Chapter 10
Let’s Flamingle
Quinn ordered Chinese delivery for Sarah’s first dinner to make it easy on everyone.
She jumped right in, making herself comfortable in the kitchen as she found and laid out plates, napkins, silverware.
She even found chopsticks and opened a few beers.
Like she belonged there. In order to keep his borderline aggravation under control, he reminded himself she was supposed to act like she belonged there.
As she buzzed around the table, she kept commenting on how good everything smelled.
He got the idea it was more for his mom’s benefit than her own because honestly, girl looked like she could stand a few extra pounds.
Nelson had mentioned something about her having a hard time in Seattle, and maybe that was the reason she was on the skinny side.
Wonder what happened? She’d changed from her workout clothes and apparently showered because her hair was still damp.
Tonight’s T-shirt was turquoise, and bright pink flamingos adorned it.
The saying read, “Let’s Flamingle.” Christ. Maybe she owned a T-shirt shop that had gone belly up?
They sat down to eat, and she surprised them when she popped out of her seat. She reminded him of a jumping bean. “Shit! I forgot the soy sauce.”
His mom fixed an amused eye on Sarah Sunshine. “Did Quinn tell you about the swear jar?”
In a cosmic, comical spectacle, Sarah froze and gave Quinn wide eyes. “Told you,” he mouthed at her before settling into a smug smile.
She straightened the hem of her T-shirt and faced his mom. “Um, how much do I owe?”
His mom giggled. Actually giggled. Then waved her off. “Nothing this time.”
“What?” He let his outrage come through. “How come she gets a pass?”
Pointing a chopstick at him, his mother said, “Quinnie. I give you all sorts of passes all day long. You just don’t know it. This is Sarah’s first day, so she gets a pass too.” She gave Sarah a Cheshire-cat grin and bobbed her head as if to punctuate her edict.
Sarah bit her bottom lip. The corners of her mouth tipped up, and her hazel eyes brightened. Shit, that was kinda cute. Wait! Poison ivy is not cute, and neither is Sarah Nelson. He shoveled in a mouthful of food and mumbled PG curses while he chewed.
Dinner conversation was animated, all over the map, and his mother participated fully, to his delight and frustration.
They barely talked at the table when it was just the two of them, with him forever stretching across awkward silences for some commonality, something they were both interested in that would catch a conversation on fire.
Fortunately, he’d been on the road a lot, so it hadn’t been an everyday issue, but when he’d been home, he’d taken to eating in front of the TV to avoid the discomfort. But tonight—this … wasn’t so bad.
As Sarah served her a second helping—how the hell did she get Mom to eat that much?—his mother peered at her. “How do I get pink hair?”
Quinn nearly dropped the beer bottle he’d tipped to his lips.
Sarah clapped her hands, reminding him of a little kid.
More cute behavior that caught him off guard.
Thank God he wasn’t into cute. Hot, dirty, sexy as fuck.
That’s what he was into, and Sarah was none of those.
Not that he’d ever look at her that way anyway.
A picture of a pissed-off brother loomed in his imagination.
“I don’t know if you color your hair,” Sarah spurted, “but I picked up supplies in case.”
His mother’s eyes danced. “How fun! What about the pink? I like what you have.”
Sarah flipped a hank of her own hair and craned her head to inspect it. “The pink’s not holding up as well as I thought. I do have a cool teal we could use on you. Or we can order something off of .”
Quinn watched in stunned fascination as they chitchatted about hair dye and girlie shit.
He never even knew his mom colored her hair.
Didn’t know his mom was into girlie shit.
Why hadn’t that occurred to him before? He couldn’t say taking a trip to Girl Twilight Zone was unpleasant, though. Just weird.
“Are you going to finish your meal?” he asked Sarah when they were finishing up. She’d had maybe half a plate, and her portion hadn’t been big to begin with.
Without looking up, she flapped her hand at him. “No, you can have it.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just thought … Aren’t you hungry?” Aw, crap. Maybe she doesn’t like what I ordered. Except he’d ordered just about everything on the menu. Was she a picky eater? Probably. It would go along with her pain-in-the-ass persona.
She gave him a shrug. “I had plenty. I’ll get the dishes.”
“Um, no.”
He was hyperaware of his mother’s bemused gaze bouncing between them.
Sarah stood and began collecting plates. “I got this. I have to get used to your kitchen anyway.”
“But I didn’t hire you to cook or be a maid.”
“Chillax, Sparky. It’s what I usually do. No special treatment for you.”
“Sparky!” his mother howled. “Oh, that’s priceless!”
Sarah grinned at her in response.
Annoyance spiked, but the phone on the counter vibrated, and he rose to check caller ID.
A split second later, the phone in his pocket went off, and he pulled it out.
Sarah arched an eyebrow at him as he stood there, a phone in each hand, looking from one device to the other.
He chugged into a different part of the house before answering the first phone. The second one he ignored.
“Hey, Nelsy. What’s up?”
“Just wondering if you and my sister had killed each other yet.”
Quinn let out a mirthless laugh. “No, but there’s still plenty of time.”
“Sarah can be a little … intense, but she’s good people.”
Intense. Yeah, Quinn would go with that. It was more PC than any of his descriptions. “So she mentioned you don’t have a way to work out. Why don’t you come over tomorrow and help yourself to the equipment here? This house came with a full gym that’s a fitness nut’s wet dream.”
“Can’t. Team says no mingling. At all. Which is the other reason for my call.”
“Yeah?” Quinn plopped on a formal couch in a formal room he’d never used and tossed a formal pillow into the air. He caught it and tossed it again.
“Heard from anyone on the team?”
Another catch and toss. “You’re the first since our fun times at the press conference. No one else is talking to me.” Yeah, he’d been a dumbass, but cut a guy some slack. “What’s going on?”
Nelson blew out a breath on the other end. Uh-oh. “So one of the trainers is sick, and they’re testing him for COVID-19. On top of that, that dick of a reporter’s whining that he’s sick too, so the team’s paying to test him.”
Quinn let the pillow fall to his feet. “You’re shitting me.”
“Wish I were. It’ll take a few days to get the results. I wanted to give you the heads-up so you can lay low. People are still worked up over the press conference.”
“You’re not, though, are you?” In that moment, Quinn needed to know he and Nelson were okay because neither Shanstrom nor Grimson were talking to him, though he’d tried apologizing by phone, by text. Multiple times. With barely a response, which bothered the shit out of him.
“Nah, we’re good. Don’t get me wrong. That was a really stupid move on your part, but I know where you were coming from. You’re not out to hurt anybody, but a little more impulse control on your part would’ve gone a long way. Feel me?”
“Yeah, I feel you. But shit, I couldn’t have given them the virus.” Could I? Cold needles of ice spiked along Quinn’s shoulders and neck.
“Doesn’t matter right now. Everybody’s on edge. Like I said, I wanted to let you know so you don’t get blindsided.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate you.”
“Oh. And another piece of advice? Don’t be putting moves on my sister unless you want me beating your ass.”
Like Quinn needed the reminder. “Ha! Farthest thing from my mind, dude. Your sister’s safe with me.” Can’t imagine being that desperate. Besides, that little wildcat would scratch my eyes out just for trying to read her latest ridiculous T-shirt.
When they hung up, Quinn sat in the dark, turning over Nelson’s words.
When he’d touched the mics, he’d done it …
Why? Just another jaunt into Quinn World.
Impulsive. And senseless. Wouldn’t be the first time.
No, he never did anything halfway. But damn, he’d never intended for anyone to get sick.
Hell, how could anyone have gotten sick from him when he wasn’t sick?
His second phone was tucked beside him on the couch, signaling he had a voicemail.
Without bothering to listen, he stuffed the phone back in his pocket.
The other phone, his regular phone, he carried in his hand as he padded back into the kitchen.
The soft giggling of women, all high and musical, reached his ears.
He rounded the corner and stopped. The kitchen was completely buffed, as if a tornado had scoured and polished every surface, and on the family room couch sat his mom and Sarah Sunshine.
His mom was stroking Archer’s head, which was planted on her thigh, and Sunshine’s head was down, as though she was looking at something in her lap.
What was obviously a chick flick played on the TV screen—he knew because a trio of hot girls were laughing at some clueless guy.
His mom’s head turned toward him. “Quinnie! Come join us.” He squinted to get a closer look.
She was smiling, and she looked about ten years younger than she had the other night.
Maybe Sarah had colored her hair already?
No, he hadn’t been gone that long. Besides, it looked the same.
But her cheeks were rosier, her face less lined.