Page 47 of Hot Stuff
“Every day. Even when I’m sick, I do them.”
“No need to do that. You need to take care of your body because if you go pro, it’ll take a beating. Hell, it’ll take one before that, so if you’re sick, modify your workout.”
“Okay. I will. Thanks, Mr. Walker.”
“You’re welcome, Danny. Take care of your mom.”
Danny groans. “You sound like Grandpa.”
“He knows what he’s talking about.”
“Yeah, but you all don’t need to remind me to take care of her. She’s the only one I got.”
Sadness moves across Danny’s face and Walker reaches over with his free hand and claps him on the shoulder. “Your dad would be proud of you. Hewasproud of you.”
“I know.” Danny gulped. “I wish…”
“We all do.” Walker gives Danny’s shoulder a squeeze then glances at me. “Gotta get going. Need to get my girl home and feed her dinner.”
Danny grins in a way I’m sure Walker planned. “Oh, that’s your girlfriend? She’s hot!”
I’m so shocked by the teenager’s comment that I don’t have the time to disguise my choked surprise with a cough.
Laughing, Walker slides his arm around my shoulders and tugs me against him. Looking down, his eyes on mine, he says, “Yeah, she’s smokin’.”
I slap my hand against his belly. “Walker!”
“What? I’m not gonna lie. You are hot. And youaremy girlfriend.”
“Grandpa says you never lie to your mom or your girl,” Danny adds, a nod of his head going along with his imparted wisdom.
“Well, thank you both for the compliment.” I smile at Danny. “And that’s becausemygrandpa says you always thank someone when they’re nice to you.”
“Not sure how telling the truth is being nice but whatever,” Danny shrugs. “I gotta go stock shelves. See ya later, Mr. Walker.”
“See ya, Danny.” Walker removes his arm from around me to place his hand on my lower back. “C’mon, let’s get home.”
I know he doesn’t really mean home the way I take it but there’s no stopping my visceral reaction to his words. I want to be goinghomewith Walker.
Although, with how quickly things between us are moving, I’m beginning to think home isn’t a place, it’shim.
It won’t matter where we sleep—his place here, my hotel suite, my house in Baton Rouge—as long as he’s there it’ll be home.
“You’ve gone quiet.”
“Just thinking.”
“You still want to come to my place?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I?”
“Don’t know, just wanted to be sure.” He grabs my hand and weaves our fingers together. “It’s this way,” he says with a tug.
“We’re not getting a cab?” My stride settles in to match his.
“Nope. It’s only a couple of blocks.”
The sidewalk is relatively empty and it’s an easy stroll in the cold March afternoon air. New York temps are so different from home.
