She knows better.
"Do you?" Her voice is soft. Apologetic. "Do you really want me like that?"
The world is red. I blink, but that does nothing to help.
I pull my keys from my pocket. "Take the car home."
"But—"
"Now, Kay."
"Where are you—"
"I've got it under control."
"But..."
"Now."
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brendon
The next thirty minutes are a blur. I'm not sure what I say to the Uber driver that drops me off in front of Walker's place.
I go straight to his apartment. Number three. My hand curls into a fist. Pounds on the door. It's doing it of its own accord. It knows something I don't, something about being willing to talk, about asking for help.
Walker mutters something. "If I owe you money, come back tomorrow."
"You have a gambling problem I should know about?"
"Fuck." Surprise drips from his voice. "Brendon?"
"Yeah."
Walker pulls the door open. Rubs his eyes. Stares back at me. "Don't tell me you owe someone money."
I shake my head.
He motions to his attire. Boxers. Just boxers. "You know how it is." He nods to the closed bedroom door at the end of the hallway behind him. "Keep it down. She's sleeping."
"You're a gentleman."
He chuckles. "Hey, just because it's one night, doesn't mean I can't show her a good time. Or do you even remember that shit?"
"It hasn't been that long."
He motions to the door behind me. "Three months? Four? Six? That's a fucking eternity. Remember when Dean got his Prince Albert? He nearly died doing six weeks."
"I try not to think about Dean's dick."
"Hard to avoid when he's always bragging."
"Yeah." I press the door closed. Click the lock. I want to tell him to fuck off, but it's not like I can deny the allegations. It's been a while.
He moves into the kitchen. "You look like hell."
I feel like hell.