“You want me to drop you at your house then?” he offers.
“You don’t need help with whatever you’re doing for your mom?”
“No. I’m good.” I hate that I even asked. And that he’s made me this way.
“Take me home,” I say, gazing out the window. He reaches over, tangling his fingers with mine as he pulls out of the parking lot. It doesn't take long before we’re at my place. “Thanks for the ride.”
I get out, taking off toward the front door. Booker calls after me. I unlock the door quickly, slipping inside and turning the lock before he makes it to the door.
“What the hell?” He bangs on the door.
“Just go,” I shout. I hear him mutter a few curse words.
“This isn't over. I’ll be back and you will open this door one way or another.” I can see the look of determination on his face through the peephole before he gets back into his car and takes off.
I grab the key to Grams’ car. She and Grandpa must have ridden together today. I decide that I’m going to get to the bottom of whatever is going on with Booker. I’ll go have a peek for myself. If Booker wants to be all shady and sneaky, then I can do the same.
I know one thing, though. Love really does make you do crazy things, and I love Booker more than anything else in this world. I pray he doesn't destroy my heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
Booker
“These are pretty. I would’ve bought them all, too,” declares Dean. He slaps me on the back after we finish hanging the last painting. “You know, we should use this place as a party pad. Instead of drinking at my place or yours, this can be home base. There’s a fridge and a patio and a bathroom plus two bedrooms for some private time.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“Dean’s got a point.” Tommy swings his frame over the back of the sofa we carried up and hands Dean a beer. “I don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner. When we have the strippers over, we just need to move this.” He kicks his feet at the wooden coffee table laden with three different pizzas.
“No strippers.” I snag a slice of pepperoni and catch a beer from Logan. “No rust on you,” I tell the reliever who hasn’t pitched since July.
Mick, our catcher, shakes his head when Logan holds up another beer. “Can’t. I’ve got practice later today.” He’s the only one on our team that doubles as a football player. He grabs his own piece of pizza. “Think you should tell her,” he says after he washes the pizza down with a half quart of milk.
“No way,” Tommy says. He’s not book bright, but he’s quick on his feet. “If she said she wouldn’t like it if you bought all the paintings then you’re doing the right thing by hiding it. Now that I’ve solved this problem, let’s backtrack to the no strippers thing. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Carrie doesn’t like it. In fact, she wasn’t going to go out with me until I explained that no one really cared about the strippers.”
“I care about them,” Dean interjects. “I care about them quite a bit. I helped your mom make cookies with them once. That’s how much I care about them. If your dad isn’t paying their bills, how are they feeding their kids?”
“They have kids?” Mick asks.
We all wait for Dean’s response.
“Yeah, a couple of them,” he says. “Sherry has a five-year-old. She got pregnant in high school and the guy wanted her to get the big A but she said no because she doesn’t believe in that, and Nina is actually married. She has two kids. Marco is five, and Emma is two.”
“Well” is the only response I have at this moment. I’m not sure what to do with this new information. I know the strippers bother Carrie, so I can’t be hiring them to take their clothes off, but maybe they can work at The Sugar Factory or garden around the house. I’ll have to talk to Carrie and my mom and see what they think. First, though, I need to figure out what to do with the art. “That’s some food for thought, but can we circle back to the issue at hand?” I ask. “I can’t rent this apartment forever. Carrie already thinks I’m hiding something from her.” She was pissed when she ran into her house and locked me out. I’m hoping a bit of time calms her down some. I hate not being on the same page with her. This past week has been hell not knowing when these painting would show up finally.
“You are hiding something from her.” Mick waves his hand around the room. “About five somethings. And are you seriously saying that you aren't going to buy more of her art? I know you. Hell, we all know you. What you’re really asking is how long can you carry this out.”