Rush (Carolina Bad Boys, #5)(7)

“Yeah, yeah.” Boomer couldn’t care less what Brodie said.

He rocked Daniel—the little bundle cradled against his huge shoulder.

The baby startled at his deep voice, his eyes popping as wide as his mouth, before Boom ssshhhd him in a gentler tone.

I kissed Cat on the cheek. “He’s really beautiful.”

She reached for Nicky, dangling her hands in his wavy hair. “I think he’s gonna look like his daddy here.”

Other men held off just enough of a discreet distance, but fuck it, it was clear to see every single big bad MC dude was spellbound by the tiny being.

“So, is he gonna have cool blue eyes or violet like Nicky’s there?” Tail was the first to ask.

Cole glanced over, his eyebrows raised question mark high. “Time to start a new wager?”

“I’ll collect the bets.” Tucker’s thumbs beat against his chest as he beamed at the baby in Boomer’s arms.

“You men are hopeless.” Cat happily sighed.

Grudgingly—when Brodie’s impatience brooked no more waiting—Boomer handed off the sleeping parcel.

Brodie’s eyes immediately glazed over. “Oh, fuck. He’s a tiny thing, isn’t he?”

Cat held a hand at her mouth, giggling.

“Shit. Probably shouldn’t swear in front of him, right?” He went on with the gentle bouncing technique, cursing again. “Sometimes need to bite my damn tongue around Cara too. But fuck, this little dude’s cute as hell.”

Most of us were chuckling with laughter by that point. Typical freakin’ Brodie.

He whispered, “Just remember, Danny-boy, I’m your favorite uncle. Brodie. Not Boomer.”

“Bullshit.” Boomer struck his arms across his chest. “I already rate with Cara.”

“And I think Josh might have something to say about that,” Nicky countered.

Brodie snorted. “He ain’t even blood.”

“Like he gives a shi—” Nicky glanced at Cat then amended, “Like he gives a . . . sugar?”

This place was a goddamn circus. Definitely had enough fucking clowns to take it on the road.

Daniel woke abruptly, stared up at Brodie, and immediately kicked off with an ear-splitting wail.

Boomer looked vindicated.

Brodie frowned. “I swear I didn’t do it.”

Nicky stepped forward to collect his pissed off baby. “That's his hungry cry.”

Cat grabbed the diaper bag, slung it over one shoulder, then held her arms open, immediately murmuring to Daniel in sugar-soft tones. His crying slowed to little whimpers.

Heading toward her office, Cat shot back, “Don’t worry. He's fast just like his daddy.”

“What's that supposed to mean? You better not be talking about when I fuc—”

Swinging back to clamp a hand over her husband’s mouth, Cat stopped Nicky. “I meant you eat fast too. And what did we just say about swearing in front of Danny?”

She swept off, and we chuckled again, seeing Nicky Love—famous romance author—brought to heel.

Unlike Viper the dog, who whined at Cat’s retreating back like a lost puppy until Nicky absentmindedly reached over to rub just behind her perked-up ears.

Boomer sat on Lucy’s desk. “So, how is it?”

Dropping into a seat, Nicky looked up with those deep purplish eyes. “Terrible. He's always on Cat's boobs when I wanna be on her boobs.”

Brodie coughed into his hand. “Uh. TMI, dude. That’s our sis you’re talkin’ about.”

Nicky carried on, unfazed. “I've never seen anything like his dirty diapers. And sleeping at night? Forget about that ever happening again.”

Brodie suddenly looked petrified.

I hid a smile behind the palm of my hand. Fucker was gullible.

Raising his eyes again, Nicky grinned so hard I thought his face would crack in half. “It’s fucking awesome. So amazing. I’ve never felt anything like this in my entire life.”

Brodie wilted in relief, his hand splayed on Nicky’s shoulder.

Then he peered at me from his mane of blond hair. “Think it’s time for a testosterone check after that shit. Ready to work out? Or you wanna hang around and change diapers or somethin’?”

“Man, you’re the one who’s been shedding tears and leaking estrogen.” I razzed him, earning his hand at the back of my head as we shoved out of the Chrome and Steele office.

“You try becoming an almost baby daddy.”

“Not in the cards for me, my friend.”

“Yeah.” He sprinted in front of me then turned around. “’S’what I used to think too.”

Out back of Retribution MC, the enclosed area resembled a jail yard—not that I’d know about that . . . much.

The pavement was packed with various forms of torture devices otherwise known as weight machines. The summer sun multiplied its heatwaves, and if Bo wasn’t busting my balls, Brodie had no problem taking point as drill sergeant.

I’d already packed on thirty pounds of sheer rock hard muscle, and topped Brodie on the scales. While he was lean and scrappy—dirty-mouthed and lippy—I was turning into a knock ’em out bruiser.

Tying back my hair, whipping off my shirt, I threw down at the bench press, Brodie goading me by setting an extra ten pounds on the bar to test my limits.