His mother’s eyebrows flew to her hairline. “Is it possible the pot’s calling the kettle black?”
He turned her question over for a beat. Maybe she had a point in a convoluted sort of way. He shrugged. “It’s different. I’m not married.” And what’s the point of getting married if you’re going to keep fucking around?
“Which leads me back to my original question: Do you ever take the time to talk to these women? Get to know them?”
A dull thudding started behind his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want to get to know them. It’s just …” My priorities don’t usually include talking.
“One of these days, Quinnie, you’re going to fall hard, and you won’t even see it coming. Jennifer was too nice and pliable, and that’s why it wouldn’t have worked. The girl for you will take you to task, and I just hope I’m around to witness it. She’ll be something else!”
He couldn’t picture the kind of woman his mom was talking about. What he did know was that when—if—the day came when he finally committed to one, she’d be it. Done. No one else. Unlike his dickhead brother. “Chances are she doesn’t exist, Mom.”
“Chances are,” his mother countered, “she does exist, but you’ll need to have graduated in Adulting before you recognize her.”
He chuckled. “I have at least two, four semesters left, right?”
His mother’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Maybe. Whoever she is, you’ll probably butt heads at first, like your dad and I did. Then she’ll give you a run for your money because she’ll be the rare woman you can’t impress with just your smile.”
Your dad and I. Why weren’t they together? Sure, she could be a pain in Quinn’sass, but she was a vibrant, attractive woman, so why had his dad left? Quinn could remember listening to his parents’ laughter late at night when he’d been tucked in bed. He’d loved hearing the sound because it meant safety and love and warmth.
Had his dad cheated? And why hadn’t she moved on? Tempted as Quinn was to ask her, he always stopped himself short. Why stir up her private, painful memories to satisfy his own curiosity?
He laid his hand on her shoulder, unsettled by how bony it was. “Can I get you anything?”
She surprised him when she covered his hand with hers. Affection wasn’t something they often shared since he’d become an adult—well, physically grown anyway.
She gave his hand a little squeeze and released it. “No, Quinnie, but thank you.”
He slid his hand off of her and was about to head to bed, but she didn’t seem ready to let him go. “I saw on the news that the NBA shut down. I was shocked. This thing must be bad.” She locked her gaze on him. “Do you think the NHL will do the same?”
“I have no idea. But honestly, I’m not convinced it’s as bad as everyone’s making it out to be.” He waved his hands in the air, and in a singsong voice said, “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this in my lifetime.” Her lips curved up in a half-smile. “I kind of hope they do suspend your season. Then you can stay home and stop with the Nazi cow babysitters.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face and gave her a fake glower. “Mom. Whether I’m home or not, you need someone here full-time.”
“No, I don’t.” Her familiar tone told him there was no point in arguing, and he was too tired anyway.
Puffing out a breath, he reached for his beanbags on the coffee table and started juggling. It always helped settle him when his nerves got too jangly.
Though he wasn’t looking at her, he could tell his mother’s eyes followed the little stuffed cubes. “You’re so good at that.” Her voice drifted, as though she were hypnotized, so she surprised him when she slipped in, “The only person I wouldn’t fight you on is that cute little Sarah.”
He dropped one beanbag, and the rest tumbled without him managing to catch even one. Shit! Recalling his laughable proposal, offered out of pure desperation, made him wince—at least Sarah had laughed at it when she’d shut him down.
“Porcupines aren’t cute, Mom, and she’s definitely a porcupine. She’s also a royal pain in the ass and—”
“Ah! Ah!” His mom held up her finger, then pointed toward the kitchen. “That’s a buck for the swear jar.”
“Since when is ‘ass’ a swear word?” he chuffed.
She shook her head. “No arguing or it doubles.”
“Fine,” he groused as he pulled out his wallet. Yeah, something else he was having trouble adjusting to with his mom under the same roof. He wasn’t even allowed the satisfaction of cursing out his exasperation in a blue streak. Like when he was a kid, he had to do it under his breath in his bedroom. No doubt she knew about that too.
In the kitchen, he slid out a dollar and stuffed it into the mega vase. Sadly, this was only one of many she’d strategically placed around the McMansion. His mind wandered to Sarah and her potty mouth. If she did live under the same roof, she’d be stuffing these damn things too. The thought brought a smile to his face.
As irritating as Sarah was, though, he couldn’t deny that trading barbs with her was the most stimulated he’d been last night—intellectually speaking. Girl had a mind—and a tongue—as sharp as a skate blade. It had kept him dancing on a boot toe, unlike Dory and her friend. Those two had laughed at everything he’d said, whether it was funny or not. Had they even paid attention to the shit that came out of his mouth? He’d toyed with describing what it was like to watch someone get pegged with a hundred-mile-an-hour puck in the kisser to see if that made them giggle too.
His mother’s sarcasm returned,
