Page 72 of Roommate's Guide to Love

“Should I ask how the rest of your day was?”

I pull a bottle of beer out of the fridge before sitting down across the table from Quinn and Grace—who’s now happy as a clam shoveling fistfuls of pasta into her mouth.

That’s number one on the good food list.

“We had a good day,” she says. “I finally finished unpacking. She watched Miss Rachel. And Turtle only knocked down four things today. Wins all around.”

“Turtle did what?”

On cue, Turtle jumps onto the table and sits in front of me, staring into my soul as if I’m going to dare reprimand him for tearing my house up. I didn’t know cats could be so destructive.

“You’re lucky I need your mother. Otherwise you’d be on the streets.”

“How dare you speak to my son like that!” Quinn says, reaching across the table and bringing Turtle into her arms. “He’s just a little boy, and he’s in a new house. He doesn’t know better.”

Now, I know cats don’t really understand English. But I swear, at this moment, that little fucker turns his head to me and tells me through his eyes that he does in fact know better, and he’s going to do it again tomorrow just because he can.

Asshole.

“My apologies,” I say as I take a pull of my beer. “So everything went well besides the peas?”

Quinn nods as she sets Turtle on the floor, only so she can pull Grace out of her highchair. “Yup. And honestly, I can’t even be mad at her for that. I hate peas, too.”

“Really? I don’t mind them. I’ve always thought they got a bad rap.”

“Blah,” Quinn says, which makes Grace giggle. Also I didn’t know that baby laughs were like drugs. Hearing that little sound is addicting. “Nope. I’m with Grace. Team No Peas.”

I sit back and look at Quinn, who’s still making Grace laugh with her little noises and faces as she finishes cleaning off peas, pasta, and who knows what else that is covering that child’s face.

“Why are you staring at me?” Quinn says, though I don’t know how she saw because she’s still making direct eye contact with Grace.

“I didn’t know you hated peas.”

“Why would you? I don’t think I know your least favorite food.”

“I know. It’s just…When you know someone…how we know each other…I guess I thought I knew everything about you. But now that I think about it, I don’t know if I know anything.”

Quinn gives me a raised eyebrow. “You know plenty about me. In fact, you know things about me that no one else does.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I say, figuring she means that I’m the only one who knows that if she wants a quick orgasm, that doggy style is the preferred mode. A smack on the ass also helps. “What’s your favorite color? Do you like pineapple on pizza? Why the fuck did you name your cat Turtle?”

Quinn gives me a soft smile as Grace reaches her arms out for me. I gladly take over the holding duties, wondering how in the matter of such a small time I could go from being scared to hold her to craving baby snuggles.

“You want to know the first date questions.”

“First date questions? I just wanted to know your preferred pizza toppings.”

“Which is a first date question.” Quinn turns to me, her arm resting on the back of the chair casually. When she turns to me, I realize that in Grace’s pea launching, a spot landed right on Quinn’s boob.

Boobs that I’ve done my best not to stare at. But when she’s wearing a white shirt and there’s a green mark right where I know her nipple is, it’s kind of hard.

I do my best to get my brain back on track. Luckily, Grace bounces herself on my knee to be let down, which helps.

“People are asking pizza toppings on first dates?”

“Well, if they meet on dating apps, that’s usually covered then. But yeah, that’s a normal question.”

“Do they also want to know your favorite color and how you take your coffee?”

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