Quinn slept in late the next morning. His bedroom was isolated in a separate part of the house, and usually his mom texted him when she needed his help. He bolted upright and snatched his phone off the nightstand. No messages. He pulled on gym shorts and a T-shirt and jogged down to the kitchen. Everything was quiet except the unaccustomed sound of a tail slapping carpet.
“Hey, Arch. Where’s your mom?” What the hell am I doing talking to a dog? Archer hopped up and rushed over, greeting Quinn as if he were a long-lost bone that needed a good licking. Quinn hadn’t spent time around dogs—any animals—and wasn’t sure about pet protocol.
When Archer nudged his hand so it landed on top of his furry head, he gave him a stroke, surprised at the softness. Soon he was rubbing the dog’s silky ears. “So where is everyone this morning, buddy?”
Archer swung his head toward the basement stairs.
“Seriously, dog? You psychic or something?” Quinn gave him one last pat, trod down the stairs, and shuffled along the hallway past the racquetball court. He froze in his tracks when he picked up Sarah Sunshine’s voice.
“Look at you, Ms. Awesome. You are owning this!”
A sort of muffled giggle came next. “I think you’re feeding me a line of you-know-what, Sarah.”
“No, I’m not. Raise your head for a sec and look at your posture compared to mine in the mirror. See? Your butt’s as high as mine.”
This had all of Quinn’s attention, and he let his curiosity pull him toward the gym. When he peered around the corner, two asses in stretchy black fabric mooned him.
“What’s this called again?” one ass said.
“Downward dog,” the other ass—a really nice one—answered. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall to enjoy the view.
“Hold that pose a little longer, Liz. You’re doing great.” Lean legs walked toward fingertips braced on the floor, then Sarah’s upper body slowly rose, vertebrae by vertebrae. She glanced at him over her shoulder, turned, and in two quick strides stood in front of him. A smirk twitched her lips. “See something you want, Sparky?”
Quinn’s tongue wouldn’t work. Before he could spit out the clever comeback that hadn’t come to him yet, Sarah winked and walked away with a chuckle. Shit! What if she thinks I want her? Which I absolutely do not.
Now her arms were on his mom’s waist, and she was giving her instructions on how to bring her body upright. “You good?” Sarah asked when Mom was fully standing.
Even from here, he could see the smile that lit his mother’s face. “Better than good. I can’t believe I didn’t do yoga before.”
“Didn’t your doctor ever say anything about it?”
“Just in a vague ‘get more exercise’ kind of way.”
“Well, I’ve been doing a little research, and if you’re game, I’ve got some other things I’d like to try with you. But not today. I think we’ve done plenty. Unless you want to get in the hot tub and soak for a bit?” Sarah’s gaze lifted to his.
His mother turned, and her eyes widened. “How long have you been standing there, Quinnster?”
Quinnster? Another term of endearment he hadn’t heard in a long while. “Long enough, Momster. Looks like Sarah Sunshine’s got you working out.” After only twenty-four hours!
His mother looked between him and Sarah and beamed. “Sarah Sunshine? Sparky? You two have the cutest names for each other.” A little twinkle in his mother’s eyes had him thinking he needed to set her straight. ASAP. Not gonna happen, Mom.
“Okay, clear out.” He used a pushing motion with his hands. “There’s too much estrogen in here. It’s man time.”
Sarah looked around dramatically. “Don’t see one anywhere.”
Annoyed again, though not completely sure why, he barked, “Out!”
“Oh, Sarah. I think he’s serious,” his mom said in a conspiratorial tone.
Sarah seemed unconcerned and took her time picking up their scattered belongings. “Well, then, let’s leave ol’ Grumpy Gus alone while we check out the hot tub. Maybe later we can do hair.”
As he watched them walk up the stairs, he scratched his stubbly chin. How the hell had his mom gotten so comfortable with Sarah Sunshine so damn fast? With a headshake, he picked up the remote and turned on and muted ESPN. He plugged in his earbuds and went through his stretches. As he climbed onto the rowing machine, he flicked his gaze to the TV. And stopped breathing. On the screen, he recognized himself holding the prick reporter’s phone before shoving it back at him. WTF? This couldn’t be good. He whipped the earbuds out and snatched the remote, jabbing the volume button. Prickface had turned toward the camera, waving his phone. “Did you catch what Quinn Hadley did? Did you get that on tape?” Next, Quinn’s team photo flashed across the screen with his name in big letters. It looked like a mug shot.
Even if he’d tried, he couldn’t have done a better job fucking up his PR or the team’s.
He switched off the TV, shoved his earbuds back in, and attacked the rowing machine at a furious pace. Too bad none of it tamped down the embarrassment and self-recrimination twisting inside him.
Chapter 11
Checkout Time is at Eleven
Quinn bolted up the stairs so fast Sarah nearly dropped the mug of steeping tea. “Wow, I can see a contrail coming off of you, Sparky.”
He came to an abrupt stop and stared at her like he had no idea who she was. Wet hair was plastered against his head, and sweat was beaded on his face, neck, and chest, as though he’d been drenched in a thunderstorm. “Just finished an intense workout,” he panted. His eyes drifted to the cup she held. “What’s that?”
“Stress relief tea for your mom. Want some?”
“Stress relief? Why? What’s got her stressed out?” His eyes brightened as though a switch had flipped on,
