Talkin' Trash (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 2)

But, it was all starting to make sense now since they couldn’t locate anything at all on Tyson himself.

Had we known about him, we’d have been looking into his brother, and that obviously would’ve been a different story.

“So,” I said, leaning closer to Linc without actually touching him. “Has your brother been in that MC long?”

“For at least a couple of years now, I guess. I don’t talk to him much, but we’ve been trying to mend fences lately. I followed him to town because he decided he was going to hang his shingle here for a year. He got a new job at the refinery plant just outside of town. He’s making pretty good money…or so he says. When our mother died last year, she begged me to take care of him, so that’s what I’m doing.” He sighed. “But Andy has never really been the kind of guy who liked being taken care of, so I have to be careful, or I’ll make him pissy…why am I telling you this?”

I laughed, hoping that it didn’t sound half as hysterical as I felt.

Tyson made a weird face and then looked over to Linc. “Don’t you ever have anything else to do?”

Linc shrugged. “I like to eat lunch with her because it makes me happy. Is that wrong?”

Tyson frowned. “No, I guess not. And since she’s pregnant, it’s definitely something that you need to make sure she does for the health of the baby.”

When had Tyson turned into such a mother hen?

I wouldn’t go into the fact that the reason Linc kept making appearances was because he was worried that I was here getting attacked—or worse—by the man who was currently fretting over my food intake for my non-existent baby.

“Uh, that’s what I’m trying to do,” Linc smiled.

“Yes,” Pru said, eyes shining with mirth. “You wouldn’t want to get faint. Make sure that you take care of that baby of yours.”

I had to find a way to get out of this lie.

“How far along are you?” Tyson asked, leaning back in his computer chair.

I felt my face flush as I tried to come up with a good lie.

“Well…” I hesitated.

“Let me guess.” Tyson shook his head with a small smile on his face. “You haven’t gone to the doctor yet to see.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it.

I really and truly had no clue what to say.

Just when I was about to blurt out everything, Linc put his hand over my mouth and pulled me into his side. “She’s scared of the doctor. The last time she went, they tried to do knee surgery on her wrong knee. She’s semi-freaked out and paranoid.”

Tyson’s eyes widened as Pru looked away, trying to hide her laughter in the bend of her arm.

She wasn’t doing a good job.

Not at all.

If I were on the other side of the counter, I’d kick her.

“We can draw your blood and make sure your hormone levels are okay here,” Tyson suggested.

This was getting weirder by the minute. “No…that’s okay…”

“You should really get it done. At least so you know how far along you are. About eight to ten weeks you should go in, though. Prenatal care is imperative to a healthy baby, and a healthy mother. You should know that.”

I did know that.

But I wasn’t pregnant so…

“Yeah, that would be great,” Linc said. “Then she wouldn’t have to go in. Win-win. Do you want to do it now or later?”

If I could’ve smacked Linc and Pru without it looking bad to Tyson, who was blissfully unaware that the two of them were assholes, I would have.

“It won’t take a minute.” Tyson turned back to his computer and then started to input stuff into the chart he’d been working on. “Pru even seems to have some free time. And she has all the stuff she needs right there next to her.”

And that was how Pru wound up taking my blood to send down to the lab.

“No rush on it, though,” I said. “They won’t get it back today, and I’m off tomorrow. I’ll check on it next time I’m in work.”

“Oh, they’ll call you.” Pru laughed. “What’s your phone number?”

“You should put my number down,” Linc suggested. “Conleigh never answers the phone.”

That was true. I didn’t.

But this was going too far.

“Lincoln…” I growled.

He winked at me. “It’s…”

Then he started to ramble off his number, and I had to slap my hand over his mouth when I saw people pulling out their phones.

“Linc,” I said through clenched teeth. “Unless you want everyone and their brother having your phone number, I suggest you write it down.”

“Shit.” He looked around. There were at least eight people listening, and four of them were patients. “Okay, I’ll write it down.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbed the bag of food that Linc had left on the counter, and then high-tailed it to the breakroom.