Page 9
Coast
If I heard one more time that I was acting off, I was gonna haul off and punch someone.
Everyone needed a break from partying every now and again. Or, at least, that was what I was telling myself. Because anything else would make even less sense.
How could I possibly explain to them that I couldn’t fucking get a set of blue eyes out of my mind? Or a set of gray ones for that matter?
Hell, I don’t even know what time I’d made it back to the clubhouse that night after dragging the girls down the alley and feeling up Zoe to keep her from the two idiots chasing her down.
I’d done some unhinged and morally questionable things in my day. But who the fuck chased a woman with a baby?
Even if she did see something.
You clean your mess up and get the fuck gone. Scared people made terrible witnesses. The chances of getting caught were slim.
Just amateur shit, what they did.
Both the mama and the baby kind of took it like a champ, though. All things considered. Most babies would be testing out their lungs after a run like that. And Zoe? Well, she played along real good with my impromptu ‘fucking against a wall’ plan. Moaning and writhing and shit.
Believable as fuck.
So believable that I’d needed to talk my body down from going full-on hard right then and there.
Sure, Zo had kind of lost her shit there for a minute. But that was just the adrenaline. And Lainey seemed none the worse as I picked her up and rocked her, told her stories and shit.
I’d read once that you weren’t supposed to baby-talk a baby, that it was better for their development to talk to ‘em like the human beings they were.
It was a habit my club brothers always found weird when someone brought their baby by. But, hey, you can’t fucking argue about science. Facts were facts.
And I’ll be damned if Zoe’s baby didn’t watch me with those big gray eyes like she knew exactly what I was saying. Even letting out those damn little owl hoots on occasion, like she was telling me to go on.
It was the most hands-on I’d been with a baby in a long fucking time.
That shit was by design.
I’d sworn off kids a long-ass time ago.
And while I might pick up a dropped sippy cup or roll a toy truck across the couch when one of the club kids wanted that, I didn’t volunteer to babysit like some of the guys—especially Eddie—did.
So it was kind of surprising how easy that shit came back to me. How familiar it still was.
I mean, not that I was rethinking my whole “no kids, all party” plan for the rest of my life or anything. But, yeah, it was an interesting night.
I’d actually strolled my ass around the convenience store for a while before hoofing it all the way back to the clubhouse. Took well over an hour, and even when I got there, I didn’t really want to do anything but go upstairs and crash.
Alone.
Since then, we had a couple of drops to do: guns to hand off to people with dubious intentions but a lot of cash. It cut into the partying time. We’d had church another night. Afterward, I didn’t suggest a party, so we didn’t have one.
Really, the only reason I suggested it that night was that I was sick of Velle looking at me sideways, likely drawing all sorts of conclusions in that head of his.
I was regretting ever telling them about the little rescue mission. Even if I did leave out a lot of the details about it.
Because they’d been attaching my mood to the incident ever since.
And I hated how correct they were.
I mean, for fuck’s sake, I hadn’t done more than play pool games and do shots with a woman since that night. Even that, my heart wasn’t in. Let alone any other part of my anatomy.
I’m not saying I’d never had a dry spell in my life. But I’d never not reached for a woman when they were right there for the taking.
“Why’s there no food?” Kylo asked, his hand on his stomach as he looked in the near-empty fridge.
“Eddie is sick,” York told him. “Sent a text this morning saying he had a stomach bug and that we’re on our own. Then reminded me where the take-away menus are since he knows none of us know how to cook.”
“I mean, we could feed ourselves,” Kylo objected.
“And Caymen can cook. Well, grill anyway,” Dixon supplied.
I wasn’t about to pipe in and say I could cook as well. Unlike Eddie, while I could do it, I didn’t enjoy it. So I wasn’t committing myself to being Eddie’s fill-in when he was sick or busy.
“Take-out it is,” I agreed, spreading the menus out.
Being a spoiled bunch, though we couldn’t decide on just one place. So I added an obscene tip to get someone to pick it up for us, then started making something fruity for the club girls and their friends to drink when they showed up.
From there, it was all the usual shit.
Dixon cleaned the pool. Caymen set up the giant inflatable TV. Velle queued up the playlist. Kylo and York blew up the battle Q-tips and the beer pong table.
And I… didn’t do jack shit.
Just waited around for the food to arrive as the party started to rage out back.
“Fuck Benny,” Mackie grumbled when he tried to make a grab for a chip on the table but couldn’t quite reach it.
“Sorry, man. Kylo is the sucker. I don’t wanna be on that psycho Remy’s bad side. So… here’s an almond instead,” I told him, dropping one into his bowl.
My phone buzzed as the macaw climbed his giant body back into his cage to eat the nut.
Food arrived, it seemed.
Happy for something to do, I swung open the door.
And, somehow, there she was.
Standing several feet back from the door, tucking her phone into her pocket.
She looked almost the same as the night on the street: white tee, jean shorts, and flip-flops, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
If possible, she looked even more exhausted—and thinner—than a week before.
“Zoe?”
Her name was out of me before I even realized I was about to say it.
“Coast,” she said, swallowing hard. “I… hey. I, um, delivered the food.”
“Right. Yeah. You do that.”
It sounded like I forgot that fact. But I’d honestly been thinking about ordering a bunch of food just to see if she might show up since she’d dropped me off at the convenience store.
The fact that she was probably one of dozens of delivery drivers and the low chance of her being the one at the door was what held me back.
What a fucking twist of fate to have that proven wrong.
“I, yeah. So, this is your party.”
“It’s the club’s party,” I clarified.
“Club,” she repeated, brows pinching.
It was right then that Dixon came out the front door, loudly declaring that the food had arrived.
“This is one of those body shots and titty parties,” Zoe said after Dixon took the bags inside.
“Seems like it might—” I broke off as Lainey let out a loud, angry cry from the backseat of the car.
“Sorry. One second,” she said, rushing to the car and checking on the baby.
But Lainey wouldn’t be soothed.
Zoe pulled her out of the car seat, putting her to her shoulder and rocking.
“Come on, baby. It’s okay. I promise I can get you a bottle when we get back home.”
“Fuck that. We got water,” I said, waving at the house. “Get the baby some food.”
Zoe glanced at the house, then back at her wailing infant.
“Zo, come on. Get her a bottle,” I said, going around to the driver’s side to pull the key out of the ignition and grab the diaper bag off the floor well of the passenger seat. “Come on. Just keep her away from the bird when we walk through the kitchen,” I warned.
“Bird?” she asked, but saw soon enough who I was talking about as Mackie froze while climbing halfway down his cage. No doubt trying to make his way toward some sort of food. Caught, he climbed back up, looking real pissed about it too.
“Oh, he’s beautiful,” Zoe cooed at him, but made sure she kept Lainey far away from the can opener Mackie called a beak.
“He’s got a mouth to rival mine,” I told her. “You want me to make the bottle or hold the baby?” I asked.
Zoe turned to me, head cocked to the side. “You know how to make a bottle?”
“It’s not rocket science. She’s, what, three months?”
“Yes. How did you know that?”
“So she’s on… four to six ounces?”
“Four.” Zoe’s lips parted as she looked at me.
“Two scoops then,” I said, pulling the travel canister of formula out of the diaper bag along with one of the bottles.
“How… how do you know that?” Zoe asked as I ran the water.
“I’ve led an interesting life,” I told her, filling up the bottle, dropping in the scoops, then giving the bottle a good shake as Zoe bopped the miserable Lainey. I tested the milk on my wrist, then reached an arm out. “Here. Give me her.”
“What? Why?”
“To sacrifice her to the fucking clubhouse gremlin. He’s picky—only wants babies or beef jerky. The fuck do you think I want her for? To give her a bottle.”
“I can—”
“Load up a plate and eat every bite so you don’t look like you’ll blow away at the next slight breeze? Yeah, you can do that.”
This time, when I reached for Lainey, Zoe let me take her. Probably more out of shock than anything else.
“Yep. It’s me again,” I told Lainey as she paused her wailing to stare up at me. “Food, Zo,” I demanded as Lainey took the bottle.
“I can’t.”
“Just said you could.”
“I’m… on the job.”
“So clock out.”
“Alright,” she agreed, reaching for her phone.
“That Italian is banging.”
“The owner, I think, was really interesting.”
“You met Tony?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah. He’s old friends with members of the club.”
“He fell in love with Lainey. Wants me to come in and let him talk to her for a while. While I eat. For free.” She sounded dubious.
“He means it,” I told her. “Take him up on the offer. He’s richer than God. He can afford a free meal. Speaking of a meal,” I said, nodding toward the food again.
“A slice,” she conceded, going over to the pizza boxes and pulling one out.
“So, why you carting around a baby doing deliveries? Where’s her father?”
“He’s… not in the picture,” Zoe said, a slice of pain moving across her face. But it was quickly replaced with anger, then something more like resignation.
“Asshole,” I said.