Playing, p.27
Playing, page 27
"I do."
"That you want this." His voice drops to something equal parts demanding and desperate. "Tell me you want to come on my cock in this dirty alley."
"Tell me it isn't the last time."
"I can't." His fingers dig into my skin. "I want to listen." He drags his lips over my chin, neck, earlobe. "After that, I don't know."
That's fair.
Or maybe that's my libido talking.
At the moment, I don't really care.
He smells so good. Like the soap in his shower. Like Walker.
I reach for the reasonable part of my brain. "Someone will see."
He traces the hem of my dress. "Do you care?"
"No."
"Did you go out looking for someone to take home?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"No one is you." I brush my cheek against his.
His fingers skim my inner thighs. "Tell me you want this, sweetness."
I nod.
"Tell me you want to come on my cock."
"I do. Please."
His fingers curl into my panties. Slowly, he pushes them off my hips.
He bends to pull them to my ankles. Then off my feet, one at a time.
He drags his fingertips up my body as he rises. Higher, higher, there.
He teases me with one finger. "Fuck, you're wet."
I reach for him. Get his waistband. Slide my palm over his crotch. "You're hard."
He nods as he drives two fingers into me.
I fumble over his button. His zipper.
There. I push his jeans off his hips. The boxers.
Mmm.
That's Walker, hard and ready for me.
About to be mine.
I pull my dress to my waist.
He brings his hands to my hips, lifts me and pins me to the wall in one swift motion.
I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his shoulders.
He stares down at me.
I dig my fingers into his skin. Nod yes, please, everything.
Slowly, his tip strains against me.
Then it's one inch at a time.
Fuck.
It's like coming home.
This is where I belong. With him. His.
No secrets, no lies, no bullshit.
Nothing but our bodies.
Nothing but—
His lips find mine. His kiss is hard. Hungry. Desperate.
Mine is the same.
Nothing else makes sense.
Nothing but this.
Nothing but him.
I bring one hand to his hair. I rock my hips to meet him.
He rocks back, driving deeper, pinning me to the wall.
It's hard and dirty and rough and perfect.
His tongue slides around mine.
His fingers dig into my flesh.
He fucks me with steady thrusts, winding me up, giving me everything he has.
My clit rubs against his pubic bone.
My hand knots in his hair.
My sex clenches.
Fuck.
Each thrust tightens the knot inside me. Pleasure pools between my legs. It aches, being this close to release.
He winds me tighter.
Tighter.
There.
I groan against his lips as I come. My sex pulses around him, pulling him closer, pushing him over the edge.
I can feel it in the way his nails dig into my skin, in the way he nips at my lip, in the way he shakes.
A few more thrusts and he's pulsing, groaning my name as he comes inside me.
Fuck, that feels good.
He feels good.
I let my muscles go slack.
He pulls me closer. Sets me on the ground. Looks down at me like I'm everything he wants.
Maybe I am.
Maybe this is going to be okay.
Maybe he really will be mine.
Chapter Forty-Three
Iris
Walker's car hugs the curve of the Malibu mountains.
Tegan and Sara flows from the speakers. The song is soft, remorseful, a text alert?
Huh?
Oh. My phone flashes.
Leighton: You fucked him, didn't you?
I grab my cell and shoot her a reply.
Iris: Maybe.
Leighton: Girl, if he pulls any more "I don't know" shit, I will kick his ass.
Iris: You, personally?
Leighton: I might ask Brendon, Ryan, or Dean to do it for me. But I'll make sure it gets done.
Iris: Thanks.
Leighton: Anytime.
"That Leighton?" he asks.
"Yeah. Just telling her I left."
"She want to kill me yet?"
"Yeah, but that seems normal for her."
"It is."
I set my phone in the cup holder, lean back in my seat. Watch the ocean whiz by. "Where are we going?"
"Someplace where we can see the stars."
That sounds perfect. Though it also means heading way into Malibu. Which means we're stuck together for a long drive back to my place if that doesn't go well.
It's a bold play.
But that's Walker.
He wants something, he takes it.
I just hope he wants me.
* * *
The sky is dotted with stars. They're everywhere. Brighter than I've ever seen them.
Walker pulls his leather jacket from the backseat, slings it over my shoulders, one at a time, then he grabs a blanket from the trunk.
"You keep that in your car?"
He nods.
"For impromptu picnics?"
"You never know when you'll need the perfect scenery for a heartfelt conversation."
My lips press together. "Really?"
His laugh lights up his dark eyes. "No. It's for after I surf."
"Oh." That makes more sense.
He leads me onto the sand, lays the blanket down, motions after you.
I lie back. Stare at the stars. They're beautiful. Bright. Perfect.
He lies next to me.
Two dozen feet away, waves crash into the beach with a soft roar.
The back of his hand brushes my wrist.
I take a shallow breath. Try my best to exhale slowly. "I don't know where to start."
His fingertips brush my palm. "At the beginning."
"I'm not sure where that is." I take a deep breath. Exhale slowly. Wrack my brain for the best place to start. Okay. That works. "I was miserable after college. That was true. I hated my job. I hated my friends. I hated how much I hated them. And I did try hobbies for a while. Working out. Reading. Even knitting."
He nods.
"It was a little after New Year's. I was determined to revamp my life, to find fulfillment no matter what. That was when I started seeing Ross."
"The guy you left for rehab?"
"Yeah. He was a clean-cut programmer type. But he also liked to party. I thought it was just booze and pot. But it wasn't. He didn't do it around me at first. Don't get me wrong. We'd get drunk as all hell. But that was it. I knew it wasn't healthy. But it felt normal. Especially with Lily's friends. You know the bro-grammer stereotype?"
"Yeah."
"They were like that. Always getting plastered. So I started getting drunk too. It was an easy way to forget."
"I've been there."
"You have?"
"Of course. The last few weeks… I want to do whatever it takes to make this ache go away." His fingertips brush the back of my hand.
"I'm sorry, Walker. Really. I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know."
"I was terrified to tell you. But it was more that I wanted to believe the past didn't matter. I wanted to believe I was more than a bunch of mistakes. You looked at me like I was this fascinating mix of passions and ideas and quirks. Whereas, whenever I looked in the mirror, I saw a recovering addict, period. And I wasn't ready to let go of the way you saw me. I needed to believe I was more than sobriety."
"I did mean it."
"But you…"
"I can't explain it either. I still don't understand it."
"Oh. Well… Where was I?"
"Your ex drank a lot."
"Yeah. He did. That was normal for a while. One day, we were at his friend's birthday part. It was a little after I got my second round of terrible GRE scores. It was all I was thinking about. And I was so tired of thinking about it. I wanted to do anything to make it stop. Or I thought I did. Because when I saw his friend using—"
"Using?"
"Shooting up. Heroin. I thought it was ridiculous. Like something out of a movie. Who did heroin? Didn't they know about blood communicable diseases? Hadn't they seen Requiem for a Dream? We got into this huge fight about it. I told him I was never going to hang out with those people again. He called me uptight. I called him an asshole. We both apologized, agreed not to talk about it."
He moves closer.
"But his friend was at the next party. He looked so calm, so at peace. Like nothing could be wrong. And everything felt so wrong. And I thought… well, I thought that maybe Ross was right. Maybe I only judged because I didn't know how good it could be."
He drags his fingertips up my arm.
"I hadn't been drinking. I knew better than to mix opiates and alcohol. Well, back then, I cared enough not to do it. And it wasn't like the guy was doing heroin. He was just swallowing some prescription stuff. Stuff I could get from a doctor. I convinced myself it couldn't be too bad. After all, I'd taken Vicodin when I got my wisdom teeth out. It didn't make me feel much besides tired. So when he offered me one, I took it."
"Was that the first time?"
"Besides after my wisdom teeth, yeah."
"How did it feel?"
"Like nothing would ever hurt me again."
"You hated your life that much?"
"Yeah." I stare at the bright stars. "I wasn't ready to confront it. I wanted to feel anything else. Anything good. But I wasn't going to start using drugs like one of the people I'd read about. Like some pathetic addict. I convinced myself it was like drinking. It is. Just stronger. More addictive. Dangerously addictive."
His exhale is heavy.
"For a while, I'd get high on the weekends. Then it was all weekend. Then most nights. I… I made a lot of bad decisions. But I held it together pretty well. Until I didn't. I'd get to work late. Skip meetings. I got reprimanded. I told myself I'd stop. And I did, for a while. I tried, I really did. But I couldn't take the withdrawal. I caved."
"How many times?"
"Half a dozen."
"For how long?"
"Two and a half years. More or less. I tried, hard, to stop after my sister found my stash. We were getting ready for a wedding. She saw it in my makeup bag and freaked out. Threatened to tell our parents. I promised I'd stop."
"Did you mean it?" He stares into my eyes, demanding an explanation.
I wish I had a better one. I wish the truth was less ugly.
But it is ugly.
And I'm done running from it. "I wanted to stop. The look on her face—it was awful. I never wanted to see that again. I tried. But… you know what it's like when you try to kick caffeine?"
"I never have."
"When you go too long without a coffee? Get a headache? Get irritable? Want caffeine like you've never wanted anything?"
"Yeah."
"Multiply that by a thousand. I wanted to make her proud, but it was easier being high. More comfortable. She caught me again. Asked me to choose. I told her I chose her, but—"
"You stayed high?"
Is that judgment in his voice? Or is it understanding?
I don't know.
I need to tell him all of this.
And I need him to accept it.
I can't do anything about the latter. So I guess I have to focus on the former. "I wasn't ready to stop yet. I wasn't ready to let go of my comfortable numb, to feel everything. It got to be this cycle. I felt awful lying to her. Then pathetic for being so weak. Then I'd be more desperate to get out of my head. So I'd do whatever I could get my hands on."
He stares up at the stars.
"There was still a part of me that wanted more. I studied a lot. Managed to pass the GRE. Kept applying to grad schools. Then I got into UCLA. And I was sure that was it. That I'd stop."
"Did you?"
"For a while. Long enough to start classes. Settle into my routine. But Ross was still using. There was always something around. I slipped."
His dark eyes fix on mine. "Why'd you stop?"
"My mom walked in on me shooting up. She started crying. She was worried I was going to die. It was like with Lily, but a million times worse. I knew, no matter what, I couldn't do that to her. So I agreed to go to rehab. And I took off winter quarter. And that was that."
"When did you get out?"
"February."
"Fuck, that's nothing."
"Four months." It feels like it's been an eternity.
"You ever want to use?"
"Sometimes. But it's a passing impulse. The ugly consequences are too fresh." I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. "This, you leaving, whatever we should call it. This has hurt more than anything has in a long time. But I haven't even looked at a bottle. I don't want to be numb anymore. I get it if you don't believe me, if you can't trust me, but I really, really don't want that."
He stares into my eyes.
"Do you believe me?"
"I want to."
"Do you think… I, uh, I wanted to tell you, Walker. I did. But the only person I'd told dropped me as soon as she found out. And being with you, feeling normal, it was everything."
"Yeah, it was."
"After I saw your sister high… you hate her, don't you?"
"Part of me does."
"Is she really sober?"
"Seems that way."
"That's great. Really." I stare back at him. "Would you have left if I told you that night we found your sister?"
"Probably."
"Now?"
"I don't know."
"Oh." I let my eyelids flutter together. I lean into his touch. "I… I think I'm in love with you."
"Iris."
"You don't have to say anything. Actually, don't. Not until you're sure you want to do this. Because I don't want to know you love me. Not if you're going to leave."
"Okay." He presses his palm into my lower back and pulls my body into his.
"Do you hate me?"
His lips brush my ear. "No."
"Think I'm pathetic?"
"You're strong, overcoming all that."
"Yeah?" I blink back a tear. I need his words and his touch and his understanding.
But this might be it.
This might be the last time we're this close.
"Yeah." He presses his lips to my cheek.
"Do you want to be with me?"
"I need more time to figure that out."
"Okay. How much?"
His laugh is sad. "I don't know."
That's fair. But—"I haven't decided on my internship."
"Still?"
"Yeah. I know. I'd rather be here. But if there isn't an us, if you don't want to be with me, then I can't be here. Not for a while."
He nods.
"So, uh, I have finals. And then I have to answer."
He brushes a hair behind my ear. "You're nervous."
"You're deciding if you want to be with me."
"True."
"Which way are you leaning?"
"I don't know, sweetness. My head is a fucking mess."
Chapter Forty-Four
Walker
I step into the cozy meeting room. Nod a sorry to the guy at the podium. Take a seat on one of the scratchy folding chairs in the back.
This is an open meeting. Mom assured me that friends and family are welcome. She offered to come with me. She came close to insisting.
But I have to do this alone.
Whatever happens with me and Iris, I need to make things right with my sister.
All right, I'm hoping that fixing this will fix my head. That it will reconcile those two halves of me—the I want Iris more than I want anything and the how will I ever trust her again?
It's worth a shot.
The guy keeps spinning his story of hitting rock bottom. How he missed an important meeting because he was too high. How it led to this ugly spiral. There's hurt in his voice. But that's not what has my attention.
It's the strange pride. He's glad shit got that bad. He's glad he almost lost everything.
It was the only way.
He steps down. Someone else steps up. A meeting leader. Something like that. I went to a few of these with Bree the first time she got sober. After her first relapse, I did everything I could to stop giving a shit.
Not that any of it worked.
He steps down. Points to someone in the crowd.
To Bree.
She stands and moves to the podium. Turns to face the room. Her eyes catch mine. They fill with concern.
I smile.
She smiles back. Mouths thank you.
I mouth don't mention it.
She looks to the room. "Hi. I'm Sabrina. And I'm an addict. Most of you know me. I'm here every week. It's been a tough two and a half months. I've been tempted. The other night, I went to the movies with a few friends. There was a bar at the theater. They didn't know I was sober, and I wasn't in the mood to talk about it. I kept looking at the Patron, thinking of how smooth it would taste, how easy it would be to forget that I'd totally fucked-up my brother's life. But I sat with the urge. I felt it. Then I felt it pass. It… It was okay. I wanted it, but I didn't need it." She nods to the room. "Thank you."
She moves back to her seat.
That same guy moves up to the podium, thanks her for speaking, invites someone else.
It goes like that for a while. Everyone spills their guts. Sometimes it's something happy. Pride over hitting a milestone. Sometimes it's a tragic tale of rock bottom. Sometimes it's something small. A slip or an almost slip.
Sometimes it's huge. The forgiveness of a loved one.
A life pieced back together.
The sense everything is going to be okay.
* * *
When the meeting clears out, I wait for Bree in the back of the room. She's different here. There's no heavy burden on her shoulders. It's like when we were kids.
