Page 125 of Thug

“There’s nothing you can do to take it back, but a heartfelt apology would go a long way.”

He rubbed his chin. “How about I do one better?”

“What do you mean?”

“I got an idea.” He grinned a sly grin. “It’ll let us all come out of this deal a winner.”

33

Gray

Chin held up one of my ribbed night shirts. With the shoulder straps pinched between his thumb and forefingers, he peered over the top of the pink fabric. “This wife beater yours or hers, Boss?”

It looked like it could fit a twelve-year-old. The image of the Panda on the front was faded and cracked from ten years of wear.

Price, rather frustrated with the move, glanced up from organizing his folded jeans. Upon seeing the shirt, he scowled. “Fuck you.”

Chin winked at me. “Just wanted to make sure which closet it went into.”

Prior to the big move, Panzer and his crew remodeled the master bedroom. Converting one huge closet to two modestly sized ones allowed Price and I to each have our own closet space.

The modifications allowed Price to accept the addition of my clothes without having a massive meltdown. There was no doubt we were going to have some adjusting to do, but I was certain we’d make it without much more than a few mini meltdowns on Price’s part.

He carried the three stacks of jeans to his closet, cussed a little, and then emerged. “What a clusterfuck.”

Panzer lowered a wicker basket beside another just like it. “Other than a few of those Tupperware tubs, that’s about it,” he said. “Not bad at all with all the fellas helping.”

Price looked one basket, and then the other. He looked at me. “How many pairs of shoes do you have?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “A few.”

He stomped across the bedroom floor and peered into each basket. “They’re heels.” He looked up. “A hundred fuckin’ pairs. When do you wear heels?”

“When I dress up.”

His brows pinch together. “When do you dress up?”

I put my hands on my hips. “When I go somewhere nice.”

“When do you go somewhere nice?”

“Since I met you?” I asked. “Never.”

“Shots fired,” Swag hollered from the hallway.

Price glared in that direction. “Shut the fuck up, Swag!”

Price took another look at the shoes. “Every pair. Heels.” He shook his head. “Do you collect them?”

“No. I’ve just acquired them. I got a really good deal on every pair, though. If that helps.”

“Do you know how many pairs of boots I have?”

“Three, I think.”

“That’s right,” he said. “My lace-ups, my pull-ons, and my good pair.”

“The pair you never wear.”