A Secret for a Secret Page 20

The door slams shut behind me. I wonder if this is how reluctant MMA fighters feel when they get into the ring with a superior opponent.

Jake crosses the room and retrieves a bottle of scotch from the fridge. He removes the cap and pours himself a glass but doesn’t offer me one. He takes a hefty gulp. Then he stares at the wall for a long time before he finally looks my way. “I asked you to watch out for Queenie.”

“Yes, sir, you did.”

“I trusted you with her welfare.”

“Yes, sir, you did.” I want to scratch my stomach so badly right now.

He takes another massive gulp of his scotch, and I grimace at the memory of that flavor. I really don’t like scotch. “It looks like that trust was misplaced.”

“On the contrary, I don’t believe it was.”

His eyes narrow in suspicion. “I’m not an idiot. I know what the hell was going on. Look at yourself.” He flings a hand out. “You’re a disheveled mess. You know how many times I’ve seen you anything but put together? Never. Until now. I know my daughter, and I am very well aware of the effect she can have on people. It was a mistake to bring her on as my assistant.” He paces the room. “I should’ve known better.”

“With all due respect, I disagree. Queenie is an exceptional woman, and she’s doing a fantastic job as your assistant. Even though this job isn’t something she’s necessarily passionate about, she goes above and beyond at every opportunity. She’s done everything she can to prove that you made the right decision, sir, and she would be devastated if she knew you felt this way.” I glance toward the adjoining door. Music is still playing on the other side, muffled but there.

Jake runs a hand down his face. “That’s not what I meant. I know she’s doing a fantastic job. She’s impulsive and doesn’t always consider the ramifications of her decisions. That’s all—”

“I would like to date her,” I blurt.

Jake’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, what?”

“With your permission, of course.”

“You want to date Queenie?”

“Yes, sir.” I can’t quite figure out his tone or his expression. “I’ve had a chance to spend time with her, and I care about her. I would like her to be my girlfriend. I planned to ask your permission tomorrow, but then this happened.” I motion to my face, which is probably not a great idea, so I jam my hand back in my pants pocket.

“Does she know this? That you want to date her?”

“Yes, sir, she does.”

“And what does Queenie have to say about that?”

“She’s in agreement, if I’m able to convince you to allow it. She was the one who insisted we remain platonic, because she didn’t want to disappoint you. What happened this evening was my fault. I had intended to speak with you first, but—”

He raises a hand to stop me, which is good, because I’m not sure there’s a good way to complete that statement. “You can stop with the ‘sir’ and just call me Jake.”

“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.

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