On his nightstand were three red beanbags, and he snatched them up and started tossing them in the air while thoughts tumbled through his brain. Which room do I put her in? The one farthest from his, naturally. No, next to Mom.
“Shit!” he grumbled. “I’m stuck inside for God knows how long with two crazy women. I would’ve been better off holing up with Hunts and his strippers.”
The beanies looping through the air were hypnotic, soothing, and other thoughts bubbled to the surface. Like how happy his mom would be when he told her the news. Yeah, the news that a pink-haired, weird T-shirt-wearing spitfire was moving in—in four hours. With her dog. A spitfire whose life’s motto was Fuck All Men! And not in a good way. No doubt she had that slogan emblazoned on a T-shirt.
With an enormous exhale, he caught his beanbags and piled them back on the nightstand, then dragged his hand over his face. What had he just signed up for?
Chapter 9
Good Roommates Are Hard to Find
Hours later, fresh from a workout and shower, Quinn was still basking in the glow of his stunning accomplishment. His mother had been delighted when he’d told her about Sarah. That glow, sadly, dimmed when his brother called.
“Ronan the Accuser. ’Sup in the mighty state of Kansas?”
“Oh, you know. Living the life.” A child screamed in the background as if to punctuate Ronan’s declaration. “So I hear you finally got off your lazy ass and hired someone to take care of Mom. ’Bout damn time.”
Though Quinn knew full well Ronan was deliberately pushing all his buttons at once, he couldn’t keep his jaw muscles from bunching. Why did merely hearing Ronan’s grating voice make Quinn want to throw a fist in his face?
“It’s not like I haven’t tried, asshole. She’s fired everyone I hired.”
“Yeah, well, the way I heard it, you didn’t exactly make the best choices. So what’s this one like?”
“She’s a piece of work. They should get along fine.”
“Mom says she’s got a dog that can help?”
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
“Mom also said this girl’s pretty hot. That why you hired her?” Ronan started laughing—no, cackling.
“Fuck you.”
“Besides being unable to find the right people to help her,” Ronan poked, “how are you and Mom getting along?”
Like Raid and roaches. Like Round-Up and weeds. “Good. She’s stubborn as hell, though.”
“Ha! Like you’re not?”
“That’s not what I meant, dickhead. Did she tell you I came home and found her lying on the floor the other day? She’d had a little run-in with her wheelchair and lost the battle. But Jesus Christ, suggest she needs help and you’d think I’d just threatened to take her damn arm off. Did that shit happen when she was living with you?”
“No, but then Jen and I made taking care of Mom priority one.”
God, Ronan just couldn’t stop himself, could he? Quinn wanted to throw out that, from what Mom had told him, Jen had done most of the heavy lifting—taking care of Mom and the three rug rats—while Ronan golfed, partied, acted like Ronan. Instead, Quinn kept his mouth zipped.
“It’s been rough for Mom, Q,” the sanctimonious son of a bitch added.
“Like I don’t know that?” Quinn snapped.
“Well, it’s good you finally stepped up to the plate. That’s all I can say.”
Not really all you can say, asshole.
“Oh, hey,” Ronan droned on, “I heard from Dad.”
This had all of Quinn’s attention. He hadn’t heard from his dad in what? Two years? Nor had his mom, for all Quinn knew. So why the hell was Dad in touch with Ronan? Right. It was Ronan; his shit never stank. “What did he want?”
“To say he’s stuck in Poland until this blows over.”
“Well, no shit. He’s been stuck in Poland for the last three years!”
“Don’t be such a dick. Contrary to what you tell yourself, you are not the Mighty Quinn.”
Quinn rubbed stiff fingers over his forehead. “Look, Ro, as awesome as talking to you is, I gotta go. Sarah will be here soon, and I wanna be sure everything’s ready for her.”
“Oh, Saaarah! Smile for meeee,” Ronan sang. “Seriously, Baby Bro, don’t screw this up. Mom likes her. Keep your dick zipped unless you’re about to fire her ass, then by all means, tap it.” Ronan gave him a dirty chuckle. “Not that you need to get up in that with all those hotties hanging all over your NHL-playing ass. Good thing that’s what you do for a living, otherwise you’d never get any.”
Fuck, here we go. Only this time his mom’s words streamed through Quinn’s consciousness. Was Ronan jealous? “Yeah, too bad not all of us have what it takes to make it to The Show. Later.” Quinn hung up before his brother could get in another word. As for Sarah, Quinn would have no problem keeping his dick in his pants where Miss Sunshine was concerned.
Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Quinn pulled in a breath to fortify himself.
“Quinnie, I think she’s here,” his mom called helpfully from some hallway somewhere in the labyrinth of hallways.
“Got it,” he growled.
Plastering on a semblance of a smile, he jogged to the front door and threw it open, his eyes landing on Sarah. The hot-pink hair wasn’t quite so hot anymore, having faded to a hue he wasn’t sure was on the color spectrum. She seemed to be sizing him up with those big forest-green eyes of hers. Or were they hazel? Beside her, Archer sat on his haunches, his lips drawn back in a smile. Do dogs have lips?
“Hey, roomie,” Sarah said.
“Hi. Welcome to your new home.” Sweeping his hand in a welcoming gesture, he held the door wide. “Temporary new home,” he clarified. His eyes darted above her head and landed on a teal Jeep. “That yours?”
She turned to look over her shoulder, and when she
