“I agree with Quinn.” Alex said this without turning from his computer. By computer, I mean a wall of monitors and shit that buzzed.
I caught myself before rolling my eyes. “You always agree with Quinn, Chachi.”
Alex pivoted completely around in his chair and glared at me. I tried to glare back but I swear, the kid’s glare was unnerving as hell.
“Don’t call me Chachi.”
“Fine. Fuck you. I’ll call you Joanie.”
His unnerving glare intensified and my phone buzzed. Pulling it from my pocket, I checked the screen, and then did a double take, growing sick to my stomach.
Mom: I assume you’re dead since you can’t be bothered to call your mother on her birthday. Tell Quinn we’ll send flowers to the funeral home since we don’t know where to make a donation in your name. I hope your mourners aren’t allergic to calla lilies. Love, Your Mother, who gave birth to you after 42 hours of labor.
Mom: Call me. If you can spare the time.
“Who’s that? What’s wrong?” The kid sounded like he was on high alert.
I closed my eyes, muttering under my breath, “Fuck a fucking duck.”
After a moment of inspecting me, Quinn said, “It’s his mom.”
I opened my eyes. Quinn was wearing his little shit-eating grin. It was so little; someone who hadn’t grown up with him would need a magnifying glass and some really good light to spot it. But I’d known him since either of us could remember.
“Oh.” Alex turned back to his wall of buzzing shit without another word.
Quinn stepped closer to me and lowered his voice. “You didn’t call her?”
“No, I didn’t fucking call her.” This was a disaster. I was dead. She was going to murder me with guilt. Speaking of which, my neck itched.
His freaky blue eyes moved over me. “I called my mom this morning.”
“I know.” The shithead.
Quinn’s mother and my mother shared a birthday. That meant we always reminded each other to call our mothers every year on their birthdays. Even though a few years back Quinn went through a period of time where he didn’t call his mom at all—because they weren’t talking to each other—he’d still remind me.
“I reminded you this morning. I reminded you during lunch. Janie said she sent you a text.”
“I know that too, fuckface.”
Janie was Quinn’s wife and currently hugely pregnant with their first kid. She was also on bed rest for some kind of medical something, which made Quinn crazy. Quinn had been taking this crazy out on me. Additionally, I’d been doing all his travel plus mine, which meant I usually didn’t know if I was coming or going.
Meanwhile, he’d been spending more time with his hot wife, probably also driving her crazy.
I’d planned to call my mother this afternoon while checking in with the team at the Fairbanks building, but then Kat Tanner had shown up. Basically, I’d had difficulty concentrating on much after that.
Kat Tanner was . . . fuck. I didn’t even know how to describe her.
She was that girl—that idealized, wicked smart, wicked nice, wicked hot girl—you knew all your life, from pre-school to high school. At first she had you convinced that she had no fucking clue how fucking amazing she is. She was humble, kind, salt of the earth, good people. You watched her with her friends and thought, fuck, she’s a goddamn diamond. Even her laugh sounded amazing.
Let me explain. I’d never had what some people call “a type.” I loved all women. I loved looking at them. I loved talking to them. I loved them talking to me. Didn’t matter young, old, tall, short, chunky, thin, red, brown, blue, gray, I have a steadfast admiration for females.
That might be because my mom was a super lady, basically raised all us kids on her own while my dad wasn't around much. A career navy guy, he was deployed more than he was home, but that’s not why he wasn’t around.
My love of women might also be because my sisters were angels, whereas my brother was a worthless piece of shit. Sure, my sisters had their dramas, but those dramas were mostly caused by undeserving men who mistreated them.
Whatever. Women were fucking amazing, I loved them all, and I'd dated all kinds.
But I'd never felt the shitty feeling in my chest until I met Kat Tanner. Like I couldn't draw a full breath when she was around. Actually, scratch that. I couldn't draw a full breath sometimes when I simply thought about her.
Why her, I didn't know. Could be her pheromones did strange stuff to my pheromones, messed up my endocrine flow, or Chi. Whatever.
Could be, I just really liked the way she looked, her dark thick hair, her big brown eyes, how her lips were the exact shade of the roses in my grandma’s garden, her skin’s olive tint, the way she walked, the curve of her ass, how she looked down and always sounded a little guilty when she laughed. Whatever. It was everything.