It feels way, way too good cuddling up on Walker's couch with a plateful of spicy curry and a classic science fiction film.

He teases me about stealing his chicken curry. I tease him about his messy eating. And lick chutney off his lips. And collapse into his arms for the rest of the movie.

I want to sleep here. In his bed. With my body pressed against his.

And that's a no go.

A hard pass.

An obvious trip to feelings-ville.

I ask him to take me home, and he obliges, but I still fall asleep wishing his arms were around me.

I still wake up lonely.

* * *

I take a long sip and let out a soft moan.

Almost perfect.

Just a little more simple syrup.

There.

Ahh.

That's exactly it.

I press my lips together to stifle my moan. It's Sunday. In Brentwood, that means families everywhere. As in no moaning like you're trying out for a phone sex hotline.

Oh, baby, yes, just like that…

It's disturbing how well my thoughts of sugary cold brew line up with dirty talk. Maybe that's my new part-time job. Sipping coffee and moaning is already a huge part of my routine…

Okay. That's true. But the thought of strangers filling me in on their fantasies? Not so appealing. Not unless they're Walker.

Only he isn't a stranger anymore.

He's a…

A something.

I nearly skip back to my seat. The magic powers of caffeine and sugar combine to bring me to life. My thoughts get sharp. My attention fixes on the task at hand: tackling this chapter on making sense of outliers.

Data. Stats. Studies. I can do this shit.

After a round of highlights, I go through the chapter again. This time, I make my own study guide. A bullet point for every important piece of information. A short summary for every section. A little bit of extra flavor for the chapter summary.

I go to suck iced coffee from my straw, but my drink is empty.

It's already late afternoon. More caffeine is a bad idea.

I get in line anyway. The guy in front of me is tall. Tan. Broad. He looks up from his cell phone and smiles at me.

He's just like Ross. Clean cut. Business casual outfit. Work hard, play hard. The type who uses to get through his meetings then to unwind after them.

I smile back. He's cute, but he doesn't make my heartbeat pickup or my stomach flutter. He's just so… plain. Uninteresting. Not like Walker with his dark eyes, and his strong shoulders, and the tattoos that snake down his arm.

Ahem.

Business guy steps forward to order his nonfat latte. He turns back to me and winks.

I smile back. That seems like the proper protocol. Or something.

"A refill, please." I place my cup on the counter and fish two dollars from my wallet. I use one to pay and stuff the other in the tip jar.

The barista smiles back at me. "I love your hair." She picks up my glass. "I've been thinking about that cut."

"Thanks."

"Is it high-maintenance?"

"It looks messy if I don't trim it every six weeks, but otherwise, it's as easy as it gets."

She nods. "It looks great on you."

"Thanks."

Business guy watches from his seat at a side table. He nods to himself oh, I get it. She doesn't like me because she's into girls.

Okay. I'm jumping to conclusions.

I do have a problem.

She refills my cold brew. I bring it to the bar, pour in a little two percent and a lot of simple syrup. Mmm. Perfection.

I return to my seat, tackle another chapter, write up another set of notes.

One to go.

Then a bunch of reading from the other textbook in my backpack. I thought I'd be jumping into research right away, but the first year of this program is all foundation.

It's good. Important stuff to know.

But I want to dive into a massive research project now.

I suck coffee through my straw. Open up my email. There's a bunch of stuff about my internship offers. I've been ignoring it for too long.

New York isn't as appealing as it was a month ago.

It's so far away. That was the draw, when I applied. But now that there's someone I want to see in LA…

No. That's silly. Walker and I are casual. We won't be anything come July. I need to take whichever of these is the best opportunity.

Which means I need to figure out which of these is the best opportunity.

Eventually.

I lean back and take another sip. Make a mental note to decide by the end of the month. Turn back to my computer.

My fingers move of their own accord.

Straight to Lily's Instagram. I created a new account just to stalk my sister. It's awful, I know. But she blocked me on every platform. And I have to know she's okay. Asking my parents always leads to offers to help us make up.

I want that.

But not until she's ready.

If she's ever ready.

There's a picture from this morning. She's standing with all her equally fit girlfriends, sipping a green smoothie in her spin gear.

Her last week is all cute business casual outfits and fierce eye shadow. She always looks good. She taught me how to do my makeup. And hair. And how to style my outfits. And everything, really.

Mom was involved too, but her style was—still is—trapped in the 80s.

Lily is trendy. Pretty. Fun.

My backpack buzzes.

My cell.

Walker: What are you doing?

I should work. I have a lot to do.

But I have all night. A little break can't hurt.

Iris: Thinking about you naked.

Walker: Ditto.

Iris: About me or yourself?

Walker: Myself. I'm too fine. It hurts.

Iris: It's true. Looking at you is like looking at the sun. If you do it directly, you'll burn your corneas.

Walker: It's my curse.

Iris: Is this a booty call?

Walker: At four in the afternoon?

Iris: It's happened before.

Walker: To you?

Iris: My lips are sealed.

Walker: What are you really doing?

Iris: Trying to decide on my summer internships.

Walker: What are your options?

Iris: There's a great one in New York.

Walker: Manhattan?

Iris: Yeah. And a few here. Well, driving distance. One in San Diego. Did I tell you I went to USCD?

Walker: Take that one.

Iris: Won't you miss me?

Walker: I'll be at your place every day off.

Iris: Surfing every morning?

Walker: Of course.

Iris: You do seem like the San Diego type.

Walker: What's that mean?

Iris: You know exactly what it means.

Walker: Do I?

Iris: Yeah.

Walker: You wearing panties?

My cheeks flush.

Iris: That was an abrupt subject change.

Walker: Are you?

Iris: Yes.

Walker: What do they look like?

Uh… I glance around the crowded coffee shop. Can I really have this conversation here?

Iris: Purple. There's cotton with lace trim.

Walker: Fuck, you're gonna make me hard.

Iris: You started it.

Walker: Still.

Iris: I'm completely innocent. Just trying to study.

Walker: I'm just getting ready for the gym.

Iris: Wearing…?

Walker: You want a pic?

My tongue slides over my lips.

Iris: Yes, please.

A minute later my cell flashes with a picture message. Walker from his nose to his thighs. He's wearing boxers. Only boxers.

But it's too much.

I want those gone.

I want my thoughts gone.

I want him in my bed, between my legs, groaning my name.

Iris: You're going to kill me.

Walker: Good.

Iris: How are you going to the gym? I can't fathom that. My thighs are murder.

Walker: I get any credit for that?

Iris: Maybe.

Walker: Iris, you wound me.

Iris: You get some credit.

Most of the credit.

Walker: Is it good sore or bad sore?

Iris: There's a good sore?

Walker: Yeah. You feel like you worked hard. Like a badass.

Iris: I do feel like I worked hard. And like everything hurts.

Walker: You need someone to kiss it better?

Iris: I knew this was a booty call.

Walker: It could be. But you know it's the twenty-first century. Women can make the first move.

Iris: Uh-huh.

Walker: You can booty call me.

Iris: I'll consider that.

Walker: Me too. In explicit detail.

Iris: You're dirty.

Walker: You love it.

I do.

Walker: Don't worry. It'll rub off on you.

It already is. I get the double entendre right away. Rub off. Like rub one out. Like he's going to come on me.

Usually, that kind of thing squicks me out.

But the thought of Walker coming on my ass, my back, my stomach, my chest…

Fuck. It's hot in here.

I suck cold brew through my straw. It's mostly ice. It's not enough to cool me down.

Must change topic.

Iris: Did you talk to your friend?

Walker: A little.

Iris: And?

Walker: He's acting like everything is normal.

Iris: Hmm.

Walker: You're doing it again.

Iris: I've been doing it all afternoon. I have a problem.

Walker: You aren't at home?

Iris: At a coffee shop.

Walker: Ah.

Iris: What do you mean ah?

Walker: Explains your good mood.

Iris: You don't want to take credit for that?

Walker: Post-orgasm glow only lasts twelve hours.

Iris: I didn't realize.

Walker: I'm sure you could do more extensive testing. That's a ballpark.

Iris: I think I have to.

Walker: You're a slave to science.

Iris: Thanks for noticing.

Walker: You have school Wednesday?

Iris: In the morning. But I should study.

Walker: You could study. Or you could come on my hand at Griffith Park.

Iris: Oh.

Walker: Have you ever been?

Iris: Of course. I'm from the valley, remember?

Walker: And you decided you like hiking. And I like watching you come. It sounds like a perfect mash-up.

Iris: It does.

Walker: I'll pick you up at three, buy you dinner, have you home in time for your Thursday morning class.

Iris: Have you heard of asking?

Walker: I'll see you at three, Iris.