“So, I can ask you any question I want, and you have to be honest?” I clarify.
“You too,” she says.
“Got it.”
“The purple spot…” She thinks for a minute, her perfectly manicured finger tapping on her chin. “You have to explain one of your tattoos.”
“And you have to show it to me,” I add.
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes as she twists the cap off the bottle and pours us each a shot.
“My turn,” I tell her. “If you land on blue, you have to let the other person kiss you.”
Her eyes widen even though she knew this was coming. “Where?”
“Anywhere the kisser decides.”
“Fine.” She huffs, giving in a lot easier than I expected. “And the red?”
I lick my lips and smirk, looking her dead in the eyes. “You have to take off an article of clothing.” I doubt she’s going to agree to this rule, but I have to try. I have a backup rule in mind just in case.
She chokes out a cough mixed with a shocked laugh, then grabs her shot glass, throwing back the liquid and slamming it down onto the table. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask, just to be sure.
“Yep.” She fills her shot glass back up. “I need to use the bathroom before we start.”
While she’s gone, I check my phone for any texts or calls. My mom is in Ireland with my dad for an extended vacation until my cousin’s wedding, which is in December. With me being their only child, she usually calls or texts me on a daily basis. I’m looking down at my phone when I hear Quinn coming back down the stairs. When I glance up, something about her looks different, but I can’t put my finger on it. And that’s when I notice she’s wearing socks. Why is she wearing socks?
And then it hits me. “You fucking cheater!” I bark out a laugh, and she cracks up. “How many articles of clothing did you put on? Ten shirts and twenty pairs of underwear?”
“No!” She cackles, sitting back down. “My toes were cold.” She’s so fucking adorable, I can’t even be mad. She totally played me at my own game.
“You go first,” I tell her. She picks up a card and it’s pink.
“A truth,” she says, moving her gingerbread to pink.
I consider starting off easy—asking her a simple question like what her favorite color is, but with my truths limited, and knowing how guarded Quinn is, I decide not to waste them. There’s one question I’ve been wondering since I met her…
“Where’s Kinsley’s dad?”
Quinn’s eyes widen slightly, and she frowns. “Starting off with a bang, huh?” She laughs softly.
“Go big or go home,” I say to lighten the mood, and it works because the corners of her lips curl into a smile.
“Richard Thompson, Kinsley’s father, is dead.” Fuck… I wasn’t expecting that. She grabs her freshly filled shot and gulps it down.
“Shit, Q, I’m so sorry.” I bring my hand up to her arm and squeeze lightly. “I didn’t know,” I add, feeling like an ass. “How long has he been gone?”
“Since before Kinsley was born. He never even knew I was pregnant,” she says with a shake of her head. “We were married for three years, together for a little over four. He was shot in the back by a druggie who wanted his wallet, when he refused to give it to him.” Jesus, I can’t even fathom how Quinn handled all that, especially while pregnant.
Being as she doesn’t have to tell me anything more, I’m shocked when she continues. “He was getting into his car from dinner.”
A thought hits me that has my stomach roiling. “Were you…were you with him?”
She laughs, but it sounds off. Why the hell is she laughing? “Oh no,” she says with a sad smile. “One of his many mistresses was. I was at home trying to figure out how to tell the man who despised me I was finally pregnant with our child.”
It takes me a second to string all of her words together. Her husband, the man who was supposed to love and protect and be there for her, was out fucking around on her while she was home alone and pregnant. If he weren’t already dead, I would kill him my fucking self. Then another part of what she said hits me.
“What do you mean he despised you?”
She exhales a deep breath. “I can’t believe I just said all that. I’ve never told anyone…not really. Only my family knows the basics. It must be the liquid courage,” she muses, taking another shot. This time I join her.
“Quinn, if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to,” I say, giving her an out.
“I do,” she says slowly. “For some reason, you make it really easy to talk to. But not now… If it’s okay, I’d really like to play some more Candyland.” She smiles softly at me, and my heart speeds up. I’m so fucked when it comes to this woman.