A Secret for a Secret Read online

  I guess being friends is better than nothing. For now.

  CHAPTER 9

  TERRITORIAL

  Queenie

  I expect Kingston to lose interest when I tell him dating is off the table. So I’m surprised when the exact opposite happens.

  For the third day in a row he pops his head into my office. “You waiting for your dad?”

  I glance at his closed door. “He got a call and he said it might be a while. You offering to be my Uber driver?”

  “I’d be happy to drive you home, but I need to make a stop on the way, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure, I don’t mind.” I send a message to my dad to let him know I’m leaving for the day, pack up my stuff, and fall into step beside Kingston. “How was practice today?”

  “Really good. You know Alex has been testing Rook and Bishop on the same line, like you suggested, and they actually play really well together.” He holds the door open for me, and we cross the parking lot to his car. He parks in the same spot every day, at the far end of the lot.

  “That’s great. I’ll have to make a point of coming to practice later this week.”

  “You should. It’s interesting to watch, and it means some of the guys on the third line are getting more play, which is only going to help our game as a team.”

  “That makes me so happy!” I mean it too. I’m glad I was able to point out something of value to my dad, and that it’s helping the team.

  As usual, Kingston opens the passenger door and holds out his hand to help me up. I could easily manage without the assistance, but I like the contact—probably more than I should. I enjoy spending time with Kingston, even though it’s supposed to be just as friends and most of the time my thoughts are well beyond the platonic zone.

  Once I’m seated, he rounds the hood and takes his spot behind the wheel. Kingston checks the rearview mirror, makes a minor adjustment to the right-side mirror, and tests the blinkers to make sure they’re working.

  By now I’m used to his excessive caution: signaling before he even leaves the parking spot, braking as soon as the light turns yellow (even though he has more than enough time to pass through the intersection before it turns red), driving exactly the speed limit, if not a couple of miles an hour under it. He’s worse than a ninety-year-old, and I kind of love it.

  “So what’s this stop you have to make?” I ask as he makes a left out of the lot instead of a right.

  “You’ll see.” He gives me the Kingston version of a smirk, which is really just a cute, slightly devious smile.

  “Well, that’s kind of cryptic. Am I supposed to guess?”

  “You can go ahead and try if you want.”

  “Are we going to the SPCA to pet cute puppies that need a home?”

  “No, but I could arrange that if it’s something you’d want to do. I actually had an endorsement for the SPCA last year, and I try to go once a month to their adoption days: sign autographs and that kind of thing.”

  “Why are you so perfect?” It makes it hard to stick to the whole “we can just be friends” rule when he tells me things like this.

  “I’m not even close to perfect.”

  “I’ve yet to find a flaw that isn’t endearing.” I tap my lip. “Are we going to a seniors’ retirement village, where all the little old ladies will pat your butt and you’ll smile and pretend it’s not happening?”

  “Uh, no, and I seriously doubt little old ladies would do things like that.”

  “If I was a senior and you showed up at my retirement village, I’d totally pat your butt.” I hold up a finger. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

  “You’re actually welcome to pat my butt anytime you want, but I don’t know that it would bode well for the platonic rule.” He winks, and I laugh.

  I’m glad we both seem to be getting over the whole semihookup. Or at least we’re comfortable enough with each other that we can joke about it.

  Ten minutes later he pulls into the parking lot of what looks like a bar, at least at first glance. “What is this place?”

  A smile breaks across Kingston’s face that’s somewhere between excitement and mischief. “You ready to have some fun?” His tongue peeks out and slides over the chip in his front tooth.

  I hold up a hand. “Okay, that right there has to stop.”

  His smile drops and his eyes dart around. “What has to stop?”

  “What you’re doing. Or what you just did. The being all cute and sexy and saying things that can be interpreted with innuendo.”

  He frowns. Even his frowns are sexy. This whole platonic thing is rough. “There wasn’t any innuendo.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I asked if you were ready to have some fun.”

  “You think so?” I adjust my pose and uncross my legs. I run my palms down my dress-pant-covered thighs and part them slightly. Yes, I’m overdoing it, but I’m also proving a point. I drag my tongue along my top lip, then bite the bottom one before I put on my best phone-sex voice. “Are you ready to have some fun, Kingston?”

  He strobe blinks at me a bunch of times. His voice is two full octaves lower than usual. “I didn’t say it like that.”

  “Maybe not, but the impact was the same as if you had. Let’s get out of this car before the pheromones take over.” I open my door and jump out before we make any informed bad choices.

  Kingston is much slower to get out of the car. He makes a covert adjustment in his pants, and his cheeks are red, which makes me feel better about my own hidden response to the in-car flirting.

  Regardless, he holds the door open and ushers me into the bar, but he keeps his fingertips pressed against the dip in my spine. Initially we enter a bar, but beyond that . . .

  “Uh, Kingston, are those people throwing axes?”

  “They sure are.” He settles a palm on my hip and pulls me into his side.

  I don’t understand the sudden touchy-feely business until some bearded hipster dude with a tattoo sleeve approaches us. “Kingston! I’m glad you made it!” His eyes flare just a touch when he notices me. “And you brought a friend, I see.”

  “Ronan, this is Queenie. Queenie, this is Ronan. He runs this place.”

  Ronan laughs. “King and Queenie? That’s epic.”

  “We’re just friends,” I explain.

  Kingston’s fingers flex on my waist. “I’ll take a half pint of the house lager. Queenie, what would you like?”

  “Whoa, wait a second. He’ll have a pint of milk, and I’ll have a root beer.” I poke Kingston in the chest. “Alcohol and ax throwing do not go together.”

  “Just friends, huh?” Ronan snickers. “Stall four is reserved for you. Boot up and you’re good to go.” Ronan saunters off.

  “Ax throwing?”

  “It’s fun.”

  I take his face between my palms and turn his head from side to side. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Boy Scout?”

  Kingston bends down, face inches from mine. “I am your Boy Scout, Queenie. Just because I wear polos and khakis and drink milk instead of beer most of the time doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have fun.”

  “I’m fully aware of your ability to have fun,” I whisper—or moan; I’m not sure which is more likely, all considered.

  Kingston’s gaze darkens, and he strokes a finger gently from my temple to my chin. “Don’t bait me, Queenie. Guilt is not an emotion I enjoy experiencing.” He steps back but then links his pinkie with mine and tugs me toward the ax-throwing stalls.

  I can totally handle myself in this situation. Kingston is just a guy throwing an ax.

  Except he’s not just a guy throwing an ax. He’s the milk-drinking, door-opening, extra-polite Boy Scout friend who is all of a sudden grabbing pairs of steel-toed boots. “What size are your feet?” he asks.

  “Five.” It comes out all breathy.

  He glances down and nudges my toe with his. “Really? Wow, you have tiny feet.”

  He han
ds me a pair of hot-pink boots, and I drop down on the bench.

  Instead of sitting down beside me, Kingston pulls up one of the short stools and positions himself in front of me. And then he proceeds to remove my heels and tuck my feet into the pair of pink-and-black work boots.

  My lady parts are ridiculously excited about the physical contact. Especially when his long, warm, thick fingers wrap around the back of my calf. It should be completely innocuous, but it feels like it’s not. Because of the look on his face, and the way his touch affects my entire body. I’m lucky that Kingston is such a rule follower and won’t be the one to break the platonic rule.

  I convince myself I need to make it through the next hour, and everything will be fine.

  Until he pulls his polo over his head.

  And hangs it carefully over the bench.

  He’s not shirtless. It’s Kingston. The only time he’s shirtless is when he’s ready to get down and dirty.

  So, so politely dirty.

  Instead he’s wearing a thin white tee. The kind where I can see the outline of his abs, and his tiny little man nipples. Which I’ve touched . . . with more than my fingers. I would like to be able to make sound, well-thought-out decisions right now, but the white shirt, the transparency, and the damn axes make it tough.

  I can’t decide if this is the best thing ever or a form of torture. Or both.

  Because I’ve never thrown an ax before, Kingston gives me a lesson. I’d like to say I listen raptly to what he’s saying, but that would be untrue. Mostly I keep trying to swallow down the drool pooling in my mouth, which is probably matched by another part of my body that’s making my panties damp with excitement.

  The muscles in his back and arms flex as he takes aim and then releases the ax, hitting the bull’s-eye on the first try. He wears the sexiest, most self-satisfied grin as he saunters over to our table, takes a swig of milk, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Your turn.” He hands me a much lighter and smaller ax.

  I try to mimic his stance, but my lack of attention to detail must show.

  “Hold on. Let me help.” He moves in to stand behind me and nudges my feet farther apart with the toe of his boot. The entire front of his body presses against the back of mine, and his arms encircle me. “Keep your arms straight and bend at the elbow.” I follow his instructions as he makes minute adjustments to my stance, shifting my hips so I’m facing the target straight on. “That’s it, good girl. Bend your knees a little.”

  I do, which means my butt pushes against him, and we both still.

  “Kingston?” It comes out way breathy.

  “Yes?”

  “I can feel you poking me in the back. It’s not very platonic of you.”

  He chuckles. “Some parts of me are less considerate than others.”

  “I have a deep appreciation for your inconsiderate parts.” And now it sounds like I’m on the verge of an orgasm.

  Kingston exhales a long, slow breath, squeezes my hip, and steps back, severing the connection. My first attempt is crap, and I barely hit the board, but my next shot is better. We alternate back and forth, and the touchiness ramps up to nearly intolerable levels.

  Kingston is in the middle of a throw when his phone starts ringing from the back pocket of his khakis. “That’s momster. Can you answer it for me, please?”

  “Uh, sure?” I slip my fingers into his back pocket, aware I’m semitouching his butt. It’s a video call, which I’m unprepared for, but I answer it anyway. “Hey! Hi, Hanna! Kingston’s in the middle of throwing an ax, so he asked me to answer for him.”

  Her eyebrows pull down and bounce up. “Throwing an—oh! Ax throwing? You must be Queenie.”

  “Um, yeah. I am.” She seems unfazed by the activity, and the fact that I answered the phone, but I’m sure my own confusion is obvious.

  She smirks, and I can see the family resemblance in their smile and their eyes. “Ryan may have mentioned you before.”

  “Is that so?”

  A loud thud startles me. I glance up to see the ax embedded in the wall rather than the target. “Hey, Hanna, we’re a little busy here right now!” Kingston calls out.

  Hanna ignores him, eyes lighting up. “So King took you ax throwing, huh?”

  “He did. So far he’s beating me, but it’s my first time. He just screwed up a throw pretty bad, though, so I might recover some points.”

  “It was one bad throw.” He appears over my shoulder. “Hey, momster, you mind if I call you back later?”

  Her grin widens. “How cute are the two of you together?”

  Kingston plucks the phone from my hand. “Bye, Hanna.”

  “I love you, Ry-Ry.”

  Kingston closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I love you too, momster. Bye.” He cracks a lid, his eyeball focused on me.

  “Ry-Ry?”

  “She’s the only person who calls me that, and she only does it to get under my skin.”

  “I think it’s sweet that you have that kind of relationship with her.”

  “We’ve always been tight.”

  “That’s quite obvious.” I’m almost jealous of his relationship with his sister-mom. I don’t have any siblings, or a mom I’d even want to be that close with, especially since all she’s ever done is make me feel like I’m not good enough. “I can’t believe you told her about me.”

  Kingston shrugs, cheeks still pink. “We’ve been hanging out a lot lately, and I don’t keep much from her.” He picks up my ax and hands it to me.

  I step up to the line on the floor. “How much have you told her?”

  “We’re close but not that close.” Kingston settles his hands on my hips, and I feel his breath on my cheek when he bends down and whispers, “I’d like her to keep believing I’m a Boy Scout, even if you and I know that isn’t always true.”

  CHAPTER 10

  WINS AND LOSSES

  Kingston

  The first exhibition game of the season is in LA, so we’re about to board the team plane.

  “King, can I have a word?” Jake claps me on the shoulder and pulls me aside.

  “Yeah, sure, of course. What’s up?” I motion for Bishop to go on ahead of me and hook my thumbs into my pockets. Jake looks stressed, which in turn makes me stressed.

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Queenie lately.”

  “Yes, sir, as friends, sir.”

  “Yeah, I know. She’s been pretty adamant about that part.” He blows out a breath. “She’s a bit of a restless soul.”

  “We can all be that way.”

  “Mmm.” He nods. “She can also be quite impulsive.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.” Sure, there have been a few times since we’ve started spending time together when the tension between us tested our resolve. But as far as impulsivity, I feel as though it’s been more me than Queenie getting close to the line.

  Jake chews on his bottom lip, as if he’s debating something. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Of course. What can I do?”

  “I’m sure Queenie’s told you she’ll be traveling with the team.”

  “Uh, yes, she’s mentioned that.”

  “Can I ask you to keep an eye on her for me? I don’t want to smother her, and I know she’s an adult, but some of your teammates are smooth talkers . . .” He lets it hang there.

  “I understand, sir.”

  He pats me on the back, his smile holding relief. “Thanks, King. I knew I could count on you to watch out for my baby girl.”

  I would feel so much better about this request if I hadn’t already been naked with his baby girl, but I’m more than happy to keep the rest of my teammates away from her.

  Our brief conversation means Jake and I are last to board the plane.

  Queenie’s at the front of the plane, sitting in the aisle seat, laptop open and typing away. In the row beside her are Alex and Rook, who are deep in conversation. Queenie glances up from her laptop as we boa
rd and gives me a small smile, then moves the messenger bag from the seat beside her. I recognize it as Jake’s. I spot Bishop at the back of the plane, so I make my way down the aisle toward him.

  “You can take the window seat if you want,” I tell Bishop when he makes a move to get out of his seat to let me in.

  He makes a face. “You hate the aisle seat.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ll take the window on the way back.”

  “Suit yourself.” He slides over. We’re on the opposite side of the plane from Queenie, which means I have a pretty decent view when she leans on her armrest.

  Bishop pulls a newspaper out of his bag, and I scroll through the movies. Sort of. I’m half paying attention to the movies and half paying attention to Queenie when I get an elbow in the side. “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Dude. Stop being so obvious.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Bishop leans over so he can see past the seat in front of us. “Really, King?”

  “I’m looking for a movie.” I tap the screen in front of me.

  “No, man, you’re not. Maybe that’s what you want me to think you’re doing, but the only way you could be less conspicuous is if you went up to the front of the plane and sat in her damn lap. Stop staring. It’s borderline creepy.”

  “I’m not staring.”

  “Yeah, man, you are. You’ve been doing it a lot, not to mention driving her home and hanging out with her,” he says quietly. “What the hell is going on between the two of you?”

  “There’s nothing going on. We’re just friends.”

  He gives me a look. “Why are you lying to me?”

  “Can you drop it for now?” I glance to my left, where our teammates are sitting and potentially listening to our conversation.

  He pokes at his cheek with his tongue. “You’re spilling it later. But you need to check yourself, King, before people other than me start to notice, if they haven’t already.”

  “Right. Yeah.” I keep my eyes glued to the screen for the rest of the flight. Mostly.

  Several hours later we arrive at the hotel. Bishop and I always room together, so we wait with the rest of the team for the elevators and head up to our respective floors. I lose track of Queenie along the way, partly because I’m paranoid that Bishop is right, especially since Jake just finished asking me to watch out for her.