His lips brush mine. Soft to start. Then harder. Then he's sucking on my bottom lip, groaning into my mouth.
Every thought in my head dissolves. My eyelids flutter together. My world goes white. It's only Walker. His lips, his hands, his smile.
I really, really like him.
Want him to be my boyfriend like him.
Want him to be my boyfriend for a long, long time and maybe forever like him.
It's… Uh…
I pull back with a sigh.
His lips press into that perfect smile. He shoots Dean a playful look. "Don't entertain her too much."
"I can't help it."
Walker laughs. "Uh-huh." He turns and heads over to Ryan. He's sitting on a bench in front with Emma, Brendon, and Kaylee.
Look at me, learning names.
Woohoo.
"You like him, huh?" Dean asks.
"Oh my God. Leave her alone." Leighton presses her palms against the counter. She plops onto it and taps her heeled ankle boots together.
God, she really is cool. Like a punk rock goddess. She's wearing smooth black skinny jeans and a reconstructed Ramones t-shirt cut up and sewn together with hot pink ribbon.
"It's an innocent question." He leans against the counter next to her. Brings his cup to his lips. "You should be proud of me. I didn't demand Never Have I Ever."
"Uh-huh." She shakes her head you're ridiculous.
"Or truth or dare," he says.
She looks to me. "See what I deal with every day?"
I laugh. "It must be rough."
She does too. "It really is. But I love it here. Serious eye candy."
Dean motions aww, you shouldn't have with mock humility.
It's clear she isn't trying to pay Dean a compliment, but he is super, duper, amazingly hot. Tall. Broad. With shaggy brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a million-dollar smile.
He looks like trouble. Like the kind of guy who will get wasted with you, fuck you senseless, then leave you with nothing but memories.
"Brendon, Ryan, and Walker are super hot, yes." She ignores him. "But the clients. All the surfer boys and the local musicians get their work done here. And I don't mean local, playing at a dive bar in Burbank. I mean fucking rock stars who live in Venice." She fans herself. "Why am I not having sex again?"
"You make bad choices," Dean says.
"That hurts coming from you." She smiles. "It's true. Turns out tattoos and muscles don't always equate to boyfriend material."
"In my experience, a short haircut and a nice suit don't either," I say.
"Tattooed manwhores aren't your type?" Dean asks.
"Not usually." I press my hands into my sides. It feels weird not holding a drink. "Excuse me." I move to the bar. Grab a cup. Fill it with grapefruit juice.