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 hands 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.