See Me After Class(80)

Exhaling, I walk into the restaurant and tell the hostess I’m here to meet Walker. She takes me back to a private area immediately, where I find him hunched over at the table, on his phone, wearing a slate-gray button-up and black pants. When he spots us, he quickly tucks his phone away and stands.

And good God is he massive.

Tall.

Muscular.

Larger than life.

“Your waitress will be with you soon,” the hostess says.

“Thank you,” Walker responds. Holding out his hand, he says, “It’s nice to meet you, Greer.”

Jason would be so disappointed with this greeting. I shake his hand and say, “Great to meet you, Walker.”

Like a gentleman, he pulls out my chair, helps me into my seat, and then sits across from me.

Immediately, I feel awkward. Not because of Walker, but because blind dates are incredibly uncomfortable.

“I saw that you guys won your game. Congrats.”

“Thanks.” He shifts in his chair, attempting to get comfortable.

Okay, not much of a talker. “So, how do you know Jason? Besides the whole baseball thing?”

“We work on same non-profit things together.” Walker picks up his menu and examines the choices. He looks . . . distressed, almost as distressed as I felt when Arlo gave me that last look. He sets the menu down and says, “Hell, Greer. I’m sorry. I . . . my head is with someone else. I don’t want to lead you on, but Jason begged me to go on this date.”

I reach out and press my hand to his arm. His eyes lift up to mine, and I say, “Don’t apologize, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to the same thing.”

He perks up. “Really?”

I bite my bottom lip and nod. Although, his comment really does nothing for my self-esteem. Jason begged me to go on this date. Yep. But, I’m also glad he’s upfront and honest. “Unfortunately, even though he’s everything wrong for me.”

Walker seems to think on that and says, “Should we talk about it?”

I chuckle. “I mean, you’re the only neutral party I know that I could talk to about it. What about you?”

“Same.”

“Did our date just become a therapy session?”

“I think it did.”

“Does this mean we can order all the food, and dig deep into our feelings?”

“Food, yes. Deep feelings . . . maybe.”

“Fair enough.” I hold up the menu. “Let’s make a dent in this menu, Rockwell.”





“Huh,” I say, tapping my chin and lifting my glass of wine to my lips. “That’s quite the pickle.”

“It is.” He takes a sip of his water while we wait for our food. We just shared an appetizer of ceviche, cleared that out pretty quick, but it did a good job curbing the hunger that was starting to set in.

“And there’s no possible way she can date you unless she’s not working for the Bobbies?”

“There’s a zero-tolerance policy for staff.”

“Huh, and I thought my situation was bad. You have it way worse.”

“Let’s talk about you, then.”

“It’s the classic story,” I say waving my hand. “Girl meets boy, boy . . . fiddles around with her, girl wants more, boy is emotionally unavailable.”

He nods in understanding. “I can see that,” he says quietly. He’s very reserved, doesn’t speak much, I’ve noticed, but what he does say usually packs a lot of punch. “I’ve been emotionally unavailable, and it has nothing to do with the girl and everything to do with me unable to break through that barrier. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you. Just means he doesn’t know how to want you.”

I think back to Arlo’s expression tonight, the dejection in his eyes. “The want is there,” I say. “And this might be too much information, but he’s been very adamant about making me feel good. I have yet to do anything sexual to him. Even a kiss. Nothing.”

Walker scratches the side of his face. “Sounds like something I’d do, but he has a stronger will than me.”

“Why?”

“Not wanting to give in to temptation and getting lost in it,” Walker says automatically, his eyes drifting to something over my shoulder. “One taste, one feel, and it could ruin a man like me, like him. Someone who’s holding back. He’s reserved, and there’s a deep-rooted reason. But there’s a reason why he won’t go there with you, and it’s because he sees you as a threat.”

“A threat?” I ask, my brow creasing. “How so?”

“Because, he’s probably spent a great amount of time putting up the wall that’s guarding his emotions, and with one look, you cracked it.”

“I don’t think—”

“Let me ask you this,” Walker says, turning toward me completely and leaning in. “Does he touch you a lot when he gets the chance?”

“I mean . . . yeah. He always has a hand on me.”

“Does he leave abruptly after pleasuring you?”

“Yes, and it’s really annoying.”

“Do you find yourself being tracked down by him? Like a wolf to the prey? Eyes always on you?”

“Yes . . .”