Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(82)

“Still might be worth giving him a heads-up. Tip your hat. You don’t want to ruin that relationship, Bryce.”

I sighed. “I don’t think he’ll like me much after this anyway.”

No amount of licorice would make him trust me once this story came out.

“One phone call will smooth things over,” Dad suggested. “Just make him feel like you haven’t completely switched teams.”

“Why don’t you call him? It might be better coming from you.” Because the truth was, I had switched teams. My loyalty wasn’t to Marcus Wagner anymore. June had come and gone. The July weather had engulfed Clifton Forge in sunshine and heat. And as the calendar had ticked by, my priorities had changed.

I’d fallen in love with the man I’d once hoped to expose as a criminal.

Technically, he was a criminal—or a former criminal. Mostly, he was mine. Flawed and mine.

“Do you need anything else from me?” I yawned. “If not, I’m going to head home.”

“Still tired?”

“Yeah.” I gave Dad a weak smile. “It’s been a long week. I’m out of energy.”

“You need a nap. Get some rest. Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? I’m sure your mom would love to cook for you.”

It had been weeks since I’d gone over to Mom and Dad’s house. Mom had been begging me constantly for a visit and had apparently enlisted Dad to help too. “No plans. I’d love to. I’ll call Mom and ask what I can bring.”

The door into the bullpen pushed open. “Hey, you two.”

“Speak of the devil.” Dad stood from his chair, meeting Mom in the middle of the room for a kiss.

“Hi, Mom.” I waved but didn’t get up from my chair. “You look pretty today.”

“Thanks.” Her hair was the same rich brown as mine but carried a few gray streaks. Mom refused to get them covered up anymore because on one of their trips to Seattle, a waiter had accused us of being sisters. Where most women would have been flattered, doubling the young man’s tip, she’d taken offense. She’d corrected him gently, informing him of our relationship. She’d told him that being my mother was the greatest source of pride in her life.

Like Dad always said, it was easy to love Tessa Ryan.

Mom came over and bent low to give me a hug while I stayed in my chair, then she sat on the edge of my desk. “Want to come over for dinner tonight?”

I laughed. “Dad just asked me the same question. And yes. I’d love to. What would you like me to bring?”

“Oh, nothing. I’ll take care of it. In fact, I have extra if you want to bring the boyfriend along.”

The boyfriend. Was Dash my boyfriend? He’d probably cringe at the term. Much too juvenile for someone like him. It wasn’t edgy enough. What was the MC terminology? Was he my man? Or old man? If—and that was a big if, considering his commitment phobia—we got married one day, would that make me his old lady?

I cringed. If he ever called me his old lady, I’d deny him sex for a month.

“I’ve been missing you guys,” I said. “Ryans only tonight. I’ll invite Dash next time.”

“Fine.” Mom pouted. “But I expect to meet him sooner than later.”

“You will.” Assuming we were at the point where we introduced each other to our families. We were, right?

Dash and I needed to continue the conversation we’d started in the clubhouse. Our relationship needed some definition, but neither of us had brought it up over the past five days. I was too nervous to ask. And I suspected Dash was in uncharted waters.

Covering another yawn, I collected my things from my desk and shoved them into my tote. “So, six tonight?”

Mom nodded. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Just tired.”

She leaned forward, taking my cheeks in her hands, then pressed her palm to my forehead. She’d been testing my temperature that way since I was a toddler. I closed my eyes and smiled. No matter my age, she was always Mom, there to comfort and care. “You don’t have a temperature.”

“I’m not sick,” I promised. “It’s been one of those weeks. I’m drained.”

“Ahh. I used to get tired when it was that week of the month too. I don’t miss the tampons but”—she fanned her face—“these hot flashes every ten damn minutes are a pain in the ass.”

I giggled. “I’m not on my per—”

My heart dropped. When was the last time I had my period?

Mom said something else, but my mind was whirling, counting the weeks of June and calculating when I’d last bought tampons at the grocery store. The last time I could remember had been sometime in May. I remembered because we’d gotten a heavy and wet spring snow. I’d gotten all weepy and hormonal because a bunch of trees in town had begun to bloom but the weight of the snow had broken their branches.

Oh. Fuck. I shot out of my chair, grabbing my purse.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

“Nothing,” I lied, not making eye contact with her or Dad. “I just realized I need to run a quick errand and want to make sure I get there before they close. See you guys at dinner.”

Without another word, I left the newspaper, driving immediately to the grocery store.