Be My Hero(24)

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."