“Can’t I lend a hand to a brother in need?”
This is rich coming from a guy who has been pining over the same girl since ninth grade, but that’s a topic that none of us bring up because well, said girl is out of his reach, and we’re not complete dickholes. I bite my tongue.
“I’m still here, guys, and no one is crashing and burning because I won’t share my art. Booker and I are friends. I know that’s a concept your tiny brains have a hard time accepting because you only have space in your heads for girls you bang and sports, but there are other relationships that exist outside of the bedroom between men and women,” Carrie declares with a toss of her hair.
“Sounds fake to me,” Tommy says.
“Agreed,” choruses Dean.
Carrie pins me with her emerald green gaze. “You have something to add, Mr. Peters?”
God, that’s hot. My dick stands at attention, but I put on the blandest expression that I can. “Not a one, Ms. Montlain.”
Chapter Two
Carrie
I rush into my bedroom, tossing my bookbag onto my bed before I start to peel my clothes off. The Sugar Factory always gets super busy when all the schools let out for the day. I always rush to get home so I can change before I need to be over there to help my grandparents and mom out. When your family owns their own business, it’s always all hands on deck.
I open my closet, grabbing my uniform shirt and slipping on jeans before I snag a pair of sneakers that I don’t have to worry about staining. My eyes linger on the top shelf and the pair of sneakers sitting on it. The old Converse are broken down and need to be tossed out, but I can never seem to bring myself to do it.
I pull them down off the shelf, my finger tracing the spot that Booker’s hand doodled a baseball on. At least I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be a baseball. He’s never been great at art, but for some reason he keeps on taking all the art classes he can. Maybe he’s trying to get better at it. Looking at this drawing, I’d say he either needs a new passion or to continue taking every single class he can.
I really should throw them out. It’s a stupid doodle he did a few years ago. Still I put the shoes back next to the others before closing my closet door. Booker Peters. The one boy that scares the crap out of me while somehow making me laugh too. I try to tuck him nicely into the friend category. The same place I want all of the opposite sex to fall into. It gets harder and harder each year to keep Booker there.
So many times I’ve almost given in to his advances, but I’ve stopped myself. I know how charming men can be when they want something. But usually as soon as they get it, they don’t stick around for long. I’ve seen it happen to my mom time and time again. She’s a hopeless romantic that believes every man she meets is her happily ever after. Unfortunately, that hasn’t worked out for her.
By the time I make it to my grandparents’ ice cream shop, there is already a line out the door. I grab an apron before sliding up next to my mom to help with orders. The next two hours fly by, and most of the shop clears out. We might get one more rush, but it will be later in the evening, right before we close.
“How was school?” Mom asks as she wipes down the front counter.
“Same old same.” I shrug.
“Nothing new at all? Boys?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“No boys,” I respond. Her face, so like my own, drops in disappointment.
If anyone should be boy crazy it’s me. Not my mom. I love my mom to death, but any free time she has is focused on men and dating. I get wanting to have a partner in life, but month after month she is always getting her heart broken. Seeing how it messes with her, I’ve stood firm on the whole not dating thing.
“How about girls maybe?” she tries again.
“I’m straight, Mom.” I laugh. She huffs. “Aren't you supposed to be warning me off boys? Telling me they're terrible and only want in your pants?”
My mom is different from a lot of other moms at school. At times I think she can be a bit childlike when it comes to some of her ideas and thoughts.
“Having a man in your pants is a good thing from time to time,” Grams says, coming out from the back of the shop, making me snort a laugh.
How can my mom have such a horrible track record with men when her own parents have such a good relationship? My grandparents are high school sweethearts who are still madly in love with each other.