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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?"
