a blanket around my shoulders.
I bring a spoonful of ice cream to my lips. Sugar and coffee. Everything I love. Everything that makes me happy.
"You can say anything you want, Iris." He moves closer. "But I'm not here to talk."
I arch a brow.
"Not for that. Wouldn't turn it down, but that's not my intention." He presses his lips to my forehead. "I'm just here."
"You're just here?"
He nods.
"You're sure you've never been a boyfriend before?"
"Yeah."
"You're good at it."
"I'm a fast learner." He brings a spoonful of ice cream to his lips. "You look like you're gonna break, sweetness."
I nod. "I… Lily isn't ready to talk to me. And I get that. Really, I do. I'm not sure if she's still hurting. Or if she thinks I'll be the way I was. What if I do go back to how I was? What if school stops satisfying me? What if I get desperate for anything to make it better?"
"What if? What would you do?"
"I don't know. Talk to my therapist. To you. Work out more. Read. But what if—"
"What did you do before?"
Get high. "Not that."
"Sounds like you've got it figured out."
"Maybe." I'm in a better place than I was. I don't want to self-medicate anymore. Even if it's tempting sometimes.
He leans in to press his lips to mine.
He tastes good, like coffee and sugar and Walker.
"Everybody does shit they regret. What matters is how you pick up the pieces." He moves closer.
"But your sister—"
"She crushes the pieces under her heel. You're nothing like Bree. Trust me."
"What if I am?"
"You're not."
"How can you say that when you don't know?"
"I know you. That's what matters."
I stare back into his eyes. "You promise?" Please promise. Please mean it. Please make today okay.
If the past doesn't matter, then I can tell him when I'm ready to confront it. When I'm sure he won't go from seeing me as Iris the person to Iris the recovering addict.
Seeing myself through his eyes is everything.
I can't lose that.
I don't know how to see myself as more than a recovering addict.
But he does.
He brushes my hair behind my ear. "Of course."
"What if I used to drink all the time?"
"I did too."
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I need to feel him out. To see if it's possible he means it. "Or get high?"
"Ditto."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"But your sister—"
"Refuses to stop."
"Still."
"No still. I know the person you are now. That's what matters to me. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I'm here. If you want to talk, I'm here. But you don't have to tell me anything. Fuck knows there's plenty of shit I'd rather forget."
"You're sure about this?"
He nods. "Maybe you did awful shit. Maybe you killed someone. I don't care. I'll say it as many times as I have to, Iris. The past is the past. Whatever you did doesn't matter. I still like you."
"What if I killed one of your friends?"
"You've met all my friends. They're still alive."
"What if I go out and kill Dean?"
He chuckles. "I've wanted to plenty of times."
"But you'd be okay with that?"
"No, killing my best friend is a deal breaker."
"Damn. There go my plans for the weekend."
"No offense, Iris, but he'd crush you like that—" He snaps his fingers.
"In hand-to-hand fight, yeah, but not if I sneak up on him with a gun."
"This plan is too coherent."
"I'm a nerd, remember?"
"Yeah, you are." He slides his arms around me, blanket and all, and pulls me onto his lap. His eyes go to the TV. "You have a favorite movie?"
"That's a complicated question."
He chuckles. "Is it?"
"Yes." I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. It's lighter. Less of a struggle. I believe him. I believe the past is the past. I believe he's okay leaving it behind.
"How about a comfort food movie?"
"You'll laugh."
"There's no way I'll laugh."
"Wanna bet?"
He nods. "Name your terms."
"Loser makes coffee in the morning."
He chuckles. "There's no way you get up before me to make coffee."
"I have class at nine."
"I have an appointment at ten."
"Ten is after nine."
"I have to prep." He presses his forehead to mine. "But, sure, I'll take that bet."
"Star Wars."
He laughs. "Fuck, you got me."
"I told you."
"I'm only laughing 'cause you're so insecure about it." He looks up at me with a smile.
"I'm not a built sex god. I was an awkward kid. It took a long time for me to grow into my nose."
"I love your nose."
"It's a little long."
"It suits you."
"Like the Wicked Witch of the West?"
"Like Jennifer Grey. Pre nose job."
Now, I'm the one laughing. "How old are you again?"
"Dirty Dancing is a classic. Bree's favorite."
"What's yours?"
"Of eighties romances?"
I nod.
"Say Anything."
"You wanted to be the sensitive artist holding a boom box outside some woman's window?"
Walker laughs. "No. And you're misrepresenting the film."
"Am I?"
He nods. "She hates the boom box thing. It doesn't help win her back."
That's true, actually. "It's hard to believe you ever enjoyed a romance."
"'Cause I'm a guy?"
"No. Because you were very… anti-commitment."
He chuckles. "That's a nice euphemism for slut."
"I try."
"I was different when I was a kid. Love seemed like a good thing. Something that would make you warm, not stab you in the back."
"And now?"
"Fuck. I don't know." His eyes meet mine. "Probably shouldn't tell my girlfriend I'm not sure how I feel about love."
"Still no game."
He pulls me closer. "I'm pathetic."
"You really are."
"You're convincing me."
I press my lips together. "I'm convincing you?"
"That trusting someone isn't the stupidest thing in the world."
"And if it is?"
"Then I'm about where I started." He reaches for the remote and turns on the TV. "This is really fucking tragic, sweetness, but I'm gonna have to ask you to move."
"Oh." I slide off his lap.
He leans in to brush his lips against mine then he gets up, goes to my bookshelf, pulls out my Star Wars DVD set. "You want to start with Episode Four?"
"Of course." I watch him bend to slide the disc into the DVD player. He really has a fantastic ass. A fantastic everything.
I'm making him believe in trust.
In love.
I…
He's said it a lot now. The past doesn't matter.
I have to believe him. I can't stomach believing anything else.
He turns back to me with that million-dollar smile. "Why's Star Wars comfort food?"
"My dad loves it." I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I had a good childhood, but it's all bittersweet with the distance between me and Lily. "They re-released Star Wars theatrically when I was a kid. A tiny kid. Three or four. My dad took me and Lily."
"Your mom wasn't into it?"
"No. She's not a movie person. She's more into books. Nonfiction."
"What's she do?"
"She teaches middle school science."
"And your dad makes bank doing special effects?"
"Yeah. Usually. It's not the most stable industry. But we were never lacking growing up. I guess we have that in common. Running from privilege."
"To Brentwood and Santa Monica."
I laugh. He has a point. We're in two of the most expensive cities in Los Angeles. We aren't exactly slumming it. "Lily fell in love with the movies right away. I always wanted to be like my big sister. So, I said I loved them too. We'd watch them every weekend. And we'd play Star Wars. She'd be Luke and I'd be Leia and my dad would be Han, which I guess is kind of weird now that I think about it."
He laughs. "Freudian."
"He's widely discredited. But his work was the basis for huge chunks of psychology. So…"
"That why he's your Instagram handle?"
I nod. "It was going to be Freudian Nip Slip, but I didn't think anyone would get it."
He laughs. "It suits you."
"Thanks."
He slides onto the couch next to me.
I swallow hard. "We had so much fun pretending to go on adventures. And just watching the movies. Once I got older, I started to see more in them. It's like your tattoo, Luke on Tatooine, looking at the moons, wanting more. Star Wars has always felt like the promise of more. Of friendship and adventure and purpose. When I watch it, I feel like I can have all that. Even when I can't."
"You think you can't now?"
"Sometimes. But not the way I used to. More like… I'm growing up and I realize I have to make compromises."
He nods.
Warmth fills my chest. Possibilities scared me after the first time I bombed the GRE. That's why I started using. To erase those thoughts.
And now that I'm sober, they're scary in a different way. It's overwhelming, being a blank slate.
But I'm coming around.
Surfing, hiking, sleeping with a dirty talking sex god…
There's a lot of wonder in the world. I'm ready to find it. To open myself up to wanting things as badly as I wanted to get into grad school. To the disappointment that comes when things don't' work out.
I slide onto his lap. "Thank you."
"For?"
"Being here."
"Always."
"I'll hold you to that."
"Good." He unwraps the blanket and pulls me closer.
My hands go to his hair. My eyes fix on his. They're still beautiful, dark, filled with trust and affection.
I believe him.
That he'll be here.
That he'll be mine.
That he'll accept all of me.
He runs his fingertips over my cheeks and chin. Then he's cupping the back of my head with his hand.
He pulls me into a deep, slow kiss.
His tongue slides into my mouth.
Bit by bit, my body wakes up. The heaviness of the day fades away until I'm floating on a wave of desire.
Walker pulls my hoodie over my head.
I push his leather jacket off his shoulders.
He pulls me closer. Sucks on my bottom lip. Softly. Then harder.
It's so fucking good, but it's not enough.
I need every ounce of him. Every bit of his flesh against mine. Every hint of intimacy I can get.
I pull his t-shirt over his head. Then my tank top. My bra. My hands roam his shoulders, chest, stomach.
