“I’m on a date with Rooster, yeah,” Trent agreed. “A real date?” Her eyes narrowed, glaring him down as he shrugged. “Not the kind where you fuck him and forget him two seconds later.” “Jesus Christ, Mama. What else would it be?” Trent’s lips thinned. “It’s about time.” She sighed. “Been wondering when you’d finally get your head out of your ass.” Did she often talk to him like that? That’d make any man nuttier than a squirrel turd. Poor Trent.
