Page 143 of Crushing Clover

“No,” he admitted. “But still. You guys wouldn’t do this for me.”

“If you’re getting rid of me as soon as you pay off the restaurant, then I won’t be here to do this for you.”

He frowned. “You don’t even like me.”

“You’re not completely loathsome when you’re not going out of your way to be a dick.”

He tried to look absorbed in examining a cut on his finger. “Whatever.”

He fucked off into the hallway, and Lucky raised his brows at me in speculation. I shook my head, not wanting to say anything else in case he was lurking around the corner listening. Knowing Saint, I wouldn’t put it past him.

Saint’s strange outburst circled my mind, like a shit refusing to be flushed.

Just over an hour later, the pizza had been eaten (even Saint had approved), the candles were blown out, and I’d helped Lucky serve the cake he’d baked himself. It was surprisingly good, even though he was rarely allowed to cook.

Apparently, Rush and Saint had a gentleman’s agreement not to give each other gifts.

Lucky’s parents were out of town visiting an elderly aunt, but they’d sent over a box of fancy artisanal chocolates all three guys dissected with rhapsodic enthusiasm.

“You’re going to like what I got you,” Lucky said, grinning evilly as he handed Rush a plastic bag that had been rolled into a not-so-festive, football-sized wad. When he’d told me his gift was already wrapped, I should have asked a few clarifying questions. “Wait. Open the one from Clover first,” he insisted.

“Oh, this should be good. What on earth did our little beggar get you?” Saint chugged the rest of his glass of beer and grabbed Rush’s glass to refill. “Let me guess—is it from a dollar store?”

“Don’t make fun of her!” Lucky grumbled. “She put in more effort than you did.”

“Did I or did I not reimburse you for the beer?”

He headed for the keg, where he filled both glasses. Getting a keg had seemed excessive when Lucky had told me about it, but the three of them were putting a decent dent in it. I was feeling no pain, myself, laughing at their stupid jokes, and finding that I was more relaxed than I had been in what felt like years. I’d never had money to spend on alcohol when there was food and rent to pay for. That also meant I didn’t have much of a tolerance.

I got up from where I was sitting between Lucky’s knees and grabbed the gift bag Lucky had bought for me. I handed it to Rush, who accepted it with a grin.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Clove,” he said, pulling me into his lap and settling me there. “Should I be afraid to open this?” He grinned, and I kissed his cheek, his big Viking beard soft against my face.

“It’s just something I made,” I said ruefully.

“Did she make you a macaroni necklace?” Saint asked. “Make sure you wear it to the next parent-teacher conference.”

“I’m not that much younger than the three of you.”

“You might as well be, considering how you act.”

I ignored him, focusing my attention on Rush, who seemed genuinely pleased I had made the effort to make him something. When he’d entered the office and seen the decorations, I could tell he was touched.

He reached into the bag and pulled out the project I’d been working on for almost a month. All of them had seen it under construction, but none of them had known what I was making.

“This looks familiar,” Rush said, slowly drawing it out of the bag. The navy-blue yarn hadn’t been difficult to work with, but my own inexperience had been a problem. I could see where I’d made mistakes, but I was proud of it anyway. It had been fun to make.

He shook it out and held it up in front of us, then turned it to look at the back.

“Holy shit! You made this?”

I nodded. “Lucky bought me the yarn and the crochet hook and stuff, though. He bought me the pattern, too.”

“I love it, baby girl! Thank you so much.” He hugged me, and I snuggled into him, his beard snagging my hair. He kissed the side of my face, then turned my chin toward him so he could kiss me on the lips. “Get up for a minute, so I can try this on.”

Nervously, I watched as he pulled off his T-shirt and slid on the sweater. It fit loosely, but it looked great on him. The little holes where I had fucked up made it look distressed rather than shitty. He did a little turn in front of me then went to look at it in the entryway mirror. The fact that it was thin meant it hugged his chest and shoulders in a way that made me long to drape myself over him, too.

“This is fucking cool.” He walked over to where Saint was sitting at his desk, tapping his fingers on his glass. “Did you see?”

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