They settled into their respective seats after he prepared their drinks, the next game forgotten for the time being. Which suited her just fine because she was feeling unusually chatty. Quinn was easy to talk to. No pressure, no judgment. She could say anything, blab whatever, and he accepted it with humor and curiosity. So liberating. And so different from talking to Wolf. Conversations with him had been stimulating, but she was realizing an undercurrent had always run through them, and the longer she’d been with him, the more guarded she’d become.
But with Quinn? He was an equal. A friend. A safe harbor. And right now he was giving her a quizzical stare.
“You look like you might blow a fuse over there, Sunshine. What’s running through your head?”
She took a healthy sip of her drink. “What happened between your parents?”
She noted the surprise in his eyes. Yeah, she’d sort of blindsided him, and while that hadn’t been the foremost thought in her head, it had been spinning around for a while.
He smoothed the back of his head. “Honestly? I wish I knew. They were together, and then they weren’t. It’s not like they lived separately, but when he left to coach in Poland, they might as well have divorced. To this day, I don’t know why he left and didn’t come back or why they’re still married. Mom dressed it up as an opportunity”—he airquoted the last word—“but he’s been there for years and acts as if we don’t exist. I don’t hear from him, I don’t think Mom hears from him, and Ronan … Well, Ronan claims Dad calls him. But then, Ronan is the golden child.” Brown eyes pierced hers, the pain evident in their depths. “It’s totally jacked-up. I don’t get it. You’re lucky you’ve got a brother you like.”
“I’m guessing you have one you don’t like.”
“Yes.” He threw back half of his cocktail.
“Why don’t you like him?”
“Because he’s an asshole?”
She simply nodded.
“Okay. Because he’s an ungrateful asshole who thinks his shit doesn’t stink. How’s that?” His voice held an edge she wasn’t accustomed to. Quinn’s approach tended toward lighthearted, carefree. As though everything rolled off his back. Obviously, everything didn’t roll off his back.
“Wow. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’d do without Gage. It was always him and me against my mom. But don’t tell him I said so, or I might have to kill you.” She gave him a little smirk in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You and I have father baggage in common, I think.”
“Yeah? Tell me about your dad.” He jerked his chin toward her drink in a “Need more?” gesture. When she shook her head no, he excused himself for a refill. “Hold that thought, Sunshine.”
Sunshine. She’d hated the moniker at first, but now it sounded sort of nice rolling off his tongue, especially in that deep, decadent timbre of his.
He was back within minutes, sipping and gesturing for her to continue.
“Our dad didn’t leave the country, but he might as well have,” she began. “He took off and started a whole new family. We talk occasionally, but it’s awkward as hell. It feels forced, you know? Like because we share the same blood, we have to stay in touch. Needless to say, we’re not close with our stepmom or stepsiblings, which is sad. Mom’s never explained what happened—I think he cheated on her—but whatever it was, it sure left a bad taste in her mouth for every human with a Y chromosome.” She took a quenching sip of her drink.
“Is that why you’re always giving me shit?” One corner of his mouth curved up.
“What can I say? I was indoctrinated at an early age.” She let out a disgusted little puff of air. “But as I get older, I realize not everything my mom says is gospel. In fact, I often wonder if she didn’t drive Dad away. Contrary to what she preached, I’ve had good experiences with past boyfriends—”
“Were there a lot?”
There was that earnest look again, as if the answer really mattered to him. “It depends on what you mean by ‘a lot.’ I’m sure the number of guys I’ve dated is nothing compared to your track record.” She winked.
He seemed to wince, and she felt a twinge of remorse.
“Sorry. I’m not trying to be a jerk on purpose, but it’s true, isn’t it?” she said.
He pulled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His eyes slid to the side. “Yeah. Not gonna lie. I’ve treated it like a sport. But it’s one thing to score goals in hockey. They’re tangible. They count for something. And God, it’s an unbelievable rush when that puck finds the back of the net. Don’t even get me started on scoring a winning goal, especially in the playoffs.” He paused as though gathering his thoughts. “But it’s a different game entirely when you’re scoring with the ladies, and it doesn’t compare. Sure, there’s a little rush at first and you impress your buddies, but you don’t win a prize.”
“I thought scoring in bed was the prize. Besides, you earn the right to swagger.”
A laugh gusted from him. “Yeah, I guess there’s that—for what it’s worth, which ain’t much.” He fastened his eyes on hers. “This is gonna sound weird, but it’s getting old. Same game, different night. Too easy. Like you’re the only shooter on the ice, and the net has just doubled in size. And when it’s over, I’m … I don’t know. Disappointed, I guess. It reminds me of coffee.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Sex reminds you of coffee? Hot and bitter?”
He chuckled. “Not exactly. Think about how good coffee smells. The beans, the aroma when it’s brewing. You’re anticipating drinking it, and your taste buds get all worked up. But then you have a sip and … meh. Lots of promise, but the delivery is a letdown.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’m just over it.”
“Yet you continue the same behavior.
