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Walker: What's worse?
Iris: You don't seem like the type who bruises easily.
Walker: Hmm.
Iris: I'm doing it again, aren't I?
Walker: If the… what the hell defines a shrink?
Iris: A "Hmmm, interesting, tell me more," a couch, and a box of tissues?
Walker: That's quite the stereotype.
Iris: That's what you're looking for.
Walker: You go to therapy?
Iris: You really don't have game.
Walker: Shit? I'm not supposed to ask babes about therapy either?
Iris: I'm pretty sure that's a hard no.
Walker: Damn. You're blowing my mind.
Iris: Am I?
Walker: No. But you… well, I have enough game to know babes don't like the words "blow job."
Iris: We don't.
Walker: Why is that?
Iris: It isn't sexy.
Walker: You prefer "suck me off"?
I swallow hard.
Walker: If it's not a barked order?
Iris: I'm not sure.
Walker: What if it is?
Uh…
Heat pools between my legs. I don't get it. I don't like being ordered around.
Or maybe…
Maybe I just didn't like it with Ross.
Maybe with Walker, it's different.
We've only been together once, and I already know everything is different with Walker.
Walker: I'll have to try it out.
