Her eyes fixed on the phone in her hand. “Um … Wait. Is this your hookup phone?”
Well, shit. He shifted his weight from side to side. “What, now?”
“You know, like you have your phone phone, and then you have your phone with a private”—she used air quotes around the last word—“number you only hand out to hookups. Girlfriends. Whatever you call them. That way they can’t bombard your regular phone.”
He stood there gawking at her like a total idiot.
She waved her hand at him. “Pfft. You forget I’ve had a front-row seat to hockey players and their shenanigans for years. I’m wise to all their tricks. And I’m older than you, which makes me just downright wiser all the way around.” She shoved the phone back at him. “You might want to close your mouth before a fly moves in.”
With that, Miss Sassy Sunshine turned and marched her cute little ass down the hall. Not that he was checking out said ass. She was his buddy’s sister after all. And an older, wiser woman. Not that the label “older woman” was a deterrent. To the contrary, it sounded sexy as hell for some reason that escaped his comprehension.
“How much older?” he called after her, unable to stop himself.
“Four years older than Gage, so whatever that adds up to.”
Whoa. He could’ve sworn she was the younger of the two when he’d first met her, and when he’d learned she was older, he’d figured by no more than a year, two tops.
She stopped and turned, her side to him. “In case you can’t do the math, I’m thirty … and way more woman than you can handle.”
Part of him was irritated that she’d read his mind and dismissed him like he was a punky teenager, and another part was all kinds of inappropriately heated up. “Hey, don’t you want the phone?”
“Um, no. I don’t want to be fielding calls from women hot for your bod day and night.”
Oh, this made him break out in a wide grin. “And that’s how it is. Day and night. Night and day. They can never get enough of the hot bod.”
A hand planted itself on her hip. “Oh my God, you are so full of yourself! How do you pass by a mirror without swooning?”
“Toughest thing I do every day, toots. Not gonna lie. It’s especially hard when I’m trying to shave. You know, I see myself and pass out with a razor in my hand. Then I get up, see myself again, and fall down again. Super dangerous. And shaving takes. For. Fucking. Ever.”
He got the eye-roll he’d been after, along with an extra snort. Tossing the phone on his bed, he followed Sassypants to the kitchen. “I can block everyone on that phone so you won’t be bothered—not that there were that many to begin with. Or I can get you a burner phone.”
“Five bucks goes to the jar,” she called over her shoulder, “and I’ll think about the phone. Thanks.”
Why this made him happy, he had no idea. One winning score for the Quinnster.
Chapter 12
The New (Virtual) Normal
Over the week, they settled into a routine that smoothed out like a freshly Zambonied sheet of ice. Quinn’s mom—whose blue-tipped hair he’d finally adjusted to—continued to improve while her stress level decreased. Begrudgingly, he admitted to himself that Sarah exercised far more patience than he’d thought her capable of—and far more than he could have mustered himself.
Archer was included in their workout games. The dog not only motivated his mom to go for short walks with Sarah, but he seemed to soothe her at the same time. For some freaking reason, the dog even knew her meds schedule and went off like a whining timer if Mom wasn’t getting to it fast enough. Un-effing-believable!
Sarah hadn’t had any more uncomfortable phone calls that he knew of—not that she’d confide in him anyway—and that wicked tongue of hers gave him a daily lashing. Oddly, it had become the highlight of his day. He even found himself pushing her to get her rolling. Probably because he was bored out of his ever-loving mind, being cooped up twenty-four-seven with his mother and her mouthy caregiver. A guy could only take so much working out and playing video games. Shit, Quinn couldn’t even banter with his teammates, who were either still giving him the cold shoulder or fully focused on their families. As for TV, he avoided it because his mother held a morbid fascination for COVID-19 numbers.
So when he veered into the family room one day and the TV was blaring stats on mask-wearing, he veered right back out and found himself in front of a space he’d dubbed the “solarium.” Shaped like an oblong octagon, the room served no purpose but to hold plants and offer pretty views of the grounds. Surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows and topped with a glassed-in dome mimicking the room’s perimeter, it also let in lots of light … which must have been why Sarah had chosen it to construct 3-D puzzles.
She was hunched over a table, chin in her palm, frowning at a partial foundation. Intrigued, Quinn casually drifted in and peered over her shoulder. “Where’d you get the puzzle?”
She didn’t look up. “Amazon. Where else?”
“What is it?”
“It’s supposed to be the Taj Mahal,” she huffed.
He grabbed a chair and slid it perpendicular to hers. “Want some help?”
“You don’t have anything better to do?”
His eyes darted between the picture and what she’d assembled. “Not really. I’ve already worked out twice”—and I’m in the best damn shape of my life—“and Mom’s got the TV tuned to Covid Network News again. I’m so over it.”
“Mmph.” Sarah picked up a piece and eyeballed it.
He pointed. “I think that goes—”
Her eyebrow dipped in a spectacular stink-eye. “Really?”
He grinned. “I’m helping!”
“Okay, smartass. Help.” She handed him the piece,
