“Oh, throbbing’s in there twice,” came his mother’s very practical sounding voice.
A shock of electricity raced through him. What the hell is going on?
“Well, hey, when it throbs, it throbs,” Sarah laughed.
Unsure what to do, Quinn stood like a tree that had just drilled roots into the ground.
“Keep going,” his mother urged. “I can’t wait to find out if he’s going to do the dirty while she’s out cold.”
They both giggled before Sarah went on. “‘Millicent, my love. Wake up, darling.’ He was as hard as a hickory log, and the throbbing—”
“That’s three throbbings!” his mother exclaimed. “This author needs to learn her way around a thesaurus.”
“Okay. Here’s the good part. Creamy mounds alert!” Sarah sounded wickedly gleeful.
Quinn burst out of his trance. Oh hell no! He coughed. Loudly. “I’m home.” His voice sailed out of him a few octaves higher than normal.
He rounded the corner, and two pairs of eyes fastened on him.
“Quinnie!” his mother exclaimed—without a trace of guilt.
“What,” he warbled, “what, ah, are you guys doing?”
Mom rubbed her hands together with delight. “Sarah’s reading me a smutty romance novel about an eighteenth-century duke who’s about to have his way with the chambermaid he’s been lusting after.” She shrugged. As though this were the most normal pastime in the world for a fifty-something mother of a grown man. Said grown man nearly choked on his spit. Meanwhile, his mom’s face brightened. “Come sit down. You can listen in.”
His voice cracked. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
“C’mon, Sparky. You might learn a thing or two.” Sarah’s eyes gleamed with pure evil.
He glared at her, ready to throttle the smirk right off her face. Every last one of his good feels from the liquor store had been utterly pulverized.
His mother stood and fluttered her hand against her chest. “Whew! On second thought, maybe I need a nap after that literary walk on the wild side. I’m going to my room for a rest now.”
Sarah giggled. “We’ll pick up later when Grumpy Butt isn’t around.”
When his mother was out of earshot, Quinn rounded on Sarah. “What the hell was that?”
Sarah flipped the cover closed on her e-reader. “Afraid of a little competition?”
“From an eighteenth-century count who’s not even real?” he snorted. “I doubt there’s anything he can teach me.”
Sarah rose from her seat and sauntered toward him. “From a woman author writing romance for women about stuff women like. You could add it to your arsenal and learn to be a better lover.”
“Who says I need—never mind,” he groused. “I’m not sure I could deal with all the throbbing. And you should not be reading that shit to my mother.” He went for his wallet before Sarah could tell him to pony up the two bucks—three, if she took note of the “hell” he’d thrown out. As he stuffed the bills into the swear jar, he said, “This stack grew. Is this you?”
She bit her bottom lip and shot her eyes to the ceiling, where they lingered for a few beats. Oh shit. There was that cute look again. “Well, I was wrangling the stupid blender to make smoothies, and your mother happened to overhear—”
He let out a whoop, blowing off some of the tension that had built up inside him, though he couldn’t say exactly where the tension had come from; he hadn’t been tense when he’d first walked in. Whether it was being annoyed Sarah was reading this crap to him mom or whether it was hearing the crap in her sultry voice, he couldn’t be sure. Wait! Since when has she had a sultry voice?
Sarah took the opportunity to size him up, raking her gaze from the sunglasses on top of his head to his feet. “I never took you for a prude.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Shit! Another five bucks. Goddamn! In pure frustration, he wrestled all the money from his wallet. “There! Now I can swear all I want.”
Sarah stood on tiptoe and pretended to inspect the wad he’d thrown in. “Not all you want, Sparks.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “That shit you were reading. Is that really what women want?”
She patted his chest. “Only if they can’t have you, big guy.”
He face-palmed. “I give up.”
“Hey, Gage was telling me about some virtual interview thing for the team in”—she dashed a look at the microwave clock—“fifteen minutes. Aren’t you part of that?”
He’d been so distracted he’d nearly forgotten. “Oh shit!” Before pivoting away, he pointed at the jar. “I’m covered.”
Today was his PR virtual appearance, and three of his teammates had been added to the mix. Yep. Nelson, Shanstrom, and McMurphy were now part of the fun and games. Probably to diffuse the ongoing fallout from the press conference.
A grin broke out on his face. Wish I could’ve been there when Weasel Prick heard the “good” news. The guy had sure milked the situation for all he was worth, whining on social media about Quinn and the team. Scumbag. Much as Quinn wanted to announce it on today’s show, it wasn’t his place. But he’d make sure Wyatt found out because the goalie had gotten sick and was still pissed as hell at Quinn.
“Hello, Quinn! Glad you could join us today,” a voice bellowed from his computer, jerking him back to what he was supposed to be doing.
“Uh, hey. How’s it going?” He gave a little wave to the tiny black eye above his computer screen.
The interview went the way Quinn had expected. Softball questions about what he’d been doing to keep in shape and stay busy—same questions his teammates fielded. Sarah Sunshine had sashayed past a few times with piles of clothes, making him wonder what the hell she was up to. When the interview wound down, Quinn tried to catch T.J. for a few minutes—he really needed to clear the air with the guy, but Shanny gave him a curt “Not now.”
Quinn had been juggling off
