Addicted After All (Addicted #3)(46)

My eyes bulge. “Nonono.” I wave my hand like I have a superpower to reverse time. If only that was the case—but I’d find better use of it. When I acquire my powers, I won’t be wasting them on things like this.

The nightclub slowly amasses with people, multi-colored strobe lights swirling and Latin music booming over the speakers. Even though it’s not electronica, it’s extremely danceable. A-plus-plus.

“Pregnant,” I tell him, pointing to my belly that’s hidden behind the bar.

He pushes the shots to me, and then his gaze rises behind my shoulder. “Is that your boyfriend?” He speaks English?!

Internally, I fume. But outwardly I probably look like a washed ashore jellyfish. I check over my shoulder, and Garth, my two-hundred-and-fifty-pound bodyguard, stands behind me with his hands cupped. He’s more gut than brawn, his bald head shiny in the light. But he looks intimidating to me.

And old enough to be my dad.

Which is why I spin around and try to set a withering Rose Calloway glare on the bartender. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“What about that one?” He points over my shoulder with an amused smile. He’s busting my balls. I look anyway and see Mikey—a blond, shorter bodyguard with a Hawaiian shirt—and Dave, who wears black sunglasses indoors. Dave is Poppy’s middle-aged bodyguard. Mikey is Daisy’s. And I suppose, in effect, Rose’s bottle of pepper spray is hers.

Right on time, my three sisters appear, swarming the bar around me, and I exhale in relief.

“Are you seriously trying to serve a pregnant woman shots?” Rose says icily.

The bartender not-so subtly ogles her breasts.

“Also pregnant,” Rose snaps, “and even if I wasn’t, I’d throw salt in your eyes.” She actually reaches for the salt shaker, and Daisy snatches her arm.

“No fights on my birthday, remember?” Daisy says, bouncing on her toes to the music.

“It’s the day after your birthday,” Rose reminds her. “That window has closed.” She’s still angry that Ryke pushed all of the plans for Daisy’s birthday to the twenty-first without mentioning it to her. She’s out of the loop once again.

I didn’t know about it either. It’s another indication that the guys are teaming up. Or maybe they thought we couldn’t keep a secret from our little sister.

Regardless, it was a good thing Ryke chose today to really celebrate Daisy turning nineteen. Our mom wanted to spend time with Daisy, so Ryke scheduled ATVs and bungee jumping this morning and afternoon. Not that Rose or I could join in—or that she’d want to.

Now we’re topping it off with some drinks and dancing. Sans the alcohol for me.

Rose is having a stare-a-thon with the bartender who is not necessarily lusting after her anymore. He’s just trying to enrage her—something Connor does better than anyone else. Where is he?

My head whips around, and I meet Poppy’s warm gaze. “The guys aren’t back yet,” she tells me.

My stomach knots, worried they got lost or something worse happened. I check my texts, no new messages from Lo. The guys split from us after dinner. They said they wanted to go to a cigar shop, but I’ve never even seen Ryke or Lo willingly smoke before.

“Who’s not pregnant?” the bartender asks us with a sexy lilt. I’m not staring at him too hard—keeping my hormones at bay. My sisters and I are actually standing in a row, oldest to youngest.

“We aren’t,” Poppy announces, motioning to herself and Daisy on the other end.

“Rub it in,” Rose snaps.

Poppy smiles, used to Rose—as we all are.

Daisy wraps her arm around my shoulders, and I tell the bartender, “It’s her birthday.” I gesture up at my five-foot-eleven sister.

The bartender zeroes in on her like I said she’s the one you should f*ck. Not my intention at all. I open my mouth to refute, but instead of a yearning gaze, he cringes, unable to hide his reaction to Daisy’s scar that runs along her cheek.

Daisy just smiles politely, but she falls to the flats of her feet. I nudge her hip, but she gives me a weak smile too, like it’s okay.

It doesn’t feel like that.

He’s already splitting up the shots between Poppy and Daisy.

“We’d like two virgin margaritas,” Rose tells him, and she touches the top of my head to demonstrate that one is for me. “And if you poison my baby with alcohol, I will severely harm you.”

The guy laughs.

“I wasn’t joking,” Rose says.

“Who’s the father? The bald one?” He nods to the bodyguards again. Why does he keep saying that Garth is the father of our children? It’s disturbing.

“That’s rude,” Poppy says before Rose can annihilate him with her glare and manicured nails.

“They’ve been following you throughout the club,” he explains his point.

“They’re our bodyguards,” Daisy clarifies, fixing the hair underneath her baseball cap before she wears it backwards again. Her blonde locks now shroud her scar.

“He knows that,” Rose says, her yellow-green eyes never leaving his.

I have a feeling he’s going to spit in our margaritas. Not that I want anything from him anymore.

But Rose is right on one account. He should know they’re bodyguards, even if he’s not sure who we are. We’ve brought more attention to ourselves in the club, especially by being together. I already see some people snapping photos of us with their cellphones and whispering to their friends. I’ve been approached three or four times by fans, asking for an autograph and selfie.