Strong, Silent Type by Lorelei James

tangled with hers and their bodies pressed together.
    “Does my ‘night with a stranger’ fantasy include breakfast?”
    “Sure, if you don’t mind blueberry Pop-Tarts, ’cause that’s about all I’ve got.”
    “Yuck.”
    “After we shower and get dressed up at the house, I could cook us up eggs and toast. I think there’s deer sausage left in the deep freeze.”
    “Are you offering to wash my back?”
    “And your front.” Quinn’s hands slid up to cup her breasts. “And every place in between.”
    He started biting her neck and she squealed, so they only heard the last couple rings of his cell phone.
    “Thought I left that damn thing in the truck,” Quinn muttered. He climbed over Libby and snatched the phone from the tiny table where it’d started ringing again.
    “Hello? Hey, Ma. Nah. Because I didn’t feel like goin’ to church, that’s why.”
    Libby withheld a groan. As much as she liked Quinn’s mother, Violet McKay had a tendency to forget Quinn wasn’t a teenager but a grown man. Since she and Quinn had been together since their teen years, she treated Libby the same way.
    Quinn said, “Nope, Ben’s takin’ care of it this weekend. Because Libby and me are spendin’ time together. What’s that? I didn’t tell you because it ain’t your concern.” He sighed. “Sorry.”
    Ooh, pissing off Mama McKay? That was a first. Libby heard the woman’s rapid fire reprimand on the other end of the phone from five feet away.
    “I don’t know. We’re workin’ on it.” Pause. “I don’t give a damn what Vaudette Dickens told you. It ain’t none of her concern neither.”
    Good Lord. Vaudette had been a busy bee; it was only nine-thirty in the morning.

    Strong Silent Type
    “Ma. Ma! Look, I know you think you mean well… Butt out. This is between me and my wife.”
    Pause. The floorboards squeaked as Quinn paced. “Jesus. Please tell me you didn’t take it upon yourself to ask her that.” Pause. “Because it ain’t none of your goddamn business. I don’t care if it’s the Lord’s Day; you had no right. No right.” Pause. “Fine. Put him on the damn phone.”
    Libby’s stomach cartwheeled. She’d never heard Quinn speak to his mother so harshly. Never. She crawled out of bed and laid her cheek between his shoulder blades, wrapping her arms around him. His body shook, not from cold but with fury.
    “Dad? No, you listen. I don’t give a good goddamn if she claims she meant no harm.” Pause. “Huh-uh. This is your first and only warning. Back off. Both of you.” Quinn clicked the phone shut and threw it on the floor.
    His breathing was rapid and shallow. His body both hot and cold. He didn’t say anything or move to dislodge her arms, so Libby clutched him tightly, hoping it might calm him down.
    “I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know. What kinda husband does that make me? Dammit, how could I not have seen it?”
    Libby stepped back. “What was that phone call about?”
    “My mother chewed me out for not bein’ in church. She demanded to know why Vaudette Dickens found out we were back together and why I hadn’t bothered to tell her first. She expected me to deny the rumor we were acting ‘obscene’ in public last night. Then she asked if we were done bein’ separated and when she could expect grandkids, ’cause she’d been waitin’ a long time and she was tired of nagging you about quittin’ your job and us startin’ a family.”
    He spun around. His eyes were black with rage and his lips were drawn into a thin white line. “I didn’t know she’d been hounding you about grandkids because she ain’t said a single word to me. Not one word. Ever.” His eyes frantically searched hers. “She makes a big deal about it to you, doesn’t she?”
    Libby nodded.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “She’s your mother.”
    “So?”
    “So, if I would’ve said, ‘Quinn, your mama’s been demanding answers on why I’m not pregnant yet’, we both know