Playing, p.23
Playing, page 23
There are another half a dozen people I don't know—plus Sandy and John. Dean really went all out. He is a good friend. A great friend even.
Dean nudges Leighton with his shoulder. "You want a drink?"
"You have anything good?"
"You think I'd skimp for Walker's birthday?" He folds his arms. "I only have good shit."
"Should I measure your love by how much you spent on booze?" She looks to Ryan. "What if he loves Walker more?"
Ryan shrugs. "Never doubted that."
"Really?" She tilts her head to one side. "You're okay with your brother loving his BFF more than he loves you?"
Again, Ryan shrugs.
She shoots me a look. You buying this?
Dean laughs. "He's just playing hard to get." He reaches out and musses Ryan's hair. Despite being the younger brother, he's about two inches taller than Ryan.
"Hey." Ryan fixes his hair. "I know you're desperate for any edge you can get, but don't fuck with the hair."
"An edge?" Dean cocks a brow. "Really?"
"Yeah. We both know all the women here are looking at me," Ryan says.
"Say they are? What's it matter? You haven't looked twice at a girl since… it's a party. I'm not gonna bring her up." He turns to Leighton. "Usual?"
She nods. "Yes, please." But there's something in her voice. A frustration. Her gaze shifts to Ryan. She studies him like her life depends on it.
He takes a long sip of his drink and lets out a soft sigh.
Her teeth sink into her lip.
She's into a guy she'll never have.
And Ryan is still heartbroken over his ex.
That must be it.
Dean turns to me. "What's your poison?"
"Just orange juice, thanks." I force a smile.
Dean shoots me a curious look, but he still turns and moves to the bar.
Leighton makes a point of pulling her gaze away from Ryan. "How long has it been now? You and Walker?"
"A few months." I do a quick check of the math in my head.
Her eyes get dreamy. "Damn. I never thought I'd see the day. You two look good together."
"Everyone knows that." Walker steps toward us. He goes straight to me. Slides his arms around my waist. Brings his lips to my ear. "Tell me you're not wearing anything under that dress." He drags his fingertips over my hips, feeling for panties.
"Would you really want to know that?" My skin buzzes from his touch. "You have to wait."
He shakes his head and motions to the back room.
Dean clears his throat. He hands a drink to me, hands another to Leighton, sips the third.
Walker shoots him a really? Look.
Dean nods. "Yeah. Make it really fucking loud. You know I only watch amateur porn."
Leighton laughs. "Everyone in California knows that."
Dean looks to me. "Did you know that, Iris?"
"I got it the tenth time you mentioned it." A lot of the last month of awesomeness has involved hanging out with Walker's friends. Even talking to them one-on-one. It feels good, being accepted by the group, communicating with people who aren't obsessed with grad school or sobriety.
Walker presses his lips to my neck as his fingers skim the hem of my dress. "Not sure if I can bring myself to torture Leighton like that."
She's making a point of not sleeping with anyone.
She says it's because she makes bad choices with guys.
But, really, it must be because she's into Ryan. Though, being into Ryan does suggest she makes bad choices with guys. He's the dictionary definition of emotionally unavailable.
Ahem. I'm not shrinking her. Or him. No matter how fascinating it is. From a psychology perspective. It's not that it's juicy gossip. Not at all.
"Nah, the audio porn is good for her. Gives her something to spank it to when she gets home," Dean says.
Her cheeks flush. "Shut the fuck up."
"Girls don't spank it," Ryan says.
"That's true." I lean into Walker's touch. Mmm. Contemplating sex in the back room. It is his birthday.
"Girls masturbate," Dean says. "Let me ask Emma." He waves in her direction. "Em. Do you touch yourself?"
She rolls her eyes and waves him off.
He laughs. "That's a yes."
"Of course girls masturbate," Leighton says. "But we don't 'spank it.'"
"Jill off?" he asks.
"Ew." Her nose scrunches in distaste. "You're twenty-five. Why can't you say 'masturbate'?"
Ryan shakes his head kids these days.
"I don't care what you call it sweetness. As long as I can watch sometime." Walker slides his hand under my dress. Presses his palm against my bare ass. His fingers curl into the back of my thong. "Mmm. Bad girl."
I clear my throat.
"You gonna finger her right there?" Dean asks. "'Cause I'm very happy to watch that." He nudges Leighton. "You?"
"Uh…" She takes a long sip of her drink. "I'm interested to see when they stop."
"That's good. Real coy shit, Leigh." Dean laughs.
"Call me Leigh again and I'm dumping your Belvedere on your head," she says.
"You'd waste good vodka?" He feigns offense.
"I can't think of a more satisfying use," she says.
Walker drags his fingertips over my skin.
He laughs. "They're still going at it."
She laughs too. "Amateur porn, huh?"
Even Ryan nods. "Maybe that's his birthday present."
Dean nods. "Shit. Never took you for an exhibitionist, Williams. Guess it's true what they say. You never really know someone." His eyes meet mine.
I swear, he's talking about me. About my secret.
But how can he know?
How can he be sure?
I swallow hard as I turn back to my boyfriend. "You have something to tell me?"
He nods. "I'm gonna take you to that back room and fuck you so loudly everybody here fucks themselves to us tonight."
Well…
Uh…
My blush spreads over my cheeks, down my chest. Every part of me gets hot at once. I… uh…
He presses his palm into my lower back. "You want everyone to hear you come, sweetness?"
I barely manage to nod.
He smiles as he pulls my body into his.
* * *
We exit to a slow clap.
It's just Dean slow clapping, but still.
Leighton laughs. "We barely heard anything."
Dean shakes his head. "We heard every second."
Sandy looks to me. "We heard… well, Iris, you're really loud."
Oh God.
Kaylee adjusts her cream cardigan. "It wasn't that loud. You weren't any louder than Walker."
Ryan plops on the counter next to Leighton. "You're both loud."
"Sorry." I smooth my dress. Fix my hair.
Walker beams, proud.
God, this is embarrassing. Hot. But also embarrassing.
I bury myself in my boyfriend's chest.
He wraps his arms around me. Leans in to whisper. "You keep doing that, I'm gonna have you again."
"You're unusually insatiable."
"Existential dread."
I laugh. "Really?"
"I can't think insightful shit?"
"No, you can—"
"Sounds like I can't."
"It's just not the type of thing you usually say." I stare into his dark eyes. "You look good for your age."
"Do I?"
"You're thirty-five, right?" I tease
He shakes his head. "Eighty."
"Really?"
He laughs. "Maybe."
"You have to tell me your skin care routine. You look amazing."
"Not a day over forty?"
"Yeah." I reach up to run my fingers through his hair. "You look twenty-five."
"That a good thing?"
"It suits you." I rise to my tiptoes and press my lips to his. "I should get your present."
He nods to the back room. "It wasn't that?"
My smile spreads over my lips. "Better."
"Unless it's a tape of you fucking yourself, it's not."
"A tape?"
"Any format."
"Okay. It's almost as good." I squeeze his hand as I step backward. This gift really is perfect.
The bell rings. Heeled footsteps move through the door.
Conversations drop to a murmur.
The room gets quiet.
Too quiet.
No…
Walker's sister is here.
She spots me and folds her arms. Her eyes fill with something. Regret or threat or offense. I don't know. But I don't like it.
I swallow hard.
Walker looks to me. "Give me a minute."
“Of course.” I nod, but the steadiness in my voice is bullshit.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Walker
Sunset streaks the sky orange.
Waves crash half a dozen blocks to the east.
The beach breeze blows over my arms.
But that isn't why I'm cold.
It's the serious look in my sister's dark eyes. The one that usually precedes I'm sorry I slipped again. Please rescue me. Please justify my bad decisions.
"Hey." My sister pulls her arms over her chest. She plays with her black tank top. "I, uh, Dean mentioned the party. I wasn't sure if you'd want me here."
Fuck, that's a difficult question. "You okay?"
"Same old, same old." She stares at her dark nails. "Mom keeps dropping hints that I should go back to rehab."
Sounds like Mom. She's yet to set a date for Bree's not exactly an intervention. According to Mom, Bree hasn't slipped up again, so she's not in need of an intervention.
I don't know what to believe.
I never do.
"It's for the best," I say.
Bree shakes her head. She presses her red lips together. She always looks put together. Even when she's high. "I… I'm not here about that." She pulls a small envelope from her pocket. "Can we have one day of normal?"
"That's up to you."
She offers me the envelope. "No, Walker. It doesn't matter what I do. You look at me as a pathetic screwup. I don't blame you. I know I've made your life hard. I know you don't believe I care about getting better. But I do." Her eyes turn down. "Just take it, okay?"
I do. "Thanks."
"You can open it. Or do it later. It's up to you."
"You want me to open it now?"
Her nod is sad.
Am I this much of an asshole?
I can't deny any of her claims. Bree is a pathetic screwup. It's a dick thing to say, but it's the truth.
She grinds my heart to dust every chance she gets.
Maybe she isn't doing it on purpose.
But she certainly isn't doing anything to stop herself.
The envelope is royal blue. Like my room at home—our parents never really let our rooms grow with us. Hers is all princesses and ballerinas. Mine is baseball and surfboards.
"I do care, Walker. I love you. I want you to be proud of me." She twirls a dark strand around her finger. "I just…" Her voice cracks. It's heavy. Like she's about to burst into tears. "Open it, okay?"
It's like we're kids again. Like we're the only two people who have a fucking clue our parents aren't perfect. Like we're gearing up to watch a marathon of 80s movies—half sci-fi, half romance, all with enough candy to make us sick.
Bree never was good with moderation.
I unpeel the envelope and pull out the card. There's a cartoon picture of two bears hugging—one is wearing a baseball cap, the other is wearing a tutu.
I know you're my brother…
But sometimes you're unBEARable.
Happy Birthday
Her neat handwriting is all over the bottom half of the card.
Happy Birthday, Walker. I know it's been a long time since I've been the older sister you deserve. I'm sorry I've been so "unBEARable." And sorry for the silly pun. It made me think of that trip we took to Big Bear, the one where Mom and Dad locked themselves in the cabin.
Love,
Bree
"There's something else." She unfurls her palms to show off a small, round token. "I know you think I'm not trying. But you're wrong." She holds out her hands.
It's her two-month chip.
"I'm going to meetings. And therapy. I want to be better. I want to feel like a real adult, and not some screwup who's still living with her parents when she's pushing thirty. I know I had those slip ups… I know I let you down. But I really am trying." She blinks back a tear. "I'm sorry. I didn't come here to—"
"No, it's okay." I pull my sister into a hug. Two months sober. Fuck, I can't believe it.
My shoulders feel lighter. My chest feels looser. Everything feels warmer. Brighter.
Maybe she's telling the truth.
Maybe this is going to be okay.
Maybe there's no dramatic left turn in Bree's story. Maybe rehab stint five was enough.
I stare back at my sister. "What changed?"
"Well." She bites her fingernail. "I guess I realized that you might forgive me one day."
Huh? "You thought I wouldn't?"
"Of course… And I'd understand. I deserved it. But when I saw you with Iris."
What the fuck? "What's she have to do with it?"
Bree's eyes fill with surprise. "She hasn't told you?"
"Hasn't told me what?"
"Oh. I… forget I said anything." She presses her lips together. "Please. Forget it."
"Forget what?"
She shakes her head. "I can tell I'm getting glares from your friends. I owe a lot of them apologies, but I'm not going to hijack your birthday—"
"Bree, what the fuck are you talking about?"
"Iris."
"What about Iris?"
She swallows hard. "Never mind."
What the hell could Bree possibly know about Iris? My fingers curl into fists. "Tell me."
She presses her lips together. Something fills her eyes, something I haven't seen from her in a long, long time.
Pity.
I blink. It's still there.
My sister pities me?
What the fuck?
This doesn't make any sense.
She's met Iris once. What could she possibly know?
"Bree. What the fuck?"
"I shouldn't say anything."
"What the hell does that mean?" I stare back into her eyes.
"Iris…" Her dark eyes streak with regret. "I've seen her at NA."
No. There's no fucking way that's true. "Bullshit."
"She got up. Told her story. It had a lot of ugly parts. It was brave and I… I shouldn't have said this." Bree presses her lips together. "Even if you're my brother. She… I… shit." She takes a step backward. "I love you."
"Yeah."
"Walker?" Her voice is sincere. "Are you okay?"
Every single molecule of her expression is sincere.
"You saw my girlfriend at NA?"
She nods. "I wish I was lying. Really. You deserve a good thing. But, whatever you want to believe, your girlfriend is an addict."
No.
There's no way.
She's full of shit.
Even if she sounds really fucking honest.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Walker
The party is quiet. Thank fuck Dean pulled the curtains down, because everyone is staring at me. Even the people who don't know Bree. And the ones who have no idea she's an addict.
Dean shoots me a look. You okay?
I nod even though I'm not.
This is fucking bullshit.
There's no way Iris would keep that a secret.
There's no fucking way.
I slide the card into my back pocket. I go straight to the bar. Fill a plastic cup with ice and whiskey.
It's good shit. Goes down smooth. Sands the edges off my thoughts.
There are soft steps behind me. The click-clop of women's shoes. Iris's steps. She's wearing those wedges she can't walk in.
Fuck, it's adorable, the way she stumbles. And those things make her the perfect height to pin her to the wall.
But she…
I…
This doesn't make sense.
I finish my glass. It's too much, too fast. But I don't care. I need the buzz pushing my thoughts away.
Her fingers skim my shoulder. "Is your sister okay?"
"Yeah." I refill my glass. Take another swig.
"Are you?" Her voice gets soft.
Is that bullshit too?
Did she mean anything she told me?
My stomach twists as I take another sip. The whiskey fails to help. I can't even taste it.
"Walker…"
"Yeah?"
"What happened?" She moves closer. "Is she using again?"
"No." I take another sip. Turn to face Iris.
Her blue eyes fix on mine.
They're sweet. Sincere.
But are they?
Has she been lying to me all this time?
"She's good. Two months sober." My throat burns, but I take another swig anyway.
Confusion fills Iris's eyes. "Something about that upset you?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah?" She smooths her dress. Stares at her purple nails.
"She said some fucked-up shit."
Her lips press together. Her eyes fill with dread.
She knows what I'm going to say.
She knows she's found out.
How the fuck does she know?
How the fuck does everyone else know everything?
A deep breath does nothing to break up the tension in my shoulders. "Bree said she saw you at NA."
"Oh."
"I told her that's bullshit." Please, Iris, please tell me it's bullshit. "You'd have told me if you were an addict."
Her eyes turn down. "I…"
"What the fuck, Iris?"
"I'm sorry." She moves closer. Reaches for my wrist.
I pull my arm to my side.
"It was casual. It was none of your business."
Maybe. It feels hollow. It feels like more bullshit.
"You said the past was the past. You said it didn't matter. That I couldn't tell you anything that would change things." Energy drains from her voice with every word. "Did you mean it?"
I did.
But I…
