A Secret for a Secret Page 11

  “Of course, Jake. I apologize.”

  “I wish this whole nice-guy thing you have going on was a load of bullshit.”

  “I’m sorry?” I don’t understand why he would want his daughter to date someone who wasn’t good to her or nice.

  “It would be easier to trade your ass for this if I didn’t like you, Kingston.” He sighs and rubs his chin. “You realize she’s a handful.” I don’t think he means it in a negative way—more of a warning not to get involved on a whim.

  “Nothing I can’t handle, sir . . . I mean Jake. And I happen to like that about her.”

  He gives me the side-eye. “Yeah, your face tells me that.”

  This conversation would be a lot easier if I weren’t covered in hives. “That’s not how I meant it—”

  He waves the comment away with a roll of his eyes. “You don’t need to explain yourself.” He drains the rest of his glass. “You have my permission to date Queenie.”

  “I do?” I’m surprised, considering the state I’m in and how unimpressed Jake is with me at the moment.

  “Yeah. I’m not sure there’s a point in saying no anyway.” He runs a hand through his hair. “If there was anyone on the team I’d be okay with Queenie dating, it’s you.”

  “Thank you, Jake. I promise to treat her with the care and respect she deserves.”

  He pins me with a hard look. “You do not share a room when we’re at away games.”

  “Of course not.” Especially if her room adjoins his. I appreciate that Queenie is expressive in bed, and I would prefer not to stifle that.

  “And this shit better not happen again.” He motions to my face.

  “I understand. I’m sorry. It was purely by accident. I haven’t had an allergic reaction in a long time.”

  He heaves a sigh. “It’s late. You have an early morning.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for understanding.” I head for the door.

  “Go to bed, King. And stay out of my daughter’s tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  He holds up a hand. “Remember that when she’s trying to persuade you otherwise.”

  “I told you, sir, I can hold my own.”

  “That’s what you think. Now get out of here and get some sleep.”

  I leave Jake’s room and cross the hall to mine and Bishop’s. I’m not looking forward to explaining this whole situation to him, mostly because I expect that he’ll derive an unprecedented amount of joy from the awkwardness.

  I have my key card in my hand when the door across the hall opens and Queenie pokes her head out. “Psst.”

  I glance at her father’s closed door and whisper, “Hey.”

  “What was that about?” She tips her head in the direction of her dad’s door, which is when it opens and Jake appears.

  “Don’t make me tape your doors closed like I did when I chaperoned that high school trip to Washington.”

  “Oh my God, Dad. I’m checking to see if King is okay.”

  “King is fine.”

  “I’m fine.” Jake and I echo each other.

  “Can we have a minute, please?” She gives Jake a look.

  I stay silent because I don’t want to rock the boat.

  He sighs. “One minute. King needs his rest, and I need to not have a fucking heart attack tonight.” He disappears back into his room, the door closing heavily behind him.

  Keeping her door propped open with her foot, Queenie steps out into the hall, grabs the front of my shirt, and yanks me toward her room.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “This isn’t high school. We’re not talking in the hall.” She pulls me into her room and closes the door. “Your face looks a little better.”

  “The medic gave me a shot of antihistamine. It should be mostly gone tomorrow.”

  “Okay. That’s good. What happened in there?” She inclines her head toward the wall abutting her dad’s room.

  “I asked for permission to date you.”

  “You did?” She seems surprised. “What did he say?”

  “He wasn’t happy about the situation he found us in, but he seems okay with it.”

  “That’s because he thinks you’re a squeaky clean Boy Scout.” She smiles coyly. “He doesn’t realize that you like to destroy panties and tongue fuck my pussy.”

  “Shh! What if he’s listening?”

  “He should know better.” She runs a hand down my chest. “How’s everything south of the navel?”

  “I have cream I need to put on all the affected areas after I shower.”

  She cups me through my pants. “Too bad I can’t help with that.”

  “Queenie, please.” I cover her hand with mine.

  “Is it uncomfortable?”

  I nod. My intention is to remove her hand and gently remind her that it isn’t a good time to be touching me like this, but she rubs over the ridge with her thumb, and it’s both soothing and stimulating.

  “You’re sharing a room with Bishop, right?”

  “I am.”

  “You could shower and sneak back over here after, then I could take care of putting the cream on all the affected areas.”

  We both jump at the sound of a fist pounding on the adjoining door. “Your minute is up!” Jake shouts from the other side.

  Queenie rolls her eyes and opens her mouth. I know she’s going to give him sass, because she’s Queenie and she can’t help herself, so I clamp my hand over her mouth before she can say something that will cause us more problems. “I’m on my way out.”

  Queenie narrows her eyes at me, clearly unimpressed, and bites my palm. I drop it. “We’re not fifteen years old. We’re adults.”

  “I have a game tomorrow, and he’s your father. It doesn’t matter how much he likes me, or if he thinks I’m a Boy Scout; he also knows I was alone in here with you and that things he’d rather not know about were happening. I also promised him I would stay out of your room at night.”

  “You what?”

  “We can talk more about it tomorrow. I’m not really in a position to bargain.” I motion to my face. “Have you brushed your teeth since I left?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Did you drink any more of that milkshake?”

  “No, I threw it out.”

  “Good.” I wrap one arm around her waist and bend to kiss her. My plan is to keep it chaste, because my lips are still swollen and half my face is covered in welts, but she sucks my bottom lip and strokes inside with her tongue.

  “You still taste like me,” she murmurs.

  “I need to leave.” I disengage from the kiss, aware that if I don’t go, Jake may actually castrate me, or have me traded, or decide I’m not allowed to date Queenie.

  She doesn’t put up a fight as I fumble for the door and extricate myself from her hold on me. “See you tomorrow, King,” she says loudly, likely for her dad’s benefit.

  I blow out a breath once her door closes, leaving me in the hall, alone. I slide my wallet out of my back pocket, find my key card, and hold it over the sensor, waiting until I get the green light before I turn the handle and put yet another barrier between me and Queenie. My phone is already buzzing with messages, and I can guarantee they’re from her. There is no way I’m sneaking over there after I shower. That’s a surefire way to screw things right up. Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea to engage in any activities that might lead to friction below the waist. It could aggravate the hives.

  Bishop is lying on the double bed closest to the bathroom, flipping channels. “Dude, where the fuck have you been? I was ready to send out a search party.” He glances up from the TV, and his eyes go wide. “And what the hell happened to your face?”

  “I was with the medic. I had an allergic reaction.”

  “Jesus. Are you okay? What the hell did you react to? You look like plastic surgery gone wrong.”

  “Strawberries, and I’m okay. Just itchy and uncomfortable.”

  “You’re so careful about t
hat. How in the world did that even happen?”

  “It’s a long story. I need to shower. I’ll be out in a bit.” I cross the room and lock myself in the bathroom. I hope if I take long enough, he’ll pass out and I won’t have to answer any questions.

  I turn on the shower, pull my shirt over my head, and then fold it neatly, setting it on the vanity. I caught a glimpse of myself in the elevator and in the mirror in Bill’s room, but I haven’t seen my face up close. I’ve definitely seen better days, and my chest and nipples and stomach are covered in a series of very telling red welts.

  I unzip my pants and cringe when I get a look at the damage down there. My penis is an angry red color and is mottled with hives. It’s definitely not pretty. I strip out of the rest of my clothes and get in the shower, adjusting the temperature so it’s not too hot and doesn’t make the situation worse. I’m extra careful and gentle as I wash my face, neck, chest, and junk with mild soap, and no facecloth because it’s too abrasive.

  Once I’m sure I’ve removed all traces of Queenie’s saliva, I pat myself dry and realize in my haste to escape Bishop’s questions, I didn’t bring anything with me to change into. I consider, briefly, putting my dirty clothes back on, but it might exacerbate the allergy issue, so I decide against it. I slather the cream all over the affected areas and wait a few minutes for it to soak in before I leave the bathroom.

  I wrap a towel around my waist and cross my fingers that Bishop has passed out. Obviously, luck is not on my side tonight, because he’s still very much awake and alert when I open the bathroom door.

  His brows pull together. “What the fuck? Did you do a penguin slide through a field of strawberries? How the hell does that happen? How far down does that go?” He motions to my chest, his eyes narrowing as he follows the trail to where it’s cut off by my towel.

  “It’s complicated.” Logistically I can’t keep this from Bishop, but I also don’t want to provide details, because that would be unfair to Queenie. I toss my phone on the bed as I cross over to the closet. My dirty clothes go into a plastic bag, so they don’t contaminate anything else, before I pull a T-shirt from a hanger.

  “Calculus is complicated. How you ended up with a rash like this must have a pretty simple explanation.” He pokes at his cheek with his tongue.

  “I ran into Queenie.”

  Bishop bolts up in bed. “Hold the fuck on. Were you messing around with Queenie?”

  “You know I’m not comfortable sharing those kinds of details.” Just because I shared more than I meant to earlier doesn’t mean I’m going to do it again. I move to the dresser and retrieve a pair of boxer shorts. I feel like loose is probably better, and hopefully the combination of the antihistamine and the cream will calm things down below the waist; otherwise, wearing a cup tomorrow is going to be incredibly uncomfortable.

  “Dude, Jake is going to shit his fucking pants if he finds out about this.”

  “He already knows.”

  Bishop’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head. “He knows his daughter blew you?”

  “Wait, what? No. He knows we’re dating.” I shake my head. “I mean, I asked him for permission to date her, like you said. He has no idea about . . . what happened. Well, I mean, I guess he knows we were kissing, but nothing beyond that. How do you know that she . . .” I motion below my waist.

  Bishop rolls his eyes. “King, bro, come the fuck on. There’s a very clear trail from your mouth all the way down. It doesn’t take a genius to know someone got on her knees for you. Obviously Jake didn’t see how far it goes.”

  “No. Just my face.”

  “Well, keep it that way if you want your dick to stay attached to your body.”

  CHAPTER 13

  EVERYTHING IS ALMOST PERFECT

  Queenie

  The next morning I’m up early, aware after last night that I need to be on the ball. My dad definitely doesn’t seem as upset as he could be, possibly because Kingston presents himself as an absolute golden boy, which is true, apart from when he’s naked and looking to exchange orgasms.

  Sadly, Kingston did not sneak across to my room to let me help him with the cream situation. Which is probably for the best, since my dad is a light sleeper. Also, getting Kingston all worked up when his penis is covered in hives isn’t very nice.

  The morning is busy for the team, so I don’t see Kingston apart from in passing. I’m not 100 percent on protocol in this situation, so I figure it’s best to let him take the lead. Which is exactly what he does, just before they hit the locker room to change for the exhibition game.

  I’m standing beside my dad, looking over the schedule for the next week, when I breathe in the familiar scent of my boyfriend. I glance up to find him standing a few feet away, looking nervous, cheeks pink, face mostly back to normal. His lips have returned to their full, plush state but not like he got in a fight with a plastic surgeon.

  He hooks his thumbs in his pockets. “Hi, Jake. Hi, Queenie.”

  “You looked good out there during practice. You game ready?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He turns his attention to me. It looks like he’s chewing the inside of his lip. “Um . . . will I see you after the game?”

  “Yeah, I don’t really have anywhere to go other than my hotel room or the pool.” Could this be any more awkward, with my father standing next to us, watching us do some approximation of the dating ritual?

  I glance at my dad, hoping he’ll take the hint and give us a few seconds of privacy or whatever, but he just stands there, either oblivious or totally aware that he’s making this whole thing a million times more uncomfortable than it needs to be.

  “Great. Okay. I’ll find you after the game.” Kingston nods several times in a row until it looks like he’s imitating a bobble head.

  “Sure. Good luck on the ice.”

  “Thanks.” He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. When he steps back, his face is on fire. “You look lovely, by the way.” He nods to my dad and then rushes to catch up with the last of the guys heading for the locker room.

  “Thanks for making that super awkward, Jake.”

  He arches a brow. “Now you know how I felt last night.”

  “Touché.” Not much else I can say to that.

  By the end of the first period, Seattle is up 2–0. Kingston skates over to the bench and pulls his helmet off. He’s a big guy at the best of times, but add all the gear and he’s mammoth. He’s also sweaty, which should be disgusting, but for some reason I find the fact that his hair is soaked and messy kind of hot. Maybe because I’m aware it’s related to his incredible stamina.

  “Nice work out there in net,” my dad praises.

  “Thanks. Defense is working hard to make my job easy.” He lifts the bottom of his jersey, using it to wipe away the sweat dripping down his face.

  On any other day this would be totally fine. But it exposes a strip of bare stomach and with it the residual rash, leading the eye down to where it disappears into his uniform. My dad glances at his stomach, his lips turning down in a frown. I want to tell Kingston to drop his shirt, but I can’t. Bishop, however, smacks him in the arm. King gives him a What the heck? look. There’s a lot of eye widening and silent conversation happening.

  My dad’s expression says everything words can’t. It’s obvious where that trail leads and what was going on in my room last night. He mutters something about going to prison for murder, turns around, and walks away.

  Later, when we’re leaving the arena with the team for a postgame dinner—Seattle won 5–1—my dad falls into step beside me and mutters, “We’re setting some ground rules, FYI.”

  I side-eye him. “I’m twenty-four.”

  “I’m aware. I’m also aware that as nice as Kingston is, he’s male with hormones, and you’re female with hormones. He needs to be rested for games, and you need to keep in mind that when we’re away with the team, you’re a member of the staff and you need to conduct yourself in a professional man
ner.”

  “We’re not going to make out in public.”

  “I know that.” He rubs the space between his eyes. “I’m just saying, you can’t keep my goaltender up all hours of the night.”

  I bite my tongue and look away, because I’m finally clued in to what he’s trying to say without saying it outright. “Right. Got it. So no sleepover parties when we’re traveling with the team.” I pat his arm. “Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t give you a reason to murder him.”

  “Thanks. He’s kind of important to the team.”

  I expect there to be more of a reaction from his teammates to Kingston and me dating. The only real difference is that any of the guys who used to be flirty no longer are.

  Another interesting thing I’ve learned about Kingston is that he’s not the kind of guy who, once given the green light, jumps right on the sexy times. In fact, ever since he had that conversation with my dad about dating me, he’s slowed things right the hell down.

  So far we’ve been on four dates: he’s taken me out twice for dinner and once to the movies, and once we went on a double date with Stevie and Bishop. We went ax throwing again. Stevie is a lot of fun to hang out with, and she has killer aim.

  Unfortunately, despite all the dates and the drives home, there haven’t been any sleepovers. Or anything beyond second base. No blow jobs, no invitations to sit on his face, not even a hand down my pants. Even the nipple contact has been sort of accidental and just a muted brush of thumb over several layers of fabric and padded bra.

  It’s kind of sweet. It’s also really fucking annoying.

  “Any plans tonight?” my dad asks as he puts the car in gear and heads home.

  “Kingston wants to take me out for dinner.” I feel a little guilty that my dad’s been on his own for dinners a lot more lately. “I pulled a casserole out of the freezer for you, or you can have leftovers from last night.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. I can handle making my own dinner.”

  “Yeah, but you’ll order takeout, or make something unhealthy. This way I know you’re not clogging your arteries when I’m not here to monitor you.”