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 did, her dark zip hoodie gaped open, revealing a T-shirt that read, “Zombies Hate Fast Food,” and the hint of curvature beneath. She swung her gaze back to his, nearly catching him. “Yep.”
“I’ll show you where to park it later and give you a garage remote. In the meantime, come in.” He made way for her and the dog in the foyer.
Her eyes shot up to the recessed dome that held a monstrous two-tiered chandelier, then took a turn around the space. “I love the lines of this entry. I feel like I just walked into an Italian villa.”
He shrugged. “Follow me. Party’s back here.”
Sarah and Archer trailed behind him as he padded to the family room. Archer’s nails—or are they claws?—clicked over the polished marble. His mom sat upright, her legs stretched out on the couch, her head bent over something in her lap.
“Hey, Mom?”
Mom lifted her head and whipped off her glasses before breaking into a bright smile. “Hello, hello!” She held her arms wide and beckoned the dog. “How’s my handsome man today?” she cooed. Archer rewarded her with a serious tail wag and several swipes of his long pink tongue.
Sarah looked on with a wide grin, one hand loosely holding Archer’s lead. “It’s lovely to see you again, Liz. I’m looking forward to hanging out with you.”
“Me too.” All his mom’s attention was focused on Archer, and Quinn felt himself sag with relief. If this could work out, he’d find a way to put up with Sarah Sunshine’s snark. It might take barricading himself in his room, the gym, or the in-home theater, but he’d figure it out.
“Let me show you your room,” he invited. They left Archer behind with his mom, and as they walked he pointed out this and that. “Feel free to go wherever and use whatever.”
“What’s down that way?” Sarah indicated a hall with the rooms he never used—except the one time.
“Oh. Anywhere but there. Those are the forbidden rooms,” he joked with an evil bwahaha.
“Got it. So the rooms equipped with the dance poles and BDSM gear?”
He gave her a smirk. “Not a bad idea. Think ships trapezes, poles, and those neon light-up dancing platforms strippers use?”
“You wish,” she scoffed. “Come to think of it, they probably do. Did you know that since they’ve had to shut down for the pandemic, some strip clubs have put in drive-throughs?”
“I have no idea what that would look like, but strip clubs aren’t my thing. And wow, aren’t you a wealth of information? Were you doing job research?”
She shrugged him off with a cold shoulder.
In front of a large door at the end of a wide hallway, he came to a stop.
She’d halted beside him, and he had to lean past her to grasp the door handle.
She hopped backward as if she didn’t want any part of him touching any part of her.
Fine by him, though he couldn’t avoid the sweet vanilla-flowery scent that wreathed her.
Shit, that smelled good. Not what he’d expected from her, though he couldn’t say what he should have expected. The scent of burnt rubber? Motor oil?
“This is your room,” he announced as he threw the door open. She gave a little gasp and covered her mouth with both hands. He couldn’t have cared less about impressing her, but he wanted her to be comfortable, and her reaction gave him an unexpected surge of gratification.
“Oh wow!” Her eyes were wide as pucks, and she seemed to hesitate on the threshold.
He tried not to laugh at Miss Badass looking bowled over. Stepping into the room, he urged her in. “I picked this room because it has access to the backyard. I figured it would be easier to let Archer in and out.”
She gingerly moved into the space, taking it in with owl eyes.
“If you don’t like it,” he continued, “there are plenty more rooms to choose from. But this is one of the biggest, it’s close to my mom, and it should accommodate all your girlie stuff.”
I can’t imagine having enough girlie stuff to fill a tenth of this suite, Sarah thought to herself as she gaped.
She didn’t care that Quinn was smirking at her.
The room was beautiful! Soaring ceiling, a marble fireplace, a towering bay window with a table and armchairs, and French doors that opened onto a private deck.
It was decorated in heavy, dark furniture and rich golds and reds—not exactly her style, but it imbued the room with luxury and comfort.
Definitely an upgrade from Daisy’s pink room.
Quinn was in the bathroom now, which was on the other side of the fireplace, going on about a steam shower, jetted tub, towel warmers, blah, blah, blah.
Sarah’s head reeled. When she peeked in, all she could think was that the bathroom resembled a spa and was bigger than the two bathrooms in her childhood home combined.
“No shortage of space, is there? Hope I don’t get lost,” she said, cutting the “Wow!” from her tone.
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I’ll leave you a rope so you can find your way back out. Oh. And a little tip? Watch your language around my mom, or you’ll be stuffing all those strategically placed money jars.”
“Thanks, Sparky. I’ll keep it in mind.” Now all she wanted was for him to get out so she could explore her new digs alone. As if he’d read her mind, he excused himself and left.