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You want some company?
I have no idea.
Thankfully, the question isn't some.
It's not a date with someone.
It's Walker.
I want to get coffee with Walker.
I want to get lunch and ice cream and dinner and post-dinner coffee with him.
And I really, really want to lead him back to my apartment so he can fuck me senseless.
I want it too much.
It's dangerous.
I press my lips together. I try to find a polite no. Thanks, but I need to get to work.
Thanks, but I think it's best if we never see each other again.
Thanks, but how about we skip the coffee and go straight to the backroom slash office instead?
I stare into his eyes.
I don't want to say no.
I want to say yes.
It's just company.
Just coffee.
I nod. "Only if you promise it will be great coffee."
"I know just the spot."
* * *
The air is warm. The breeze is soft. The sun is high in the bright blue sky.
It's a beautiful day.
But then, it's always a beautiful day on the Westside.
Venice is a lot like the gated community in the valley where I grew up. It's more crowded and less sauna like in the summer. And it's harder to find parking. And it's a million times more hip.
But it's the same lemon sun and bright sky.
That particular cliché about California is true.
The breeze rustles the palm trees lining the street.
It's picture perfect.
A sunny spring day by the beach.
