Page 13 of Hot Rucking Canadian

“What?” She might’ve snapped that. Then she waved her fork at me. “Are you going to the bars again?”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing. I’ve met some very nice men at thosebars.”

She pursed her lips. “Why don’t you try going to the cultural center? Or you could come to church.”

A discussion we’d had often. “I don’t fit in there, Mama.”

“Things are changing.” She wrinkled her nose.

On this we’d agreed to disagree. I didn’t believe in God or divine intervention.

Mama believed fervently and went to church whenever she could. The community had always taken care of her when she needed help, and she was always happy to give back.

I didn’t feel the same kinship.

“So what are you planning for Thanksgiving? I leave for Toronto the next day.”

“A feast, of course. Your grandmother is asking when you’ll visit her.”

Since my grandmother lived thousands of miles away, the comment caught me off guard. “It’s not a great time right now—”

She waved me off. “It’s never a good time. You’re off over Christmas. I’m working. Book a ticket and go home.”

Homewas somewhere I hadn’t been since I was three.

After the divorce, my mother had returned to Canada to work in a care home. Eventually, her nursing credentials, which she’d earned while living in New Zealand, had been recognized and she’d started working at St. Paul’s.

I was so damn proud of her

We’d only been back to the island, my father’s home, a handful of times. Mostly because of the expense. That, and Mama worked a lot of hours.

I grasped her hand. “I worry about you.”

She patted my hand. “I have fifteen more years, and then I can retire.”

“Mama, you work in the emergency department. Can’t you find somewhere quieter?” On the couple of occasions I’d visited, the place had been organized chaos. Or, that one time, pandemonium.

“You worry too much, and we’re off topic.”

Oh shit.

“When are you going to bring a nice boy home to meet your mama?”

I closed my eyes, trying to blot out the image of the rough Badarse. I tried not to think about how hard he’d made me come. Or how he’d walked out. “I just haven’t met the right man yet. Man, not boy.” She knew I had a thing for older guys. “But assoon as I meet someone who might meet your standards, I’ll bring him around.”

“Harrumph.” She grumped. “You think I have high standards.”

“Youdohave high standards.” I squeezed her hand. “And I love you for it.”

As I drove home, I considered her words. Why couldn’t I meet anice boyand settle down? I wanted all the things Roger had—a wonderful partner, great kids, and true stability.

Nothing like the life Johnnie lived. I adored him, but didn’t want to be like him either.

Which circled me back to Badarse. If I took him at face value, he was just a guy who liked to ride men hard, and then leave them wanting more.

God knew, I wanted more.

More ecstasy.

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