My phone keeps buzzing.

I give up on ignoring it halfway through Blade Runner and check my messages in the bathroom. They're all from Bree. All drunken apologies and pleas for help. Not the kind of help she needs.

The kind of help easily solved by a rideshare app.

Half a dozen voicemail messages in the last two hours. It's late on a Friday. She's probably at some shitty bar with some asshole.

I'm not rescuing her again.

It isn't happening.

I press my back against the beige wall. The bathroom is empty. The two silver stalls are unlocked. The wide sink is clean. Dry. The shiny mirror reflects my inability to cut Bree off back at me.

It's going to be like this until she ODs and doesn't get help fast enough.

Are you going to run to her side until the day you get there and she's a fucking corpse?

Shit. I don't want to do this. But I have to.

I call my parents. First Mom. Her cell goes to voicemail. I try Dad. His message greets me.

Hello, you've reached Robert Williams. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you.

It's all business. Like him.

"Dad, call me. We need to talk about Bree." I hang up.

It's late, nearly two a.m. They're sleeping. This isn't the time for this conversation.

But then it never is.

I shoot my sister a text.

Walker: You want to make it up to me? Take an Uber home.

I plant one hand on the counter and stare back at my reflection.

It continues mocking me.

This could be it. I can tell her to get lost right now. I can tell her she's out of my life forever, block her number, and never hear from her again.

It would mean ceasing most communication with my parents.

And all her old friends.

And more or less sentencing her to die with a syringe in her hand.

But it's been a fucking eternity and I haven't been able to do much about that.

It takes a few minutes for her to text back.

Sabrina: You're mad.

No shit, I'm mad.

She's like a child.

Walker: It's nearly two, Bree. Go home. Sleep it off. Call me when you're sober.

That's all I can take tonight.

I turn my cell off, slide it into my pocket, and make my way back to Iris.

Her blue eyes are glued to the screen. She leans back in her seat as she breaks a square from a fancy chocolate bar—this place actually sells good chocolate, though it's still at ridiculous movie theater prices.

She looks to me and offers me the square.

I take it. Nod thank you.

She tilts her head, assessing me, looking for cracks.

Finding them.

She leans in to whisper. "Your sister?"

"Yeah."

I press my palm into my quad. Fuck, it feels weird admitting that. I'm itchy all over. Desperate to get the fuck out of this chair and be somewhere, anywhere, else.

"You want to talk about it?" she whispers.

I shake my head.

"You want more chocolate?"

I laugh. "Yeah."

The guy behind us lets out a loud shush.

It's an obnoxious move. But he's right. Talking during Blade Runner is fucked up.

She breaks off another square and hands it to me.

I nod a thank you and lean back in my seat.

Iris follows suit.

I let my hand find hers. It feels good the way it did in middle school, when holding hands was a big fucking deal. When a kiss was everything. When I actually thought I might love a woman one day.

I try to focus on the futuristic Los Angeles flashing on the screen, but I can't.

This situation with Bree is fucked up.

Usually, I jump straight to denial. Even with the guys at the shop. Even though they all know Bree's an addict.

A long time ago, Brendon, Dean, and I used to party together. Sometimes with Bree. We all drank too much and occasionally dabbled in narcotics.

We grew out of it. Got bored.

She didn't.

It's my fault she's like this.

I should have stopped her then.

Even if she was—is—my older sister.

Even if she was into it first.

I don't want to carry the weight of this myself anymore.

I want to tell someone.

No, I want to tell Iris.

I want to actually know her.

* * *

Iris saunters into my apartment like she owns the place.

She tosses her purse on the couch, spins on her heel, turns to me, motions come here.

My lips curl into a smile. She's cute tired.

She puts a hand on her hip. "Do I have to get started myself?"

"Fuck yeah." My tongue slides over my lips. "Can I watch?"

"You want to watch me touch myself?"

"You're really asking me that question?"

"Yeah."

"Of course."

"Oh." Her cheeks flush. "I just… I never thought anyone… I've never done that."

"You want to?"

Her nod is slow. Needy.

"You awake enough?"

"Haha. Very funny." She takes a step backward. "I'll have you know I'm running on an exquisite blend of caffeine and sugar."

"And that never leads to a crash."

"Ever."

"You're an addict."

All that joy falls off her face. She shakes it off. Forces a smile. "We all have our vices." She plays with her skirt as she takes another step backward. "I am going to start without you."

"Good."

She spins on her heel and skips into my bedroom. She leaves the door open a crack. So I can see her strip out of her dress. Toss her bra aside. Push her panties to her knees.

Fuck, I do want to watch this.

In one minute.

I move to the bathroom, piss, wash my hands, return to the main room.

My cell sits in my jeans like a rock. It taunts me. What if Bree didn't get home okay? What if she's walking the streets somewhere? What if you're responsible for your sister's death?

I try to shake it off, but it won't go.

Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me? My girl—well, whatever I should call Iris—is teasing me with touching herself and my head isn't in the game.

This isn't me.

I move into the bedroom. I need to ease myself into it. To—

Iris is naked in my bed. It's a beautiful fucking sight.

But she isn't touching herself.

She's curled up on her side, fast asleep.

I leave my phone on the dresser, strip to my boxers, and get in bed behind her.

I only mean to hold her for a minute.

But as soon as my eyelids press together, the world drifts away.

* * *

The apartment smells like coffee.

The other side of the bed is warm. Iris just got up. We slept together without sleeping together.

I'm not stupid.

I know that means something.

And wanting to share all this shit with her…

I stretch my arms over my head as I rise. My cell is still sitting on my dresser. Still off. Still mocking me.

There's a sound in the kitchen. Humming. Iris is humming one of those mellow acoustic songs.

I listen as I boot up my cell. A dozen excuses from Sabrina pop up in text message form. Bullshit about how she is sober. About how she's going to stay sober. And a voicemail from my dad. I hit play on the message and hold the phone to my ear.

"Walker, come to dinner tonight and we'll talk. Your sister is doing well, but she misses you. She needs your support. I know you work weekends. If you're busy tonight, call me and we'll make other arrangements. We eat at seven sharp, the same as always." His voice softens. "I love you."

The line clicks.

He thinks she's doing well.

How the fuck can someone so smart be this clueless?

I leave my phone on the counter, head to the bathroom to go through my routine, move into the kitchen.

Iris is leaning against the counter, her fingers wrapped around an oversized white mug, her lips pressed into a smile. Her expression gets sheepish as her eyes find mine. "You win that round."

Fuck, her smile does things to me. Pushes aside all the shit bouncing around my head.

I don't run away from things.

But right now…

"No." I move closer. Wrap my arms around her waist. She's wearing clothes. An Inked Hearts t-shirt Ryan designed and a pair of my boxers. "We both lost."

Her smile spreads over her cheeks. "Is everything good? Last night…"

I can't think about it right now. I need to clear my head. I need to be someplace that makes sense. "We'll talk about it later."

She nods, accepting it.

It's true. I am going to tell her. And figure out how the fuck this can be casual if I'm confessing all the ugly shit in my head.

"I'll make you breakfast." I slide my hand under her t-shirt. Press my palm into her stomach. I want to fuck her senseless, yeah, but I want my arms wrapped around her more.

It's weird.

She looks up at me with a soft smile. Shakes her head. "I'll cook."

"Set my kitchen on fire?"

"I'm not that hopeless."

I arch a brow.

She steps back to fold her arms. Cocks her hips. Dons that adorable don't mess with me look. "I'll prove it."

I motion to the stove. "Go ahead."

"Maybe… just, well, I am going to look up a recipe."

"And follow it to a T?"

"Of course. That's how you learn. Or you… you don't use recipes?"

"They're boring."

"Then I'm boring."

"You're not."

Her cheeks flush. "Thanks." She moves to the fridge, pulls the door open, assess the offerings. "Eggs. And bacon."

"I can walk you through it."

She looks to me and cocks a brow. "I suppose a hands-on lesson is better than a recipe." Her gaze trails over my chest, stomach, crotch. "And later…"

"You want to get hands on?"

She laughs. "Okay. I'm not a dirty talk expert yet."

"You'll get there."

Her flush spreads over her chest. She makes a show of bending over to reach for something in the fridge.

Fuck, she has a nice ass.

That's a perfect way to turn off my thoughts.

I bring my hand to her ass. Tug the boxers up her thigh. Run my fingers over her skin. "After."

"Oh." She slides the eggs back onto the shelf. Rises to her feet. Presses the door closed.

I bring both hands to her hips and pin her to the refrigerator door.

Her breath gets heavy. "You have a thing for the kitchen."

"I have a thing for your body against mine." I can't exactly deny the pattern. I slide her shorts down her ass. I'm moving too fast. Using her.

Usually, that doesn't bother me. Yeah, I'm an asshole. Whatever. It's not like I'm lying to anyone. I make it clear it's just sex. So what if I'm using a woman to get out of my head?

She's doing the same.

But Iris…

She arches her back, pressing her ass against my hard-on. "Walker…"

"You want me to stop?"

"No."

I push the boxers to her feet.

Her fingers dig into the fridge. Her breath gets heavy as I pull her t-shirt over her head and toss it on the floor.

I bring one hand to her chest and brush my thumb against her nipples.

She groans as she rocks against me.

I toy with her again and again.

I wait until she's panting to drag my fingertips up her thigh.

"Walker." Her voice is heavy. Needy.

This makes sense.

Everything else—fuck everything else.

I pull her closer. Hold her tighter. Bring my lips to her neck to suck on her skin.

She reaches back for me. Tugs at my boxers with one hand. Scratches my thigh with the other.

She wants me inside her.

But I need her at the edge.

I need her desperate and panting.

I drag my fingertips up her inner thigh. Her breath hitches as they get closer and closer.

There.

I brush my fingers against her clit.

She groans. Her fingers dig into my skin. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Make me come." She rubs her flesh against me.

Fuck. That feels good. Too good. I want to be inside her. I want her to be my entire fucking universe.

But this first.

Always this first.

I hold her body against mine as I tease her with light brushes of my fingers.

She squirms against me, groaning and panting and tugging at my boxers.

I wait until I can't take it anymore to make my touch harder.

"Fuck." Her thighs shake against my hand. Her nails dig into my skin. "More."

I rub her a little harder.

She groans.

A little higher.

She pants.

There.

"Don't stop," she breathes.

Like hell.

This is where the world makes sense.

This is one thing I always get right.

This is fucking everything.

She tortures me with that lush ass. Her soft flesh is divine against my hard-on. I want to bend her over and claim every inch of her.

"Oh God." She presses her palm against the refrigerator door, knocking off a magnet. Another. Another.

Paper menus and post cards tumble to the floor.

They don't matter.

Nothing matters but Iris coming on my hand.

I rock my hips against her. Fucking boxers are in the way. I hate these damn things, but they're necessary. Otherwise, I'd already be inside her.

The room fills with her groans.

My breath.

Her nails scrape my skin.

My lips brush her neck.

"Walker. Fuck." She tilts her head to give me access.

I suck on her tender skin.

"Bite me," she breathes.

I sink my teeth into her skin. Soft. Then a little harder. Harder.

She groans. "Fuck."

I get lost in the sounds of her pleasure. The way she claws at my skin and rubs against me.

A few more flicks of my hand and she's there.

She moans my name as she comes.

I don't stop until she pulls my hand away.

She turns and presses her lips to mine. Her kiss is hard. Hungry. As desperate as I feel.

No more thinking.

She drags her fingertips over my chest. My stomach. She pushes my boxers off one hip. Then the other.

I kick them off.

Her lips go to my neck. My shoulder. She motions to the wall behind me. "Against that."

My nod is heavy.

I need those pretty pink lips around me. I need to claim her mouth. Mark it as mine.

That isn't what we're doing. Not even close.

But I can't get the thought out of my head.

I move to the wall. Press my back against it.

She plants one more long, deep kiss on my lips then she works her way down my neck, shoulders, chest, stomach.

She lowers herself onto her knees. Looks up at me as she brushes her lips against my cock.

Fuck is this a nice view.

I bring one hand to the back of her head and nudge her forward.

She brushes her lips against me again. It's soft. A merciless tease.

She does it again. Again. Again.

My hand knots in her hair.

Slowly, she takes me into her mouth.

Fuck, she feels good. Soft. Wet. Warm.

I press my back against the wall as I watch her work me.

She teases me with soft flicks of her tongue. Then hard ones. Then she's swirling it around me.

"Iris." I press my hand against the back of her head.

She groans against me as she takes me deeper. Deeper.

Fuck.

She wraps her hand around my cock and she works me up and down.

I keep my hand on the back of her head, guiding her over me. I slide the other over her shoulders, down her chest.

There. I toy with her nipple.

She sucks harder.

I rub her harder.

It's a beautiful fucking cycle.

I let my eyelids press together as pleasure floods my body. She's fucking good at this.

"I'm coming in that pretty mouth," I growl.

She groans against me. Takes me deeper. Works me harder.

I hold her head in place as I rock my hips, thrusting into her mouth.

She looks up at me with a fierce expression. Like she's daring me.

I bring my other hand to her head and rock harder. Faster.

Fuck.

My cock pulses.

I tug at her hair. Groan her name as I come.

She waits until I've spilled every drop and swallows hard.

I offer her my hand.

She takes it and I pull her to her feet. And press my lips against her. And kiss her like it's the only way I can forget the world.

Because it is.