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She sticks her tongue out no thanks. "Fine. We won't call them rules. We'll call them—"
"Call it what it is."
"Okay. It's a rule." She stirs her drink with her straw. "No one else."
I nod. "Of course."
"And we… we can hang out as friends. But no dates. No roses or moonlit walks on the beach. No romance."
"I don't do romance."
She must believe me, because she nods. "We can call it off whenever. No questions asked. No explanation required."
"Sounds fair."
"Okay. I, um. I'm not sure how you seal this kind of agreement."
I nod to the bathroom.
She laughs. "Let's stick with this." She offers her hand.
I shake.
Her eyes go to the clock on the wall. "You're gonna be late."
"I know." I pull my cell from my pocket and slide it to her.
She picks it up, punches in her number, sends a text to herself.
Her phone buzzes in her backpack.
She hands my cell back to me.
Walker: Hey, babe, this is Walker, your booty call. I want some of that sugar, but first I need to brag about how great I was the other night.
Her lips curl into a smile. "I think I nailed you."
"I'm flattered."
She pushes herself to her feet and slings her backpack over her shoulder. "I'll see you soon, Walker Williams."
"And I'll see you soon, Iris—"
"Iris Avery."
* * *
My last appointment takes forever. We go for broke, finish the back piece. When I'm done, I'm tired and achy and ready to crash.
But it's chest and triceps day.
I head to the gym down the street with Dean. It's our thing. We're on the same routine. I spot his chest presses. Then he spots mine. Then we devolve into bragging about who has the bigger biceps.
Amongst other things.
It's as fun as working out gets.
And it feels good. Like I'm accomplishing something. Getting bigger. Better. Stronger.
