“Aw, come on. I know you’re into guys. I saw that picture on your desk when I was here a few weeks back.”
I got to my feet and turned to face him. “The one of the redhead with his arm around me?”
“That’s it.”
“Yeah…,” I drew out. “That’s my boyfriend.”
“So what?”
I gave Pete what I felt was very clearly a are-you-fucking-kidding-me expression. “Wow. Really? You’re four days and three hours late picking up my collection, and the only thing you care about is whether I’m the sort of guy who might be into side action?”
“Can’t fault me for trying.”
“It’s extremely unprofessional of you,” I replied.
“You haven’t said no yet.”
“No way in hell, Pete,” I answered. “How’s that?”
He shrugged. “Your loss. By the way, I can’t pick up the collection,” he said, without skipping a beat.
“What?”
“I don’t have the van.”
“Th-then why are youhere?” I nearly shouted.
“To tell you.” Pete smiled and rolled his eyes, like,duh.
I was ready to rip into Pete and smack that smug grin off his dopey face. I was frustrated and fed up, sick over the huge amount of money I’d shelled out, only to be treated like crap by the organizers. But at the same time, I didn’t even want to bother wasting my energy on him when I knew it’d go through one ear and right out the other.
“You know what, Pete? Forget it.”
“Don’t you even—”
“Nope.”
“—care—”
“No.”
“—why I can’t—”
“Do I need to say no in another fucking language?” I snapped. “I should have stayed home today.” I got down in front of the Kinetoscope again.
There was a pregnant pause between us.
“So you want help getting the collection to the fair tomorrow?” Pete asked, his voice sounding loud in the silent shop.
I let out a breath. “I’ll get it there myself.”
“I thought you didn’t drive?”
“I thought you didn’t have a van?” I countered, sounding extremely bitchy.
“It’ll be available tomorrow.”
I knocked my forehead against the cabinet. “I’ll ask my boyfriend to drive me.”
