My brows furrowed.
I scratched my head. "I can't do it today, Rose," I told her. "I have a few things I need to take care of, and I'm ready to be home. I can meet you tomorrow, though."
Rosemary immediately agreed. "Okay."
Which was odd for her. Rosemary was an arguer. I always told her that she should try out for the debate team. She never liked hearing the word ‘no' and she always argued, just because she could.
I should've known then that I wasn't going to like what she had to say, but chose to take the agreement for the boon it was.
And I shouldn't.
"Where do you want to meet tomorrow?" I asked. "Lunchtime okay?"
"Yes," she agreed again. "That's perfect. Can you meet me at Bord's?"
I didn't want to go anywhere near that place, not even a little bit.
"I don't want to meet you there," I told her bluntly. "I really don't want to have anything to do with that place, or Ariya's parents."
Bord's was Ariya's parents'-well, father and step mother-diner, bar, and grill.
I loved their food. What I didn't love was the company.
"Please?"
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Fine. Twelve?"
"Eleven. Less people."
I should've asked why less people mattered, but I didn't. I let it go, knowing that she'd keep arguing if I didn't agree.
"Fine," I grunted. "Bye."
I didn't wait for the reply, just hung up, and kept driving.
"Who's Rosemary?" Rafe asked.
I sighed.
"Ex's sister," I told him. "Why did you happen to have a bug in your pants that you could conveniently plant in the pastor's house, and why did you volunteer to come with me?"
Rafe grinned.
"You're not the only one with problems around here," he told me. "Plus, I figured I'd do you a favor so I could collect my own later on."
That I believed.
"Whatever," I said, pulling the truck into traffic. "You want me to take you back to the office before I head home, or do you have somewhere else in mind?"
"You can drop me off at the diner," he told me. "I'll find a ride back from there."
I did as he asked, trying not to think about anything that had to do with Pastor Hanes, and that included Hennessy and my mother.
By the time I arrived at the diner, I'd very nearly managed to clear my head completely, only to get pissed all over again to see Hennessy walking down the sidewalk away from the gas station toward her car once again.
She had those same taquitos as the day before, and I found myself pissed off at the way her hair was a jagged mess along the length of her shoulders.
I'd enjoyed the hell out of running my fingers through it when she'd fucked me. Now I'd barely have anything to hold onto the next time I took her to bed.
"Thanks for the ride," Rafe said, shoving open the door.
Then he slammed it shut, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
"The next time I take her to bed?" I asked myself aloud. "Seriously, Casey. You need to get your shit together."
I needed to, but did I? Hell no.
I'd never once made the best decision that there was to make. I was a rebel. The type of man that didn't march to the beat of anyone's drum but his own. At thirty-seven years old, that was never going to change.
She was who my body wanted, and she was who my body would have. It didn't matter that she was the notorious good girl, and I was the infamous bad boy. What mattered was that we fucking wanted each other. We'd worry about the rest later.
Chapter 14
When someone tells me ‘you're going to regret that in the morning' I only laugh. Why? Because most of the time I sleep in until noon.
-Krisney to Hennessy
Hennessy
I nervously worried my lip as I walked, looking both ways before I crossed the street to Tate's place.
He'd left me a note on my front door saying that he was at home whenever I got home, and to come over when I got changed into old clothes.
Why I needed old clothes, I had no clue, but I did as he asked, changing into my oldest pair of jeans from high school that barely fit. They were old, stained, and so thin in some places that there probably wasn't much life left in them. I followed the pants up with an old black t-shirt that used to be Reed's-yes, I'd stolen that from Krisney, too. Finally, I finished the ensemble by putting on a pair of short ankle socks, my old Nikes that'd seen better days, and my hair up into a high ponytail.
"Isn't that Reed's shirt?"
I grinned and looked down at it, laughing.
"Yeah, it was his old soccer shirt." I nodded. "When Krisney and he split, she was going to throw everything away. I took it for safe-keeping."
And wore it, because why the hell not?
The back of the shirt said ‘Hail' with the number ten beneath it. It was obvious whose it was seeing as Reed was the one and only Hail brother that nearly went pro-so everybody knew who he was.
"Yeah," I grinned. "Why?"
He was scowling, which caused my grin to slip away.
"What?"
His eyes came up to mine, and he gritted his teeth for a few seconds before saying, "I don't like seeing some other man's shirt on you, even if it was from when he was a little runt."
I looked down at the t-shirt.
It was a large, and that was definitely not the size of Reed any longer.
Speaking of Reed.
"I saw Reed last week," I told him, climbing his porch steps as I spoke. "Why is he here?"
Tate shrugged. "Been here the last few days, actually. Assumed he was done over there to be honest. However, I can't give you a for sure answer without asking him, and honestly I don't fucking care that much."
So he didn't know what was going on either. Interesting.
Making a mental note to ask Krisney about Germany again, I took a look around at Tate's house.
The entire place looked like chaos. Electrical cords stretched everywhere. Tools on every available surface. Large sheets of plastic hanging down from the ceiling, and covering most of the floor.
And empty fast food cups everywhere.
"You are a mess and a half," I murmured, taking everything in.
"I'm not usually," he admitted. "Just fucking nice to be able to do shit that doesn't have someone following behind me telling me I can't. I have a stack of freakin' clothes in my bedroom that I haven't put into the washer yet, all because I don't like to be put on a schedule."
I could imagine.
I'd watched a documentary once about prisons. In it, they spoke about how the inmate's entire life was dictated to them.
They had someone telling them when they could eat. When they could shower. When they could go outside, and what they were allowed, and not allowed, to do while out there.
Literally, there wasn't a single thing that they could do without first having to run it past someone first.
They even had their mail read before they got it.
"Did you ever get marriage proposals from women who wrote you while you were in jail?"
His brows rose, and then he shook his head, grinning.
"No, can't say that I did."
"Darn, I guess you never got any of my letters," I teased.
He burst out laughing and took hold of my hand, leading me deeper into the house.
"What the hell are you going to do with all this space?" I asked him, my eyes widening, further and further, the more rooms we passed through.
"Not a damn thing," he said. "I'm gonna fix it up and flip it once I'm done with it."
My heart deflated.
Knowing that he wasn't going to be living next to me for the rest of my life kind of sucked. He would've looked so pretty mowing his lawn without a shirt on.
"That's fun," I lied. "How much more work do you have to do on it?"
He shrugged. "A lot. Another six to eight months worth if all goes well."
I let my hands trail against the wall in the hallway, and then stopped when I saw the kitchen.
This must've been where he started, because it was the most finished out of all the rooms.
"Wow," I said, trailing my hand across the cabinets. "This looks like it's almost done."
He opened the fridge and bent forward, coming back out moments later with two beers.
He offered me one, and I looked at it curiously.
"I've never had a beer before," I informed him. "Do they taste good?"
His eyes sparkled.
"Try it."
I watched him as I used my nails to crack it open, and when I took my first drink and nearly choked on the bitter brew, his eyes were filled with laughter.
"That's kind of gross," I admitted, sticking my tongue out to help get rid of the taste. "Why would you want to drink this?"
I took another sip and yep, that one was as bad, if not worse, than the first one.
"Acquired taste," he said. "Keep drinking, it'll get better."
I didn't believe him, but took another sip without grimacing.
"As to answer your question, the kitchen was the one thing that'd been started when I bought the house. I only had to put in the cabinets. The paint color was already neutral, which is what I would've chosen as well. The backsplash goes in Monday, hopefully, and it will be followed up by the countertops coming in on Friday."