Be My Hero (Forbidden Men #3)(37)

"He is pretty hot," Reese said as if answering my unspoken question. "I mean, not as hot as Mason. But there's definitely some notable steam rolling off him. The tattoos and piercings make him seem all wild and uncontrollable."

"Whatever," I snapped, sending her an incredulous glower. There wasn't a single thing wild about him. And besides, "He's way hotter than Mason."

Crap, I'd totally just admitted I was attracted to him, something I shouldn't even be thinking about. I didn't want guys on my radar. Even considering men and relationships when I was a little preoccupied with become a single, first-time mother was just plain ridiculous. What was wrong with me?

Reese didn't seem to notice the panic on my face; she was too busy choking on her disagreement. "Not even possible. No one—I mean, no one—is hotter than Mason."

I patted her hand sympathetically. "Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, sweetie. Now, what happened to Pick's shirt?"

I was dying of curiosity over here. Had some female customer ripped it off him? Not that I'd blame her. I was curious to know what he looked like bare-chested, too. He was probably more of a Jake Gyllenhaal lookalike . . . with more tattoos. Yum.

"Well, apparently, your lover boy came to work tonight without knowing he had dried baby puke running down the back of his shirt." When I pulled back in surprise, she arched an eyebrow. "Did you know he had a baby?"

"No." I shook my head, feeling almost betrayed, which made absolutely no sense because I was carrying around thirty extra pounds of my own kid over here. "Keep talking."

She rolled her eyes, but complied. "Anyway, he doesn't have any time to run home and fetch a fresh clean one, so Mason wanted to know if I—but I'm including you in this errand too because I love you and know you want to see him—could grab one of his shirts and speed it down there for his friend to wear."

"Of course, we will." I struggled to get off the couch, feeling like a freaking beached whale that couldn't move as my arms floundered for help.

Reese had mercy and took my hand, tugging me upright.

I smoothed my shirt over my bulging waistline and gave a breathless, "Thanks. I just washed and folded laundry today. I think there's a nice clean shirt sitting at the top of the pile in the basket on the washer."

As I hurried into the hall to fetch it, Reese followed me. "You really do like this guy, don't you?"

With a snort, I snagged the shirt that would soon be pressed up against Pick and brushing against his naked skin. Oh, le sigh. But I kept pretending I wasn't affected for Reese's benefit because frankly, I was still freaked out that I was affected.

"I don't even know him." I just wanted to know everything about him.

She smiled and lifted her eyebrows as we started for the front door. "Oh, don't think I've forgotten how he flirted with you that night. Big time. I mean, 'don't eat those nuts, Tinker Bell. Let me get you a fresh batch.'" When she drew out a dramatic swish of her hair and fanned herself as she tried to imitate what he'd said, I snorted and rolled my eyes.

"You are so lame."

"Whatever. I might've been temporarily preoccupied by wicked bitches from Florida flying in on their broomsticks," Reese went on, "and then getting engaged to Mason, and—oh my God, I still can't believe I'm really engaged. It's really happening, E. Mason and I are getting married."

With a happy squeal, she stuck out her left hand so she could show off the ring I swore she hadn't taken off since Mason had put it on there, probably not even to shower.

"Isn't it just the most beautiful diamond you've ever seen?"

Smiling because she'd so easily become preoccupied away from the Pick-and-I subject, I nodded. "Yes, sweetie. He did good." I opened the door to let her lead the way to the ancient old car she and Mason had bought this week.

I'd be surprised if the clunker lasted a month.

"Good?" She looked at me as if I was on crack. "He did amazing. If there were ever a symbol to show how much he loved me and wanted to be with me for the rest of his life, this is it. This is sooo that symbol."

She kept gushing until we were almost to the club where the ringing of her phone interrupted her. My stomach tightened with worry that it would be Mason, calling us off because Pick had already gotten a shirt from someone else. I wanted to be the one to provide for him and take care of him.

Hmm, those must be the pregnancy hormones channeling some kind of motherly instinct through me, because I'd certainly never wanted to cater to any guy before, for any reason. Strange.

I could tell it was Mason's mom on the phone from listening in on Reese's side of the conversation. "Okay. Change of plans," she told me as she hung up the call and tossed her phone into the center console. "Sarah has a fever, so Dawn needs me to run by the drug store and pick up a prescription for her."

Mason's mom, Dawn, usually freaked out whenever her daughter, Sarah, suffered from any little issue since she had cerebral palsy. More than once a week, either Reese or Mason had to charge over there to help them out. I know I had no place to talk since I was currently sponging off Mason and Reese myself for . . . well, everything, but to me, it really felt like Dawn relied on her son way too much. It was no wonder he'd felt pressured into selling his body to his evil landlady, or as Reese was currently calling her: the Wicked Bitch of Florida.