I let go of Corey’s shirt, more because Queenie is touching me than anything else. Corey and I take a step away from each other. He’s still smirking, but there’s uncertainty lurking there now where there wasn’t before. I pull Queenie into my side and wrap a protective arm around her.

“I think you can probably manage the rest of the tour on your own.” Queenie holds out the folder of paperwork, but Corey just stands there. She sighs, and I have to assume she’s rolling her eyes. Queenie tosses the folder at his feet, and half the papers scatter across the floor. “You should have this back on my desk by tomorrow morning, and before you make me chase you down for it, be aware that they won’t actually let you on the ice if everything isn’t signed.” She pats my hand, which is resting on her shoulder. “Let’s go, King.”

I follow her out of the gym and across the hall, into one of the empty conference rooms. She closes the door behind me and turns the lock.

“Can you tell—”

I don’t have a chance to finish my question because Queenie grabs me by the front of the shirt and yanks my mouth down to hers.

I’m confused and a little stunned as her tongue pushes past my lips. I indulge the kiss for a few sweet strokes of tongue before I gently take her by the shoulders and disengage. “What’re you doing?”

“Kissing you.” She wraps her hand around the back of my neck and tries to reattach her lips to mine.

I cup her face between my palms and plant a single chaste kiss on her very tempting lips. “While I very much enjoy your mouth, I think we need to talk about what happened back there. Particularly the part about you having dated Corey Slater. I feel like I need more information about that since apparently he’s now my teammate, which is another thing we need to discuss.”

Queenie sighs and just sort of . . . wilts, like an unwatered flower.

I drop my hands, and she takes a couple of steps away from me as if she needs the space, which I don’t like, or understand. She addresses the last part first.

“Apparently there was an NDA or something, because my dad didn’t so much as hint at it, so I’m as shocked as you are about him being on the team. And we dated my first year of college, when I was eighteen years old and too stupid to realize he was a huge dickhead. It lasted all of two months.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” She links her hands behind her head and stares up at the ceiling, blinking quickly.

“Why was he in your face like that?”

“Because he’s a bully and a jerk with no personal boundaries.” Her lids flutter closed and two tears slip out of the corners, tracking a path down her cheeks.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. He won’t be a problem for you. I won’t let him.”

“You’ve seen how he is on the ice, though. It’s how he is all the time. Always needling, always belittling people.”

“Is that what he was doing to you?”

She shakes her head and steps into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I just didn’t expect to see him. I mean, I knew eventually he’d be at a game, but I never thought he’d be playing for Seattle.”

“I don’t understand why Jake would bring him to Seattle in the first place,” I say, more to myself than to her.

She pulls away and runs her hand over my chest, smoothing out the wrinkles in my polo. “He didn’t know we dated. Like I said, I was young and stupid, and the relationship was pretty much over before it began. I never expected to be working for my dad. All the more reason to figure out what I want to do with my life so I can stop causing him problems.”

“Hey.” I tuck a finger under her chin and gently tip it up. “You’re not allowed to do that.”

“Be honest?”

“Berate yourself to me. Not everyone has it figured out from the start, Queenie. Sometimes we need to take a few detours before we find the path that’s right for us.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve taken a lot of detours, and I still haven’t stumbled on the right path.”

“Are you sure about that? You crossed my path, and it feels pretty right to me.” I tuck her hair behind her ear and skim her cheek as more tears fall. I don’t understand them the way I want to.

She gives me a tremulous smile. “It’s more like my cyclone crossed your path and you got sucked into it.”

“I love your cyclone.” I dip down and press a soft kiss to her lips. “I want you to stay over at my place again tonight.”

“You have a game tomorrow.”

“I’ll be responsible and make sure we’re in bed at a reasonable time.”

“I don’t want to mess with your game.”

“You won’t. I had the best practice ever today. I was nearly flawless.”

“I have to finish up some paperwork and manage emails still.”

“That’s okay, I can wait.”

“We’ll have to stop at my place to get me a change of clothes.”

“I don’t mind at all.” It’s quite perfect, actually, because tonight I’d like to take her out for dinner, and I’d also like her to bring a few extra outfits to leave at my place.

“Okay. I’ll stay over again.”

I hang around the office until she’s finished with emails and paperwork, partly to make sure she’s really okay the way she says she is, and also because I refuse to leave her alone on the off chance Corey should come back. I want to say something to Jake about Corey, but it’s not my place to interfere, and I feel as though there’s more to this than Queenie’s letting on.

I’m aware pushing her tonight isn’t the best option, though. At least not without softening her up first. She’s too on edge, and storms get out of control when there are too many variables affecting them.

So instead I treat her exactly as she deserves to be: like she’s my queen.

Jake has to stay late—I’m assuming because of the trade, especially with the official season underway, and this will mean shifting around lines and players to accommodate Slater. So when we get to Queenie’s, I follow her into her bedroom and stretch out on her double bed while she packs her overnight bag. I have to bend my knees and rest my feet against the wrought iron frame to make myself fit.

Her room is ultrafeminine, painted a soft, buttery yellow, her quilt a patternless pale green, the accent pillows also pastel.

“You look ridiculous on this bed, FYI.” She tickles the bottom of my foot as she crosses over to the dresser for the third time.

I yank it out of reach and rub the spot.

She pokes at her cheek with her tongue, expression suddenly full of mischief. “Are you ticklish?”

“No. You just surprised me.” It’s a lie, but not a harmful one.

“I don’t believe you.” She tosses a lacy mint-green bra on the comforter. I bet it looks amazing against her tanned skin.

She grabs for my foot again, but my reflexes are far better than hers. I gather both of her wrists in one hand and pull her onto the bed. After stretching her arms up over her head, I roll over on top of her and prop myself up on my forearm. “Is this okay?”

“You on top of me is always okay.” The words vibrate with excitement.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” I brush my lips over hers and pull back. “Are you ticklish?”

Her eyes flare with understanding, throat bobbing thickly. “Not really,” she lies.

“Are you sure about that?” I drag a single finger down the inside of her forearm to her elbow, smiling as goose bumps rise along her skin.

“King,” she half warns, half moans.

I kiss the sensitive spot at the bend in her elbow. “Yes, my queen?” She shivers, and I lift my gaze to hers as I continue to trail my finger along the inside of her bicep until I reach her underarm.

She shrieks and wriggles. So I do it again until she’s begging me to stop the tickle torture while laugh-crying. The mood shifts and I release her hands, but instead of grabbing on to my hair or curling her fingers around the nape of my neck, she stays exactly as she is, panting, eyes suddenly soft.

“Why do you want to be with me?” She hooks her fingers around one of the decorative wrought iron curls behind her head.

“Because you’re you. What other reason would there be?”

She smiles, but sadness shifts behind her eyes, and I want to understand what’s put that emotion there. Today hasn’t been easy for her, and I have a feeling her past with Corey is more complicated than she’s letting on. Instead of asking questions, I kiss her. Our tongues tangle, and still her fingers stay curled around the bedframe.

It isn’t until I whisper in her ear that I want to feel her touch that she finally lets go. We undress each other between kisses and caresses. This time when I enter her, I don’t lose control. I show her without words that she’s worth whatever trouble she seems to think she’s going to bring my way. I’d rather have her chaos than stay stuck in the calm, where everything is lackluster.