A Secret for a Secret Page 9

  When we get up to the room, I do what I always do: unzip my suitcase and find my portable steamer. When I turn around to retrieve the hangers from the closet, Bishop is standing in front of it with his arms crossed.

  “Can I get in there?”

  “Not until you spill it. What the hell is going on with you and Queenie?”

  I open my mouth to speak, and he raises a hand. “And do not say, ‘Nothing.’ We’ve known each other for years, and I have never seen you tail a woman like you do her. Even Stevie has noticed, and she usually couldn’t give less of a shit about stuff like that.”

  I rub the back of my neck. “Okay, okay. But this has to stay between us.”

  “I’m antisocial as fuck, King. Pretty sure you don’t need to worry about me running my mouth to anyone apart from my cat and maybe Stevie, but she’s a vault.”

  I nod and blow out a breath. “So you remember when I found out that Hanna is actually my biological mom?”

  “Yeah, of course. You were appropriately freaked out, and then you did what you always do: you got over it in five minutes and moved on.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not quite what happened.”

  “Right. You said you went to a bar. There’s no shame in getting drunk once in a while, King. No one is going to hold it against you, except maybe you.” He uncrosses his arms and leans against the wall.

  “I didn’t get drunk by myself.”

  “Also not a crime.”

  “And I brought a woman home with me.”

  “As long as that woman was a coherent and willing participant in whatever you got up to—which I’m assuming she was, because you’re you—that also isn’t something you should beat yourself up about. I’m not getting what this has to do with Queenie.”

  “She’s the woman I brought home. But she left before I woke up the next morning, and I didn’t see her again until the first team meeting of the season.”

  Bishop blinks, and blinks again. “Holy shit. Are you telling me you had a one-night stand with the GM’s daughter?”

  “No. I mean . . . sort of? We agreed that night that we were just going to have fun and forget that our lives were kind of messed up. I would have given her my number, but I didn’t have a chance. And we didn’t have sex. Not really, anyway.”

  “How do you not really have sex? You either do or you don’t, King. There’s no actual in-between.”

  “There was some wet humping.”

  His eyebrows lift. “Wet humping?”

  “Like dry humping but without clothes.” I lace my hands behind my head and pace some more. “I sort of slipped for a second.”

  “Slipped?”

  “In. I slipped inside. But just the head.” This is more sharing than I’ve ever done before. But it’s Bishop. He’s good at keeping his mouth shut, because I’m one of the only people he actually willingly speaks to on a regular basis.

  “Wow. I haven’t played just the tip since high school.”

  “It’s not a joke, Ship. And we weren’t playing just the tip. We were both under the influence and not making the best choices, and we got carried away, but we didn’t have actual sex.”

  “I can’t believe you’re just telling me this now.”

  “It isn’t personal. I don’t talk about this kind of thing.”

  He waves the comment away. “Yeah, yeah. I know, just . . . wow. I can’t believe you’ve been hanging on to that for this long. So what’s going on with you now? Clearly not nothing, since you’ve been spending time with her.”

  “I told her I wanted to date her, but Jake made it clear he doesn’t want her getting involved with the players, so like I said, we’re keeping it platonic.”

  He blows out a breath. “And you think it’s gonna stay that way?”

  “Unless Jake changes his mind, it’ll have to. Besides, he asked me today to keep an eye on her.”

  “Why would he ask you to do that?”

  “Because we’ve been spending time together, and he trusts me, I guess.”

  Bishop snorts. “Looks like that trust is misplaced, huh?”

  I run my hand down my face. “If I’d known who she was, I never would’ve brought her home with me. I don’t even do that in the first place. I’m trying to keep a level head here, but it sure hasn’t been easy.”

  “Because you feel guilty?”

  “Sort of. Yeah. No. I don’t know.”

  “That’s a yes.” Bishop crosses the room and flops down on a chair. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I brought a random woman home with me while we were both under the influence of alcohol. It could’ve gone incredibly wrong.”

  Bishop gives me a look. “King, you’re the most conscientious person I know. Your moral compass is always pointed due north. I’m sure you asked about four hundred thousand times if she was okay with what was happening, and based on how you two can’t seem to stay away from each other, I’m guessing she sure as hell wouldn’t mind if it kept happening.”

  “But it can’t.”

  “But you would like it to.”

  “What I want is irrelevant, since Jake has already laid the rules down.”

  Bishop drops his head back, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “Oh, come the fuck on, King. You’re a problem solver. Solve the fucking problem.”

  I throw my hands up in the air. Annoyed. “The only solution is to stay away from her, and I can’t.”

  Bishop snorts. “Get permission to date her.”

  “But—”

  He holds up a hand. “I know what Jake said, but you’re like the poster boy for freaking wholesome. If there’s anyone he’d be okay with his daughter dating, it’s you.”

  “Not if he knew what happened between us already.” Or all the very wrong things I’d like to do with and to his daughter.

  Bishop smirks. “As long as you don’t confess all your sins to him, I think you’ll be fine, King.”

  “Yeah, right.” That’s easy for him to say. In all the years Jessica and I were together, I never wanted her the way I want Queenie. For a while I wondered if it was in part because Queenie’s supposed to be forbidden or because we have insane chemistry. But no matter how much time I spend with her, I still have to constantly remind myself to stay in check.

  The conversation comes to an abrupt end when my alarm goes off, signaling that we have ice time. It means I’ll have to wait until later to unpack, which I don’t love, but I don’t really have a choice. Queenie doesn’t come to the arena with us. She also isn’t around afterward when we hit the restaurant for dinner.

  When we get back, Bishop heads up to the room so he can call Stevie, and I hang out with some of the other guys on the team so he can have a little privacy. Jake and Alex disappeared together after ice time, and Queenie is still nowhere to be seen.

  I’m usually in bed by ten unless we have a late game, and I always get a solid eight hours of sleep, especially the night before a game, so when I get the all clear from Bishop, I head up to our room.

  As I arrive at our floor, the elevator directly across from me opens, and Queenie steps into the hall. She’s wearing a pair of flip-flops, yoga pants, and a fitted shirt, layered with a zip-up hoodie. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, she’s laden down with several bags, and she’s holding a takeout cup.

  “Hey, I haven’t seen you since we got off the plane.”

  “I had to run some errands.” She tries to brush past me but loses her grip on her key card.

  I bend to pick it up, and when I try to hand it back, I notice that her eyes are red. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”

  And snippy apparently. “Can I help you carry anything to your room? I didn’t realize you were on this floor too.” Although maybe that was planned, since I’m supposed to be watching out for her and all, per my conversation with Jake.

  “I’m fine. I can manage, but thanks.” Her voice cracks at the end, and she drops her head on a long exhale. “Please, Kings
ton. I can’t deal with you right now.”

  “Deal with me? I’m offering to help because you look like you’re carrying more than you can handle,” I say softly, trying to figure out why she’s so intent on brushing me off, especially when it’s clear she’s upset.

  Her eyes fall closed and her chin trembles. “I’m sorry. It’s been a day; don’t take it personally.” Then she turns and heads down the hall, stopping at the door across from mine.

  I tap the key card against the sensor, and when the green light appears, I turn the handle and follow Queenie into her room.

  Despite her having been here for only a handful of hours, it still manages to look like a tornado has been through it, much like her place in Seattle. Her suitcase lies open in the middle of the bed, the contents vomited all over the comforter. I spot the bras right away. Specifically the pink lace one. That I’ve taken off her body.

  She drops the bags she’s holding on the floor and sets the takeout cup on the dresser, keeping her back to me. “Thanks for helping. I know it’s late and you have a big day tomorrow.”

  Her shoulders curl forward and her body shakes like she’s trying and failing to repress emotion. I’ve seen a lot of tears over the years for a variety of reasons: jerk boyfriends, failed tests, the death of a grandparent, and, in my momster’s case, every single important and monumental milestone I’ve ever met. I’m not afraid of tears.

  “Hey.” I rest a palm gently on her shoulder.

  She tries to shrug me off. “Please. You don’t need to see this.”

  “Queenie.” I gently urge her to turn around. When she finally does, I pull her against me and wrap my arms around her, dropping my head so I can breathe her in.

  “What’re you doing?” she mumbles against my chest.

  “Hugging you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it seems like you could use one.”

  Eventually she relaxes against me, and her arms encircle my waist, linking at the small of my back. She shudders through an exhale.

  “What happened today?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “You can talk to me.” I take her chin gently between my thumb and finger and tip her head up. I’ve never seen her this upset—or upset at all, really, apart from the night we first met, and even then she was more cynical than emotional. “Tell me what happened.”

  Tears track down her cheeks, so I brush them away. “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  She turns her head away. “Don’t be nice. Don’t be sweet.”

  “Hey.” This time I’m not as gentle when I tip her head back. “Look at me.”

  Her eyes flutter open and meet mine somewhat reluctantly.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” I ask.

  “Because it makes me wish things were different.” There’s so much vulnerability in both the statement and her eyes that it makes me hesitate, but Queenie is guarded and strong and closed off all at the same time, and the only way to get in is to force my way through the walls she’s built to keep people out.

  “What things? I’m right here. Just let me in. Tell me what’s going on so I can help.”

  She seems despondent, frustrated, afraid. “My mom called.”

  “I take it that’s a bad thing.” I know her mom bailed on her when she was a kid, and that their relationship has never been positive.

  “We don’t speak often.” She bows her head. “She lives in LA. She knows the team is here, and she knows I’m working for my dad. She was trying to find out what hotel we’re staying at so she could drop by, even though I haven’t seen her in years. I told her I was too busy and so is my dad, which she didn’t like.”

  “Did she get angry?”

  Queenie lifts a shoulder. “It’s less about anger than it is about her being vindictive.”

  “How so?”

  Queenie sighs and her eyes drop, her focus on my chest. “She likes to tell me that I’m the reason she and my dad never worked out. That if I wasn’t so needy, he would’ve had the career and the life he deserved, and so would she, but I got in the way.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

  “In her mind it’s true. And maybe in some ways she’s right. I am the reason they’re not together. By the time my mom figured out she was pregnant, it was too late to terminate. She’d wanted to give me up for adoption, but my dad convinced her that they could do it together. She couldn’t handle being a mom, though. I guess she felt trapped, like she was missing out on all the fun of being nineteen, so when it got too real for her, she bailed on both of us.”

  Queenie fidgets with my sleeve, shoulders slumped, eyes still on my chest.

  “It’s just . . . a really toxic relationship, which is why I try to avoid her. But she called from a number I didn’t recognize, and I got sucked into the conversation with her. She gets into my head, and then it’s a big spiral. I should’ve hung up as soon as I realized it was her, but I didn’t, so I went out and bought a crap load of junk food because it’s good fodder for wallowing in doubt and self-loathing.”

  “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

  “This is what happens every time I talk to her. I keep hoping one day it’s going to be different, and it never is. What’s the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?” She blows out a breath and pats me on the chest. “And now you know how much of a mess I really am.”

  “You’re not a mess, Queenie.”

  “I’m my dad’s personal assistant, and I live in his pool house. When he was my age, he was raising a four-year-old on his own.”

  I tuck her hair behind her ear. “That’s like comparing apples to oranges.”

  “I’m surrounded by highly driven, insanely successful people every day. Tell me you wouldn’t feel like an underachiever.”

  “You can’t measure yourself against your father, or any of the guys on the team. I get that it’s hard not to, especially when you have someone who’s supposed to be supportive and encouraging telling you to do the exact opposite. You just have to focus on what’s going to make you happy.”

  “The things that make me happy aren’t exactly lucrative.”

  “Money might make life cushier, but it doesn’t equal happiness, Queenie.”

  “I don’t want to be anyone’s burden.” She bangs her head against my chest a couple of times. “I’m sorry. I’m a downer tonight. This is not something you need to be dealing with, especially when you have the first exhibition game tomorrow.”

  If I were less invested, I would take the out, but I want this woman and all the issues that potentially come with getting involved with the GM’s daughter. I cup her face between my hands. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, Queenie. Then you might have some idea as to how incredible you really are.”

  Our gazes lock and hold. For some reason I’m reminded of a lesson from my eleventh-grade English class, when we studied Shakespeare and the characters talked about humors, and my teacher likened physical chemistry to laser beams shooting out of people’s eyes.

  And the whole thing suddenly makes sense. Because every time Queenie and I connect, it’s like there’s energy passing between us, the kind that keeps drawing us together, making it impossible not to give in to it. Which is exactly what I find myself doing. “There’s a reason I can’t stay away from you, even if it would be easier for both of us.” I dip down and press my lips to hers.

  “It’s probably my mad blow job skills.”

  “That’s just a bonus.” I take advantage of the fact that her mouth is open by stroking inside.

  I’m honestly too tired to keep fighting against the pull, so instead of staying inside the lines we’ve drawn for ourselves, I tromp all over them. Like every other time we’ve had our tongues in each other’s mouths, it escalates quickly.

  “I really tried to keep it platonic.” I kiss along the side of her neck, finding that sensitive spot behind her e
ar and grazing it with my teeth.

  “I know. We were doing okay for a while. The ax throwing was almost a tipping point for me.” She pulls my shirt free from the back of my pants and runs her warm palm up my back.

  “God, I love your hands on me.” I bite her earlobe, then start working my way across the edge of her jaw. “Why was the ax throwing almost a tipping point?”

  Queenie angles her head to the side, giving me more access to her neck. “You looking so proper, throwing an ax like it was your job, wound me up. Your hard-on against my spine. All the touching.”

  I pull back so I can look at her. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No. Definitely don’t stop. And if I’m being one hundred percent honest, I’d also love it if your face lips ended up making out with my vagina lips.”

  I close my eyes, because seeing her expression and hearing those words does nothing to help my self-control. “Wait. I think we need to figure this out first, before we get carried away.”

  Queenie blows out a breath. “Figure what out?”

  “What’s happening between us.”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious. I was sad; you consoled me. We have chemistry and we’re acting on it.”

  “It’s more than that, though.”

  Queenie rolls her eyes. “You must really enjoy blue balls, King. Can’t we be spontaneous and hump on each other without all the psychoanalyzing? Let’s get carried away now, and we can talk after.” She drags her nails along my abs.

  “I want to date you,” I groan.

  This time she’s the one who pulls back. “We’ve already been over this and why that can’t happen right now.”

  “I want to take you out for dinner and go to the movies and hang out with you.”

  “We already do that, apart from the movies. We throw axes instead.”

  “But I don’t get to kiss you good night. Or sleep next to you. I don’t want you to be a secret I have to keep.”

  “I guess you’ll need to convince my dad it’s okay for me to date you, then.” She tugs on the back of my neck. “Let’s finish this conversation after we fool around.”