Page 67 of Just My Ex

A thrill hits my gut as I think of playing pool with Quinn again, like old times.

“But what about your shoulder?” I ask as she picks up a cue.

“My bum shoulder might give you people a fighting chance.”

“You sure?” I glance at the bandage that’s clearly visible under her tank top.

“You just don’t want to lose in front of your brothers,” she challenges.

I sniff. “Maybe, maybe not. Let’s see what you got.”

It’s so impressive, I don’t care that I get my rear end handed to me on a silver platter by my ex-wife. She beats me at pool so hard and so fast, I barely have time to feel bad about it.

I’m mostly just … proud. And grateful I get to play a game with her.

“Who’s next?” she asks the rest of the family, her brows wagging.

“I’ll go,” Oakley says. “I usually beat Alec.”

“Hey!” he shouts, and then hits the air with his hand and shakes his head. “She’s right. She does.”

But Quinn makes quick work of Oakley, too.

Oliver and Sophie are a team deal, going against Quinn together. They also have their nether regions handed to them.

When she knocks out Alec and then Sebastian, calling the eight ball to the corner pocket and banking it in with ballerina precision, our mouths are hanging open.

“How are you so good?” Sophie asks. “Did you train at an elite billiards college?”

Quinn laughs. “It’s like the one skill I have. I’m an only child, so it was just me and a pool table out in the garage my whole childhood.” She shrugs and then turns to me. “We should go put Navie to bed.”

She did have one thing wrong, though. Pool isn’t the only skill she has. She’s got more skills in her left pinky than most people do in their entire bodies, she just doesn’t know it.

Top of the list? The ability to render me completely helpless.

Helplessly in love with her.

Chapter 27

Quinn

Henry grips the steering wheel, his knuckles nearly white, as we enter the southeast side of Denver, winding our way through the oak-lined streets to his parents’ house.

At first glance, he seems calm. Unaffected.

But I know this man’s tells and his fears. And going to his parents’ house? That’s like asking him to go swimming in a pool of barracudas right after he cuts himself shaving.

He’s drumming his fingers to some unknown beat, and I’m guessing it’s to try to mask the turmoil inside.

Fine. I’ll play this game, too. Whatever helps him in this moment.

“Do you want to play some music for Navie? Maybe something from the eighties. She likes eighties’ pop.”

He blanches. “Seriously?”

“Hey. Whatever entertains her … as long as it doesn’t contain questionable material.”

“Mom and Dad, play songs,” she says from her car seat in the back.

---