You could read it on his face: the car was awesome .“Thank you,”he said to Walker, as he came in through the door. “It’s an incredible ride.”
“Next time I come in, I’ll let you park it,”Walker said, smiling. I watched as the guard’s face lit up; Walker had yet another fan.
“Yes sir. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Ms. Reynolds,” Walker said to me, and held out his arm. “Let’s get this over with.” I took his arm and noticed, against my better judgment, that his forearm was incredibly muscular and strong. Of course it was! I could feel him beneath his suit coat, tendons straining. My arm sizzled where it was touching his: contact heat. I felt myself clench again, deep inside, and I wished that I was alone so that I could smack myself right across the face. This was no time to find my inner whore.
I wanted to ask Walker if he was flexing for my enjoyment, but that would only lead to trouble. And trouble really was the last thing I needed right now. He walked me around the back of the car, black, gleaming and opulent in the late-afternoon light, and opened the door for me. He hopped in the driver’s seat, put on aviator sunglasses and loosened his tie further. It was almost too much — I felt like I was in a high-end cologne commercial. “I live in Back Bay, so we’ll be there in a minute,”he said, checking the rearview mirror and deftly maneuvering in and out of traffic. His car interior was buttery leather, immaculate. If this was what his car was like, I couldn’t even imagine his house.
“I live in Somerville,” I said, trying to make normal conversation.
“I had a feeling you lived over the bridge,” Walker said. “You seem like a bit of a rebel. I’m sure you fit in great with all the troubled youth in Harvard Square.”
“Ha-ha,” I said. “Just because I dress conservatively doesn’t mean I can’t skateboard,” I said, thinking of the kids who were always hanging out around the square, with turquoise hair, multiple piercings, and cool skateboard tricks. “You have no idea what I’m like on the weekends.” I mentally slapped my hand over my mouth. This was why I shouldn’t be conversational. Something about Walker — actually, lots of things about Walker — made me say things that I just…Should…Not…Say. Like things about me being wild. On the weekends.
I was so not wild on the weekends. But it would be nice if he thought I was…
He laughed again, and he sounded like he was relaxing, which in turn made me tense up. “So you’re a weekend warrior. We should hang out sometime. Get tattoos. Go for burritos.”
He shouldn’t be this handsome and this fun to be around, on the eve of his arraignment. “Sounds good to me,” I said, anyway, having fun in spite of myself. My favorite burrito place of all time was located very close to Harvard Square. My stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of it. “Sorry,” I mumbled, embarrassed.
“No, I’m starving, too,” Walker said. “It’s been a long day. Let’s skip the tattoos and just get burritos. I know a great place.” He took a sharp left, changing direction.
“Actually, I know a great place,”I said.
“Mine’s better,” Walker said, and I could tell he wasn’t going to bend. Bossy, bossy, I thought, but I didn’t really mind, as long as there was a burrito at the end of the journey. I realized that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday and my stomach started growling again.
“You have my standing apology,” I said, motioning to my stomach. “It’s been so busy I’ve been on an all-caffeine diet.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he said, “I’m fucking starving, too.” Hearing him swear made me shiver; it was like I was doing something naughty, being with a sunglass-clad, speeding Walker in his luxury sedan, listening to him say the word ‘fucking.’ There was something totally wrong with me — why did I think this was hot? Why was I ignoring everything I knew and
“Next time I come in, I’ll let you park it,”Walker said, smiling. I watched as the guard’s face lit up; Walker had yet another fan.
“Yes sir. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Ms. Reynolds,” Walker said to me, and held out his arm. “Let’s get this over with.” I took his arm and noticed, against my better judgment, that his forearm was incredibly muscular and strong. Of course it was! I could feel him beneath his suit coat, tendons straining. My arm sizzled where it was touching his: contact heat. I felt myself clench again, deep inside, and I wished that I was alone so that I could smack myself right across the face. This was no time to find my inner whore.
I wanted to ask Walker if he was flexing for my enjoyment, but that would only lead to trouble. And trouble really was the last thing I needed right now. He walked me around the back of the car, black, gleaming and opulent in the late-afternoon light, and opened the door for me. He hopped in the driver’s seat, put on aviator sunglasses and loosened his tie further. It was almost too much — I felt like I was in a high-end cologne commercial. “I live in Back Bay, so we’ll be there in a minute,”he said, checking the rearview mirror and deftly maneuvering in and out of traffic. His car interior was buttery leather, immaculate. If this was what his car was like, I couldn’t even imagine his house.
“I live in Somerville,” I said, trying to make normal conversation.
“I had a feeling you lived over the bridge,” Walker said. “You seem like a bit of a rebel. I’m sure you fit in great with all the troubled youth in Harvard Square.”
“Ha-ha,” I said. “Just because I dress conservatively doesn’t mean I can’t skateboard,” I said, thinking of the kids who were always hanging out around the square, with turquoise hair, multiple piercings, and cool skateboard tricks. “You have no idea what I’m like on the weekends.” I mentally slapped my hand over my mouth. This was why I shouldn’t be conversational. Something about Walker — actually, lots of things about Walker — made me say things that I just…Should…Not…Say. Like things about me being wild. On the weekends.
I was so not wild on the weekends. But it would be nice if he thought I was…
He laughed again, and he sounded like he was relaxing, which in turn made me tense up. “So you’re a weekend warrior. We should hang out sometime. Get tattoos. Go for burritos.”
He shouldn’t be this handsome and this fun to be around, on the eve of his arraignment. “Sounds good to me,” I said, anyway, having fun in spite of myself. My favorite burrito place of all time was located very close to Harvard Square. My stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of it. “Sorry,” I mumbled, embarrassed.
“No, I’m starving, too,” Walker said. “It’s been a long day. Let’s skip the tattoos and just get burritos. I know a great place.” He took a sharp left, changing direction.
“Actually, I know a great place,”I said.
“Mine’s better,” Walker said, and I could tell he wasn’t going to bend. Bossy, bossy, I thought, but I didn’t really mind, as long as there was a burrito at the end of the journey. I realized that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday and my stomach started growling again.
“You have my standing apology,” I said, motioning to my stomach. “It’s been so busy I’ve been on an all-caffeine diet.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he said, “I’m fucking starving, too.” Hearing him swear made me shiver; it was like I was doing something naughty, being with a sunglass-clad, speeding Walker in his luxury sedan, listening to him say the word ‘fucking.’ There was something totally wrong with me — why did I think this was hot? Why was I ignoring everything I knew and
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