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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?"
