"Isn't it just the most beautiful diamond you've ever seen?"
Smiling because she'd so easily become preoccupied away from the Pick-and-I subject, I nodded. "Yes, sweetie. He did good." I opened the door to let her lead the way to the ancient old car she and Mason had bought this week.
I'd be surprised if the clunker lasted a month.
"Good?" She looked at me as if I was on crack. "He did amazing. If there were ever a symbol to show how much he loved me and wanted to be with me for the rest of his life, this is it. This is sooo that symbol."
She kept gushing until we were almost to the club where the ringing of her phone interrupted her. My stomach tightened with worry that it would be Mason, calling us off because Pick had already gotten a shirt from someone else. I wanted to be the one to provide for him and take care of him.
Hmm, those must be the pregnancy hormones channeling some kind of motherly instinct through me, because I'd certainly never wanted to cater to any guy before, for any reason. Strange.
I could tell it was Mason's mom on the phone from listening in on Reese's side of the conversation. "Okay. Change of plans," she told me as she hung up the call and tossed her phone into the center console. "Sarah has a fever, so Dawn needs me to run by the drug store and pick up a prescription for her."
Mason's mom, Dawn, usually freaked out whenever her daughter, Sarah, suffered from any little issue since she had cerebral palsy. More than once a week, either Reese or Mason had to charge over there to help them out. I know I had no place to talk since I was currently sponging off Mason and Reese myself for . . . well, everything, but to me, it really felt like Dawn relied on her son way too much. It was no wonder he'd felt pressured into selling his body to his evil landlady, or as Reese was currently calling her: the Wicked Bitch of Florida.
"But what about Pic—" I started before Reese held up her hand.
"We're only a block from the club. I'll just drop you off at the front door, head to the drug store, pop over to Dawn and Sarah's, and then come back to pick you up on my way home."
She'd have to do a lot of driving out of her way to come back for me, but I knew she always felt a sense of urgency whenever Mason's mom needed something from her. So I kept silent.
"Okay." Tucking Pick's shirt into my purse, I bobbed my head as she slowed to a stop at the curb.
"And remember." Reese sent me a wink and a grin. "It's totally okay if you want to rip all those clothes off that tattooed piece of man candy and just . . . lick him. You're pregnant. Your hormones are all out of control. It's not your fault."
I rolled my eyes, my pregnant hormones stirring at the visual my best friend had just painted in my head. "Thanks so much for your permission." Opening the door, I added, "But listening to my hormones is kind of how I got into this situation in the first place. So, I think I'll pass."
"But Mason actually likes this guy. He says Pick is his favorite coworker . . . not only because he's a hell of a worker, but because of the way he treats women. I guess the man knows how to make each and every one of them feel special."
Staring at her, I tried to ignore the disappointment that bit me in the ass. So he treated all women well, huh? I knew that was supposed to be a good thing. I mean, it was a good thing. But it also meant he hadn't singled me out. I hadn't been special at all, just another nameless, faceless female he felt the urge to pamper.
Shaking my head, I told myself it didn't matter. I was staying away from all men, anyway. Focusing on nothing but babies over here.
But inside, it still hurt. I'd probably meant nothing at all to a guy I hadn't been able to stop thinking about for two weeks straight.
With a shake of my head, I shook off my disappointment and blew Reese a kiss. "Bye, sweetie. Give Sarah this kiss for me, 'kay?"
"Okay."
As Reese pulled away, I turned and looked up at the bright neon lights of the Forbidden Nightclub. They had ten more minutes until opening, so I hurried forward and knocked on the glass of the front door until the guy who's name I'd never learned appeared on the other side, peering out at me.
I pulled Mason's shirt out of my purse and waved it like some kind of peace offering until he unlocked the door and opened it.
"Hi," I said, sending him an uncertain smile. "You're Gamble, right?"
"Quinn," he corrected.
Score. Got his name. "Quinn," I repeated. "Right. Hey, I don't know if you remember me. I'm Mason's cousin, Eva." I would be soon, that was. "I'm here to deliver a shirt."
"For Pick?" he asked, opening the door wide for me.
"Yep." I stepped inside, holding my breath for that first moment I'd get to see him again. "For Pick."
But I didn't spot Pick anywhere. Aside from Quinn, only Mason and Ten filled the large, quiet club. I started for Mason, who was doing something behind the bar with his back to me.
"One black T-shirt," I announced, making him jump and whirl around. "Freshly cleaned and folded."
When I lifted it, he scowled at the article of clothing before glancing behind me. "Where's Reese?"
"Change of plans." I seated myself at the bar and spotted a bowl of beer nuts. I tapped my fingers along the countertop for a few seconds, trying to resist temptation, before I just couldn't handle it any longer, and I reached out. "Your mom called." My next words were muffled as I chewed. "Ree Ree had to do a pharmacy store run for Sarah. So she dropped me off and will be back once all that's out of the way."
Worry leapt onto his face. "What's wrong with Sarah?"
I shrugged. "Fever. Or something. I'm not sure."
Completely dismissing me, he yanked up his cell phone and started dialing. As he was busy calling Reese, Ten plopped onto the stool beside me.
Hitching his chin my way, he wiggled his eyebrows. "So, you going to breastfeed that kid once it pops out?"
When his gaze fell to my swollen, milk-filled boobs, I sighed. I'd dealt with this exact kind of immature moron way too much in my life. Shifting closer to him, I gave him a flirty smile. "Why, yes. Yes, I am." Touching his arm, I fluttered my lashes. "Hey, do you think you could watch me do it sometime, tell me if it looks right, because . . . " I lifted my fingers to bite one fingernail. "I'm just so new at it, I don't know how to make anyone suck on my tits."
He nodded, dumbly, his mouth falling open. "Hell, yeah, I could watch. You serious, honey?"
"God, no, I'm not serious, you loser." Shoving him hard in the arm, I pushed him off the bar stool he was sitting on. "Get a life and stop hitting on pregnant women. Gah!"
After tripping over his own legs, he landed on his ass, hard. With a mouthful of muttered curses, he scrambled upright and dusted floor grime off the back of his jeans as he scowled. "Jesus, I was just asking. All you had to do was say no."
"No," I said, eyeing him with some serious warning.
He lifted his hands and backed away. "Fine. Whatever. Your loss, milk tits."
When he turned away, Pick finally appeared, striding out of the back hall and running a harassed hand through his damp hair as if something had upset him. A sizzling wave of energy passed through me. I popped off the bar stool so fast I made myself dizzy.
"Hi." I rushed out the breathless greeting.
He lurched to a stop and jerked his head my way. As he stared without responding, I grew nervous.
"I . . . you . . . here. Shirt."
Oh my God. What the hell had I just said?
His eyebrows crinkled with confusion as he looked down at the shirt I was thrusting at him. When he looked up again, I blew out a breath. "Mason called," I finally said with some decorum, even though my cheeks were burning up with embarrassment.
I couldn't believe I was acting like such a ditz. I was Eva Mercer, the queen of cool and collected, unaffected and always hard-to-get. I was supposed to have goddamn attitude here. If I'd just thrown myself at Pick's feet and begged take me, I'm yours, I don't think I could feel any more pathetic than I did now.
"He said you needed a shirt and asked if
we could run one of his down to you," I added more calmly. "So . . . voila! Here you go. Cleaned it myself, just today."
He didn't take the shirt. Frowning, he asked, "Mason called you? Wait, you do his laundry?"
I wasn't expecting such questions, and I was a little thrown off by the accusation in his voice.
Blinking and sputtering, it took me a moment to answer. "Well . . . yeah, I do their laundry. If I'm going to live with them and sponge off them, the least I can do is wash their clothes. And it wasn't like he called me, exactly. He called Reese and asked her. But she's . . . otherwise occupied at the moment, and I was just sitting around on the couch, you know, waiting for my baby to be born. So, I volunteered."
He began to smile as if pleased to hear I'd actually wanted to fetch him a shirt. But then another frown marred his brow. He shook his head. "Wait. You live with Mason?"
"What?" My eyes grew big as I blurted out, "No. Not at all. I live with Reese . . . who . . . lives with Mason." When he lifted an eyebrow, I bit my lip. "So, okay, technically, I guess we reside under the same roof. And eat in the same kitchen, and share one miniscule little bathroom, but . . . I don't live with Mason. Nothing like that." When I gave a nervous little laugh, he grinned.
God, I loved his smile. I loved how it made his eyes light up and how his stretched lips made the rings in them shift and move. I just felt so full whenever he looked happy like this.
"Well, thanks for clearing that up. And thanks for the shirt."
He reached out and wrapped his fingers around a portion of cloth. But I wasn't so ready to give up this moment. When he tried to slip it out of my hand, I didn't exactly let him take it. We found ourselves both holding onto the same item, neither of us letting go, playing a seriously hot game of tug-of-war.
"You're welcome," I said, noticing how the drenched shirt he was wearing now clung to his torso. And, wow, who knew someone so slim could have such a defined chest? And was that the outline of a nipple ring I saw through that wet cloth? Oh holy hosanna, the boy had a pierced nipple. Kill me now.
"Honestly, though," I told him, my voice winded. "The wet shirt look is totally working for you. You sure you want this dull, old dry one?"
Surprise filled his brown eyes before he gave a slow, hooded smile. Using the shirt we were both holding onto to rein me in closer, he lowered his voice. "Why, Eva Tinker Bell Mercer," he murmured, his tone a teasing scold. "Are you flirting with me?"
"What? No!" With a gulp, I realized—Good God—I was. How freaking mortifying. Letting go of the T-shirt, I jerked a step back. "Crap. I'm sorry."
"Why?" Disappointment filled his face. "I didn't say I minded."
"Yeah, but you . . . I . . . " I frowned, not remembering why flirting with him was such a bad idea again.
But he seemed to get it because his eyes filled with understanding. "You already have a boyfriend."
"Huh?" I shook my head. "No. What would make you think that?" When his gaze drifted down to my stomach, I cleared my throat. "Oh, right. That. Yeah, no. No, I'm definitely not . . . not at all. That guy's . . . an asshole." I waved out my hand to indicate that Alec was long gone until it struck me how strange I must look, blathering on like an idiot and flailing my hands around. I dropped my arms to my sides, feeling like Reese when she went into goofball mode.
"Five minutes 'til opening," Ten called from across the room.
Behind me, Mason muttered, "Shit."
Pick and I exchanged glances before we turned together to watch Mason curse as he tried to fit a fast pourer onto a bottle of rum.
"You okay over there, Lowe?" Pick asked.
Mumbling under his breath, Mason nodded as he shook spilled alcohol off his hands. He totally did not look okay.
"Hmm," Pick began before he tapped me on the arm with the shirt. "I'm going to go change. Be right back."
I nodded but kept my attention on Mason.
"What is wrong with you?" I asked as soon as Pick took off.
"Nothing," he snapped. "Damn it. I spilled some on my jeans." As he spread his arms and looked at the single wet spot on his thigh as if it were the end of the world, I arched an eyebrow. He was definitely not acting like normal Mason.
"Okay, something's going on. What is your deal?"
He shot me a glare just as Quinn approached the bar. "Man, are you as nervous about this auction tonight as I am?"
I turned curiously to the tall guy who reminded me of a teddy bear. Huge and bulky, but too cuddly to hurt a fly. Hmm, maybe he was more like Baby Daddy's Danny. "What auction?"
"It's nothing." Mason's bark told me the opposite.
"Dude, it is so not nothing." Ten slipped back onto the stool next to me as if I hadn't just shoved him off it five minutes ago. "Auction night is a guaranteed money-maker . . . that is, if the winner chooses you. And I'm getting fucking chosen tonight. There's no Gamble around to cock-block me."
"Wait. I'm confused." I turned to Quinn, since I had a feeling Mason would only bite my head off again if I asked him, and I really didn't feel like talking to Mr. Milk Tits. "What happens on auction night?"
"We get auctioned off," Quinn explained quietly, the look in his eyes telling me he did not look forward to that. "At least, one of us does. Whoever wins gets to pick whichever one of us she wants."
A familiar feeling of dread sunk heavily in my stomach, and this had nothing to do with the pineapple-sized kid living there. I glanced at Mason, but he refused to look my way. So I turned back to Quinn. "The winner picks you to do what, exactly?"
He shrugged. "I'm not really sure. Serve her all her drinks and pay attention to her and stuff, and stick around her all night. Ten said something about flirting, but . . . " He sent me an uneasy glance.
Spinning to Ten, I set my hands on my hips and glared. "Well, you can count Mason out. He's not selling his body for any reason."
Ten just stared at me. "Jesus, you make it sound like we're going to turn into a bunch of gigolos."
The very word made me bristle. I could only imagine what it did to Mason. But I refused to glance his way, in fear I'd somehow oust him.
"We act attentive, that's all," Ten continued. "We don't have to sleep with the chick, or kiss her, or hell, even touch her. Especially if she's dog ugly." Pointing at me, he turned to Mason. "I thought the dark-haired broad was your girlfriend. Not this one."
"She is," I spoke up, poking Ten in the arm. "But as the dark-haired broad's cousin and best friend, I know exactly what she'd say right now if she were here. And she'd say, no fucking way. Mason's not doing this."
"It doesn't fucking matter what you think, anyway," Ten shot back in the same pointed tone I'd just used. "Because the winner's going to choose me, not him. Pick," he called as Pick emerged from the hall, wearing Mason's shirt, which—sigh—was a little too loose on him. "Make this crazy preggo cool her damn jets, will you?"
"Hey, watch what you call her." Pick moved toward Ten as if he wanted to get into his face and have a serious showdown, but I grabbed his arm.
"Pick," I pleaded. "Please don't make Mason participate in this auction."
He swerved toward me and looked down at my hand on him before lifting his face, his eyes glazed with shock. Then he shook his head. "I . . . It's not up to me, Tink. Our boss made the call."
"Then I want to talk to this asshole boss."
"Eva," Mason hissed, his jaw taut and eyes flaring with anger. "Shut. Up. It's fine."
"No." I hissed right back because he didn't look fine at all. He looked exactly the way I'd felt way too many times in the past. Turning back to Pick, I pleaded with my eyes. "He doesn't want to do it." I made sure my voice was hushed enough that Mason couldn't hear us.
But Pick totally didn't get it. Grinning, he shook his head. "It's all in good fun. There's no harm in it, and it's not like he'll be cheating on your cousin. Hell, I'm married. So it's completely—"
My mouth fell open. "You're married?"
Oh my God. Cut my heart out.
He froz
e, the guilt on his face thick and obvious. I suddenly felt like throwing up. I'd just flirted with a married man. And why had I not assumed he was married? I'd just learned he had a baby, for God's sake. Daddies did occasionally marry the mothers of their children. Damn, I was such an idiot.
And why did I feel so lost all of the sudden? As if he'd betrayed me.
With a small clearing of his throat, Pick ducked his face and mumbled, "Kind of."
"Kind of?" I arched an eyebrow. "That's like me saying I'm kind of pregnant. You either are or you aren't.'"
"Okay, then." He looked up at me, and I swore I saw grief and apology in his eyes. "Yes, I am, then. I'm . . . married."
Oh, hell. The one guy to ever really affect me, and he was married. I slapped him in the arm. "Why the hell did you let me flirt with you if you're married?"
His mouth opened, but all he said was, "Uh . . . "
I rolled my eyes and sighed. Looking away because it hurt too much to look at him, I saw Mason all upset behind the bar, and I remembered my mission. Turning back to Pick, I whispered, "Please. Don't make him auction himself off. You have no idea what that'll do to him."
Pick glanced at Mason and studied him a moment before shifting closer to me. "Does this have anything to do with that cougar who came in here the other week?"
Wow, he was good. But he'd already proven just how perceptive he was the last time I'd seen him. I gulped and tried not to reveal anything in my expression as I stared at him. But I had a bad feeling I gave the answer away, because Pick nodded as if he suddenly understood. After blowing out a quick breath, he spoke up loud enough for Mason to hear.
"Well, he certainly doesn't have to do it if he doesn't want to. It's not like Jessie will fire him for saying no."
"Really?" Brightening with that possibility, I turned to Mason.
Mason bit his lip, clearly tempted. "You're sure she wouldn't mind?"
Pick just snorted. "She can take it up with me if she does."
Mason nodded. "Then, no, I don't . . . I don't want to participate."