Page 39 of Keeper
“Fuck that,” Belle growls. “You need to take the power back.”
Indie’s eyes brighten. “Yes! I agree. Listen to Belle. She’s the queen of crazy Jedi mind tricks.”
Belle rolls her eyes. “I don’t think you can move out without knowing the truth.”
“What truth?” I ask.
“If he’s in love with you, too.”
I swallow hard and huff awkwardly. “I’m not in love with him. I thought I was when I was eighteen, but I was a child. I didn’t know what love was.”
“And now you do,” Belle states. “And you still love him. It’s written all over your face.”
Belle’s dark eyes pin me with a challenge. A heavy challenge. Indie’s head snaps back and forth between the two of us, caught in the middle of a silent standoff of wills. Admitting the truth out loud is terrifying. It’s one thing to think it in my head, but another to say it out loud to witnesses!
Do I love reminiscing with Booker? Yes. Do I love joking around with him? Yes. Do I love watching movies with him? Yes. Do I love drinking with him and dancing to music in the kitchen? Yes. Do I love being his flatmate? Yes, even in awkward moments.
Do I love the feeling of his hands on me as he pushes inside of me completely bare, nothing between us but flesh, vein, and muscle?
Fuck yes.
Do I love the feeling of his lips on mine? Do they give me life and make me feel like he’s wrong and that we are more than friends?
A thousand times yes.
I used to confide my inner most secrets to Booker and that is what’s missing. And it’s missing because I’ve been harbouring this secret from him for years.
I’m in love with my best friend, maybe more than ever now.
I’m the first to blink. “What should I do? He seems intent on pushing me away every time things escalate between us.”
Suddenly, the door opens and my heart leaps into my chest when I see Booker stroll in without a care in the world. He’s kitted out with a sleeping Rocky strapped inside a cloth sling across his chest like she’s part of his outfit. My cheeks heat as my eyes graze over his tight white, cotton T-shirt pulling at the biceps. One sleeve has a little bit of dried baby spit on the shoulder, but it doesn’t detract from the rich olive tone of his thick neck. His jeans are tight around his thighs, and his hair has that soft unkempt wave on top. It’s how he looks in the morning when he’s just woken up.
Three pairs of eyes stare wide and wild on him as he twirls his keys around his finger. He looks up, noticing us for the first time and freezes.
“What?” he asks, wiping his mouth like we’re staring at something smeared all over it.
“Nothing!” I sing.
“Yeah, nothing,” Indie chimes in.
“What are you doing here?” Belle rushes out, her tone way too conspicuous to be normal.
He frowns at our peculiar faces. “I forgot my mobile. I figured I’d need it in case Rocky started choking or something.” He reaches down and strokes her feathery blonde tresses as she slumbers beautifully. “I know what you’re going to say. She only eats soft food. But hell if I know what can happen to a baby. This is the first time Vi’s let me babysit, so I’m nervous. And my mind has certainly run wild. I came up with about eighteen different ways she could die all because I didn’t have my mobile to call an ambulance. Then I walked back here to grab it because I haven’t a clue how to run that car seat business to load her in my truck.”
He picks up his mobile from the kitchen counter and then eyes the three of us once again. “What are you guys doing?”
“Nothing,” I stammer.
“Drinking!” Indie flashes him her glass.
God, why can’t we stop acting like morons.
Belle adds, “We were doing wedding stuff.”
“Yes, that’s right,” I say, sounding a bit too impressed by her stellar response.
Booker tugs on his earlobe. “Oh? Everything going all right?” He looks at me.
