Sarah wiggled her tongue and got it working again. “Sounds like maybe you’ve had a change of heart?”
Her mother actually trilled. “I’m learning that the right someone to help shoulder your load can be a real blessing, Sarah.”
Okaaaaay. “You’re not trying to say you’ve found, uh, a right someone, are you, Mom?” Flabbergasted, Sarah searched her memory banks for a time when her mother had been on a date, let alone caught up in a romance. Not surprisingly, she came up empty.
“Could be,” her mother sang like a high soprano, “but right now I need to scoot. I just wanted to check on you. Now that I know you’re with Gage, I won’t worry.”
So pod people hadn’t snatched her mother’s body and taken control, turning out a kinder, gentler version of Nola Nelson. No, but love might have. Sarah nearly laughed out loud at the incongruity. Her mother, the Queen of Anti-Romance, who’d always warned her against giving her heart to a man, sounded like a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl tripping along cloud nine.
After the call ended, Sarah—still in a state of bemusement—went back inside with Archer. “Gage, did you—”
Her brother was leaning against the kitchen counter quietly talking to Lily as she scrubbed the kitchen sink. His gaze lifted to Sarah when she walked in, and a look a look of concern flickered in his blue eyes.
“What’s the word, Bro?”
He blew out a breath. “The NHL decided on an indefinite pause”—he air-quoted the last word—“and Lily and I have been talking about what to do.”
She kept her tone casual. “What do you mean, what do to?”
“Lots of guys are heading to their homes outside the U.S. to hunker down.”
“Where would you go if you left town? And what about your new house?”
“I talked to Paige,” Lily said. “Our closing is on hold, and she has no idea when we can move in.”
Gage added, “So no place to go, and we’re not sure what’ll happen with Daisy’s school. For now, I guess we stay put.”
In that moment, reality slammed into Sarah full force and rocked her hard. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, are we? This shit’s getting real.”
Gage’s eyes slid to Lily, and Sarah’s followed. Lily made an attempt to smile at them, but her wobbly mouth gave her away. The look tugged at something inside Sarah, and she pulled her almost-sister-in-law in for a tight hug, needing it as much for herself as to offer Lily comfort.
Chapter 7
Corona’s Served with Lime, Right?
Fuck me.
Those two words had been on a constant loop in Quinn’s head since the league’s announcement yesterday that play was paused indefinitely. Suspended. Stopped. Just when playoffs were about to start. Just when the Blizzard was having one of their best seasons and stood on the brink of winning it all.
He stood at his stall in disbelief as he cleaned out his shit. Who knew how long this would last? Would they get paid? How would they stay in game shape? And over what? A few seniors dying of the flu. He shook his head in disgust.
Utter bullshit. And it wasn’t just the league that was panicking. The whole fucking globe was panicking. He picked up three rolls of tape, tossed them in the air for a few spins, then let them fall into his bag.
“Hey, Hads.”
Quinn looked up, meeting Hunter’s gaze. The guy had a smirk on his face that Quinn itched to knock off, so he turned back to packing his bag. “’Sup, Hunts?”
“What do you say you and me hire a dozen girls from the Sapphire Club to shelter in place with? Gotta do our part to keep the economy going. Between us, we can keep them in bank for at least a month. Maybe by then this thing’ll have blown over. Otherwise, those poor girls are outta work, man.”
Quinn raised his head again, noting Hunter’s waggling eyebrows above his leer. Yeah, this had absolutely nothing to do with benevolence and everything to do with Hunter’s dick. “No, thanks.”
Only a few guys knew that Quinn was taking care of his mom, and even if he hadn’t been, the thought of being cooped up with Hunter—even with twelve strippers between them—held zero appeal. Strippers were fun to watch every blue moon, but room with twelve of them? For that matter, he couldn’t think of twelve women he’d done that he’d want to hang with. Over the years, he’d been disappointed with the conversations, and pillow talk was downright awkward. Which was why he didn’t engage in it. Fuck and go, that was his motto.
The conversation in his mind was suddenly thrust into a bright glare, as if someone had turned on a searchlight inside his head. Floored by his train of thought, he brought it to a screeching halt. When did I turn into such a dick? When did I turn into Ronan?
As he stood, blinking at Hunter like an idiot, another disturbing thought speared him square in the chest like the butt end of a stick. He’d always thought himself better than Hunter—maybe because his charm quotient was higher—but now he wasn’t so sure. The cocktail waitress’s voice echoed in his head. Charmers are smarmers.
“What’s gotten into you anyway?” Hunter taunted.
No fucking clue. Maybe it was this stupid coronavirus getting to him. He was on edge after getting shot down by every service he’d called to help out with his mom, and now he was facing the very real possibility it would just be him and her, which scared the crap out of him on so many levels—the most terrifying being whether he was capable of doing a good job by her.
He turned away from Hunter without answering him, and the asshat finally got the hint and focused his attention on their team captain. Big mistake. “Yo, Grims! How about
