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A walk with a gorgeous, tattooed man.
"I hope you don't mind hipsters," Walker says.
"My haircut doesn't give me away?"
He laughs. Tugs on my backpack straps. He's wearing it. Holding it for me. Like in high school. "And now you have ink. You're on your way."
"Mom would be so proud." She already is. My parents suffocate me with praise. It's sweet. But it's too much. You're so strong, Iris. You've already made it a month. You'll get through this. And Lily will come around. You'll be best friends again. We'll be one big, happy family again.
"Is she?"
"Yeah." I run my fingers through my hair. I'm still buzzing. I can still hear the tattoo gun's hum. I can still feel the needles on my skin. "Do you usually ask women about their moms on dates?"
"I told you. I don't date."
"Then what is this?"
"Coffee." The back of his hand brushes mine. "And conversation."
"It's been a while since I've been on the market, but I'm pretty sure that's called a date."
"Ah."
"What do you mean ah?"
"Explains a lot."
"What?" My rubber sole hits the pavement. My canvas shoes are comfortable. But ordinary. At least they're purple. That gives them personality. And it's something I know. I love the color purple. It's not much, but it's a start. "If you tell me I was rusty, I'm going to—"
"Hit me?"
I shake my head. "Dig my water bottle from my backpack and pour it on your head."
"Viscous."
"I try." I let the back of my hand brush his wrist.
He leans into the touch. Brushes his fingertips against my palm.
"What did it explain?"
"I'm not sure I can answer honestly with such a brutal threat hanging over my head."
"Are you chicken?"
His laugh floats into the air.
It makes me warm. Fills me someplace I'm normally empty. There's a distinct lack of laughter in my life. I want more of it. More of him.
"Well, some of us have balls." I drag my fingertips over his palm. "And I'm not afraid to say it. Coffee and conversation the day after sex is a date."
"You want it to be a date?" He nods to the street to our left. This way.
I follow him onto the slanted street. It's familiar. Somehow. "I'm not looking for a relationship."
"A fling?"
"Depends on the definition."
