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The apartment smells like coffee. Good coffee.
I push myself up. Slowly, I peel off the covers, step onto the hardwood, and move into the main room.
Sure enough, there's coffee warming on the counter.
And there's a note next to it. Pen on a piece of paper.
Call me if you want to go again.
- Walker
And there's his number.
It's not exactly a profession of undying love.
It's an open invitation to booty call.
I want to sleep with him again.
God how I want to sleep with him again.
But that's far too dangerous.
I like him.
I don't want to like him.
I don't want to give anyone the chance to hurt me again.
I tear the note in half and drop it in the trash under the sink.
Chapter Four
Walker
"You smell like pussy." Dean smiles wide. It's his usual I'm going to turn everyone's life upside down smile.
The guy's been my closest friend for ten years now, and I'm still not sure when he's serious and when he's fucking with me.
"And?" I move to the hand sink in the back and turn it on.
Dean follows. "And you've been finished for two minutes without offering details."
"Guess I'm not as depraved as you." I run the water warm and pump soap into my hands.
"You'll get there."
I rinse. Towel dry. Turn off the faucet. "We all need goals." Not that I have any at the moment. I have everything I want. I'm a co-owner. The shop is kicking ass. I spend my days putting ink to people's skin and my nights enjoying the women of the greater Los Angeles area.
Life is good.
Except for shit with Bree.
But that's staying in the corner of my mind.
I'm done picking up the pieces.
I'm done hoping she'll give a fuck about getting better.
