by Goode, Ella
It’s a name he’d given me in middle school when I’d dressed as a bear for Halloween one year.
“That deal is expired by now. We could do another one.” He smirks.
“What are the stakes?”
“If I win you have to go to Mick’s party with me this weekend and Care-bear is back on the table.” I think over what I want to wager. I haven’t been going to any of the parties lately. I was always scared of showing up and seeing Booker with some girl or something. That’s what a lot of those parties are for. People getting drunk or high and hooking up. I’m starting to think that maybe he’s really not hooking up with anyone.
“You’ll have to be my bitch for an upcoming event I’ve entered to showcase some of my art, and you’ll be my personal driver.”
“Deal,” he says without hesitation. He puts his fist out, ready to go. “Best out of three.” I take a deep breath and count out the first one before doing scissors. He nails me with rock.
“Crap,” I mutter, going in for the next round. This time Booker counts it off. I throw paper this time and he does scissors. “The hell. You never beat me.” Mischief dances in his eyes like he knew he was going to win.
“Let’s roll, Care-bear.” He opens the car door for me. I pull my backpack off, tossing it into the back seat as if I’m bothered by him calling me that nickname again. When really I’m secretly loving the fact. His arm wraps around me again, his hand resting on my stomach. He pulls me back into his body. I always feel tiny and delicate in his hold. The Sugar Factory has made me a bit on the curvy side. Yet against Booker I fit perfectly.
He leans closer, his mouth coming to my ear. My breath hitches. This feels different than any other time we’ve been this close. His warm breath tickles my neck.
“I plan on still being your bitch and personal driver,” he says against my ear. “Only yours, Carrie.”
He releases his hold on me, leaving me stunned as he makes his way around the car to get in.
What the heck just happened? Something is changing between us. Booker isn’t the boy I once knew. He’s a man. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been misreading him all along.
I’m not sure I know this Booker at all. But I find myself wanting to.
Chapter Seven
Booker
“Booker Peters, you fine young thing. What are you doing with my Carrie?” Carrie’s mom bats her eyelashes at me.
“Driving her to The Sugar Factory, ma’am.” Ms. Montlain has always seemed a little off to me, a little too friendly, but I’d never say that out loud. She’s one of the biggest flirts I’ve ever seen. She is always dating someone new.
“Aren’t you the sweet thing?”
“Mom—" There’s a warning note in Carrie’s voice.
“Baby, you better go get your apron or you’re going to be late. I’ll take care of your Booker here.” Ms. Montlain swats Carrie’s ass.
“Let me get you a glass of water unless you want a beer.”
“It’s a little early for that, and I’m driving.” Not to mention I’m eighteen, but I don’t think that matters much to her.
“You seeing anyone these days?” she asks as she reaches for a glass from the cabinet to the right of the sink.
“No, ma’am.”
“I can’t believe a boy like you doesn’t have a girlfriend—or are you one of those that likes to play the field?” She fills the glass and carries it over to me.
“Been busy playing baseball.”
She snaps her fingers. “That’s right. I heard you were going pro.”
I drink some of the water out of politeness because that’s how my mama raised me. “Nah. You’re thinking of Colt, our pitcher. He’s going pro for sure. He plans to play one year in the minors and then be called up to the major leagues.”
“Oh that’s too bad.” Her smile dims a wattage.
“What’s too bad?” queries Carrie, who has changed into a pair of skinny jeans that emphasize her tiny waist and generous ass.
“Booker was telling me he’s not pursuing baseball as a career. What is it that you plan to do?” Ms. Montlain swings her attention back in my direction. “Your father is a lawyer. Will you be following in his footsteps?”
Over her shoulder, Carrie shakes her head vehemently. She wants me to deny it, which isn’t hard to do because I don’t plan on being a lawyer. Or anything like my dad.
“No, ma’am. Lawyering seems like a pain in the ass, excuse my language.”
The brightness of Ms. Montlain’s smile lowers even further. She’s barely maintaining the upward trajectory at the corners of her lips. “What is it that you plan on doing then?”
“Dunno. Maybe art? I mean, if I had any talent, that’s what I’d be doing.”
Carrie makes a face since she knows I’m talking about her.
“Art?” Her mother nearly shrieks. “You can’t make a living out of art.”
“That’s what I’ve told Booker a thousand times. You can’t make a living out of art.” She slings her purse over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”
I set the glass on the table and give Ms. Montlain a chin nod. “Thanks for the water. I’ll have Carrie home by midnight.”
We hurry out the door. Inside the car, Carrie asks, “Why midnight? The Sugar Factory closes way before that.”
“Gives you some leeway. You can hang out with me until then.” I back out of the driveway and gun the engine toward the ice cream shop.
“Maybe. It depends on who you have over.”
“It’d just be you and me. If you wanted to invite others, I guess that’d be okay.”
“No strippers?”
I cast her a sideways glance. “What is with you and the strippers? You keep bringing that up. Are you morally opposed to stripping? I thought there was this sex positive thing going on, and we weren’t to judge what choices people make.”
“Of course I’m not against strippers! Strippers are awesome. I totally respect them, but I highly doubt that your dad is hiring them so you can stare at them respectfully.” Is she jealous? Fuck me. I should not be happy about that shit, but I am. Reality is she has no reason to be jealous and I am going to let her know that. Especially if it’s something that might be standing in the way of us being something more.
“You’d be surprised. Not many of the guys are into it. Half of us end up in my basement playing Overwatch or watching a game. Logan can’t see anyone but Renoir. Colt is only—was only into baseball. He wouldn’t be caught dead within five miles of another woman, let alone one that was taking her clothes off. Tommy is up with the strippers, but since he’s gay I think he’s just trying to pick up tips on how to dress in case he takes up drag. Dean...well, he’s a dog. What can I say?” I shrug as I pull into The Sugar Factory’s parking lot. “The last time Dad hired strippers, they did one song and then Mom had them helping her set up for a garden party the next day. The one girl, can’t remember her name now, decorated the bunny sugar cookies that you threw in the trash.”
“I remember. The handwriting was really pretty.”
“Yeah it was. Lisa was her name. She had a little girl, Ronnie. She showed me pictures and said Ronnie wanted to grow up to be a pilot and that’s what she was doing the job for. I think Mom gave her a big tip because Lisa was crying when she left, and she wasn’t the sad type.”
Silence falls. I turn to peer at Carrie’s face. “You’re welcome to come over the next time my dad hires a crew of them and meet the girls. You’d probably like them.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“About meeting them or that they’re spending most of their time with my mom.”
“Both, I guess.”
“Yeah. I can see why it might bother you. I mean, it makes me look like an asshole.” I rub a hand across my chin. “I never gave it much thought because we’ve all seen more of Frankie and Ethan in the locker room than of strippers in my house.”
Carrie gnaws on the corner of her mouth. “Now I’m feeling like
an asshole.”
“Nah.” I reach over and touch a lock of her hair, winding the silky strand around my finger. “Like I said, easy to see why you would find that dumb. I can’t promise you my dad’s not going to embarrass me in the future, but I’m not interested in any stripper or any other woman for that matter.”
“Any other woman?” She peeks up at me through a veil of lashes, and my skin grows hot and my jeans tight.
“Only one.”
Chapter Eight
Carrie
Booker makes it really hard to work. I thought he was going to drop me off at The Sugar Factory and come back later. Nope, he plopped down at one of the back corner tables and hasn’t budged an inch. To make matters worse, he’s pulled out a paperback and is reading it. With each flip of the page he gets hotter. I know I’m not the only one thinking about it, either.
Almost every girl that comes through the door stares at him a bit too long for my liking. He’s even garnering looks from the older women—a few of whom I know are married. I inwardly cringe thinking about how my mom acted with him today. But I’m not shocked at her behavior.
Booker doesn't even notice all the attention. When he finally lifts his head, his stare is directed at me. Hence making it very hard to work knowing his eyes are on me more often than not. I don’t know if I want to tell him to get the hell out of here or never leave.
“Why don’t you take off, honey?” Grams says. “I’m going to let Will give a go at closing.” Will has only worked a few shifts so far. He’s nice enough and seems to care about doing a good job. He goes to South View.
“Are you sure?” I glance over at Booker, who isn’t staring at me or the book in his hand this time. He’s glaring at Will. Wonder if they know each other. With South View being our rival school, I’m guessing so.
“Yes, I’m sure. Go have fun and do something exciting.” She tries to rush me off. As much as I want to get out of here and hang out with Booker, I’m scared too. His words from earlier still linger in my head. He’d made it pretty clear that he is interested in only me. At least that’s how I took it.
That I was the only one. My terrible brain starts to backpedal that he might have only been informing me he’s interested in one girl. He didn’t outright say it was me, but I felt as though it was unspoken. Right? I hate this. This is why I never wanted to date. I’m already obsessing about him and allowing him to occupy most of my thoughts.
Part of me wishes for simpler times where my emotions weren’t questioning everything between us and things were easy.
“Okay,” I give, knowing I’m not going to win this one with Grams.
Still, I top off a few of the toppings before I take my apron off and grab my bag to leave. Booker stands when he spots me coming around the counter with my bag in my hand ready to go.
“You meant me, right?” I blurt out when I come to a stop in front of him. Oh my God. What is wrong with my brain lately when I’m around him? I’m blurting things out that I don’t mean to. Same with the stripper comment from before. I can’t regret that one, though. He put that worry to bed but it really also opened up the possibility that Booker and I could be something more.
“Meant you about what?” He cocks his head, staring down at me. Why does he have to be so damn good looking?
“Never mind. Let’s go.” I try to move past him.
“Nope.” He puts his arm out, stopping me from going anywhere. “I’m starting to figure out you get in your own head too much. If you want to know something, Care-bear, ask away. I’ll always tell you the truth.” There he goes again, always saying the right things.
“You said you were only interested in one girl.” I force the words past my lips.
“You.” He doesn't make me wait for an answer. His response is instant. Then he goes on further to cement it. “It’s only ever been you.” He shrugs his shoulders. Those are the last words I ever expected to fall from his lips. I open my mouth to say something, but I think I’m in shock because no words come out. The only thing I do is continue to stare at him.
“Carrie.” I’m broken out of my stupor by someone calling my name. Before I can even register what is happening, Will is standing next to us. “I wanted to see if I could get your number in case I have any questions about closing up shop.”
Booker shifts, pulling me into his side and wrapping his arm around me.
“You can’t close an ice cream shop without needing help, Will? No wonder you never made the varsity team.”
“Booker!” I hiss, elbowing him in the side. “All the numbers you might need are on the board in the office.”
“Thanks, C. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Will shoots Booker a smirk before he gets back to work. Booker glares after him the whole way.
“What’s your deal?” I ask. Booker’s attention comes back to me.
“Let’s go. I need to get real food in you and not just ice cream.” He leads me out of The Sugar Factory and to his car. “Mom said she saved some dinner for us unless you’re not in the mood for spaghetti.”
“Nope. If I don’t get to change the subject”—I stop him when we get to his car—“you don’t get to either. What’s with you and Will? This some baseball rival thing?”
“No. You can’t even call how South View plays baseball.”
“Well, that was something. He’s a nice kid.”
“Kid?” Booker barks a laugh. “He’s our age and was staring at your ass all night. Those aprons should really go all the way around. They should cover the front and back, if you ask me. You could wear two. One just the other way.”
I snort a laugh. “Are you jealous?” I bite the inside of my cheek.
“He’s staring at my girl's ass all night. Yeah, I’m fucking jealous.” I roll my eyes. No one is staring at my ass. I should tell him he needs to lock it up. That’s where I work. But all I do is smile up at him like a crazy person. He’s jealous, and he called me his girl.
Chapter Nine
Booker
Smugly happy, I drive the two of us to my house.
“I have class tomorrow,” Carrie says as I pull into the driveway.
“I do too.”
“But you don’t need to study like I do.”
I put the car into reverse. “We’ll stop by your place and pick up your books then.”
She places a hand over mine. “No. I have my books in my backpack.”
I stop and tilt my head so I can see her better. “Then what’s the problem?”
She rubs her fingers together and bites on her lower lip, glancing at me and then away. It takes a minute for understanding to dawn. She’s nervous.
“Hey, nothing’s happening that you don’t want to happen. I didn’t bring you here for that. I just figured we could hang out. You can study while I game or we can watch a movie. There are three other bedrooms in the house that you can sleep in if mine’s not comfortable enough for you.”
“It’s not that I’m not ready or that I am ready. It’s that...do you really want to do this?” She waves her finger between us. “I feel like we’ve just let that giant snake out of the cannister and it’s going to be impossible to stuff it back into place.”
“Thanks for calling my dick a giant snake. I appreciate the compliment,” I joke.
She leans over and punches me in the arm. “You’re awful.”
I can’t help but laugh, which makes her pummel me more. It’s cute that she thinks she can do any damage. I let her whale on me for a few seconds before capturing her hands between mine and pressing my lips against them. “You know that I’ve planned to be Colt’s agent since forever. He’s going to sign a big contract, and I’ll use my commission to set up my own agency and manage a few other players. We’re on that path right now. I’ve already been studying the law, reading cases, and reviewing contracts of existing players so that I do right by him when he signs his rookie deal in a couple of years.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of all that. Everyone knows you’re the smartest in our
class.”
“If you can believe I’m going to be an agent, why can’t you believe I can be your man? Why is one more believable than the other?”
She leans back against the car seat. “I don’t know. One involves your wallet and the other my heart. I guess I’m more cautious about my heart than your wallet.”
I can’t deny her feelings. They are what they are. I’ll just have to prove to her that I’ve got nothing but good intentions. “I hear you. I’m not doing anything you’re not ready for. How about you come in and I’ll feed you homemade caramels my mom cooked this afternoon while you sketch? If you want me to drive you home later, I will. If you want to crash in my room, like I said, there are plenty of other places for me to sleep.”
After a second of hesitation, she gives me a short nod. I let out a breath of relief and pull forward. I hustle her inside and into my room before she can gather her thoughts. “Here.” I throw out a Fear of God hoodie and a pair of boxers. “You can put these on while I go get some snacks.”
I rush out, taking the stairs two at a time. There’s this low level fear at the back of my head that if I leave her alone for too long, her second thoughts will become third and fourth thoughts, and the next thing I know she’ll be in the car wanting me to drive her home and I’m not ready for that.
Fortunately, for my own sanity, when I return, she’s in my bed, looking like a whole meal in my casual clothes. Her sketchbook is out and resting on her bare legs. I crawl next to her and lay my head on a pillow to watch her draw.
“I wish you’d go to art school. You’d get a scholarship for sure.”
Her pencil stops. “I don’t want to go.”