Chapter 28
At home, nothing had changed, Quinn realized. Oh, his mother had long since converted his bedroom into a purple and gold guest room. (She probably did that the moment he left, he thought bitterly.) And Gaucho, his beloved dog, had long since given way to Gaucho 2.0, one of his pups. But nothing else had changed. His mother still knew how to push all the right buttons.
“Don’t lollygag, Quinn,” she called to him in the shower. “We don’t want to keep your father waiting. Honestly, Tam, I don’t know what he’s doing in there. He’s not prompt like you.”
There were three or four insults in those remarks, Quinn thought as he scrubbed away twenty-two hours of stale airline air. First was that masturbatory inference, Sydney. And then a dig about his supposed tardiness. But most of all,
