And there it was.

Fuck him.

“Right,” Mag bit off.

“Gotta say, if the shoe fits…” Tex trailed off.

Mag turned his attention to Tex.

“Tex, help me out and shut the fuck up,” Hawk said, obviously catching how Mag was staring at Tex.

“Brother,” Mo said, and Mag turned to him. “I’ll talk to her, but just sayin’, she was concerned about how you were workin’ through your issues after losin’ Nikki, but if Evan took it there, that was Evan. Lottie would never use that word talkin’ about you.”

“I got somethin’ to share about my history with a woman I’m seein’, it’s mine to share, Mo,” Mag fired back. “For fuck’s sake, you know that.”

“A woman you’re seeing?” Mo asked.

Goddamn it.

Elvira spoke up.

“Wasn’t last night your first date?”

Mag looked to her.

“Oh shit,” she whispered. “You liked her.”

Liked her?

No.

Was way fuckin’ into her the second he laid eyes on her—and damn, the woman was all kinds of pretty—and that just grew from the minute she threw him attitude, instead of crawling up his ass or tease-flirting or acting like she didn’t give a shit if he found her attractive when she totally did.

She was herself.

Take her as she came.

And in the time he spent with her—cracking her head on the counter, falling on her ass, throwing him more attitude, eating three slices of pizza, half the boneless wings, her fair share of cheesy bread, half a cannoli as well as a half slice of cheesecake to falling asleep and making cute snoring noises he knew, if she was sleeping beside him, they’d wake him up and make him want to fuck her, to being funny and sweet and open and honest and most of all, liking his eyelashes of all fucking things—he’d seen a lot of sides of Evan Gardiner.

And was way into them all.

Except the last.

“Maybe Lottie can do some damage control,” Tex suggested, unfortunately reading what Mag had been unable to hide.

Yeah.

That was how into her he was, he couldn’t even hide it.

“Unnecessary,” Mag grunted, and again looked back to Mo. “Though I’ll pass on to you, her brother is a problem. We didn’t go out because she cracked her head on the counter and she needed to ice it, which was good and bad. Good, because I was there to take her back when she had to go meet some shifty character who drives a freakin’ 1965 Lincoln Continental and told her to keep safe a grocery bag filled with meth, oxy, and coke or her brother would have a problem. Then she kicked my ass out, after I gave her good advice about that, telling me it’s family shit. And that’s the way she wants to play it…” He shrugged. “Though I figure now, with the way Mac is, she finds this out, it’s your shit. All I know is, she made crystal clear it isn’t mine.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mo said low.

“I wish I was,” Mag replied.

“All right, no,” Hawk stated, taking another step down, which put him in the huddle. He was looking up at Mo. “Hear this, Mo. I’m happy for you. You and Lottie are a great match. But her bein’ yours, we are not entering the Rock Chick Zone.”

Mag had read those books because Lottie was in them and he’d wanted fodder to give her shit about, as was their way.

In the end, they were funny, so he kept reading them, even after finishing the one she’d had a costarring role in.

And he was seriously down with what Hawk said. Those Rock Chicks had bumpy rides.

And their men being dragged right along with them?

Jesus.

He wanted no part of that kind of shit.

Except for the fact that for some reason, Evan was currently keeping safe thousands of dollars of drugs.

“I think that ship’s sailed,” Elvira muttered, eyeing up Mag and Mo.

“Lee Nightingale lost hundreds of man hours on that Rock Chick shit. I’ll repeat, that is not happening here,” Hawk said to Elvira.

“Well, all right!” Tex boomed. “We’d hit such a long, boring patch, I thought I’d have to eBay my grenades. Trust my Lottie girl to stir things up.”

Mag noted at this juncture that Tack was watching all of them wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Call Slim,” Hawk ordered Mag.

Slim being Brock “Slim” Lucas, one of Hawk’s posse that included Tack as well as Mitch Lawson.

Mitch and Slim were cops.

Tack was not.

“I’m not in this,” Mag reminded his boss.

“Call Slim,” Hawk reiterated.

“She’d not thank me for that,” Mag told him.

“I don’t give a fuck. I don’t even know this woman and I know she’s in over her head. She can thank you later, when this is done and she’s still breathing,” Hawk replied. “Call Slim.”

“I’ll look into it,” Mo muttered.

“Jesus Christ, did you not hear me?” Hawk bit off. “This crew is not taking on the next generation of Rock Chicks.”

“I got leave coming, I’ll look into it.”

Everyone turned to see Auggie at his station, leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, his arms crossed on his chest, watching their show.

Fucking Auggie, also obviously a coworker, and a bud practically since they met.

Hawk’s posse included Slim, Mitch and Tack.

Mag’s crew was Mo, Auggie, as well as Axl and Boone, the last two out on assignments.

Being on Mo’s crew, Aug was also in line for a Lottie fix-up (as were Axl and Boone).

But all Mag could see right then was Auggie, who scored more pussy than Mag just by catching a woman’s eyes and quirking a smile.

If Evie caught sight of Aug, she wouldn’t crack her head into a counter after she dropped her lip gloss.

She’d walk into a wall.

“You’re not lookin’ into it,” Mag told him.

Auggie’s dark eyes shifted to him and they were amused.

Motherfucker.

“Which one is she?” Auggie asked.

“What?” Mag asked back.

“Which one of Smithie’s girls?” Auggie gave detail to his question.

As far as Mag knew, he, Axl and Auggie had been to one show at Smithie’s club, when Lottie went back to work after the sick-fuck who’d fixated on her was taken out of commission, Mo couldn’t be there, so they were in his stead to provide moral support.

And Evie did not dance that night.

In fact, upon seeing her, Mag was very interested in going one night to watch her dance.

Two minutes into meeting her, he had to force himself not to think about it or he’d go caveman, that being locking her in his bedroom and keeping her there until he convinced her to stop dancing, and she wouldn’t like that.

Now, he was thinking about Auggie seeing her dance.

And he didn’t like that.

“You been back?” Mag asked.

“No,” Auggie answered.

“She wasn’t on that night,” Mag told him.

“Mystery pretty,” Auggie said. “Best kind.”

Mag ground his teeth.

He then turned to Hawk.

“If anyone’s on her, I’m on her.”