An orgasm later, bracketed by two for Queenie, she’s stretched out beside me, long hair cascading over my shoulder and arm, hand splayed out on my chest, leg hooked over mine.

I’m currently wondering how long I have to reasonably wait to tell her how I feel about her. It’s probably too soon. And Queenie seems a little gun shy about feelings, so it’s better to hold off awhile longer. I’d ask Bishop, because he’s my best friend, but he’s also generally clueless about relationships and how to manage them, let alone the emotional component. I can talk to Hanna, though. She always has objective, thoughtful advice.

I look around for a clock, wondering exactly how long we’ve been at it, and I notice the artwork hanging on the wall across from her bed. I’m not sure how I missed it before, other than my attention being fully on Queenie while she sifted through her underwear drawer and made painfully difficult decisions about which pairs she should leave at my house. I obviously gave her some input.

I point to the art. “Who painted that?” I’m fishing. The style alone tells me it has to be her creation.

“It’s something I did in college.” She waves a dismissive hand toward it. “It’s old, and not very good.”

“Untrue. It’s stunning, just like its creator.”

She snorts and pats my chest, then pushes up and tries to roll away.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“We should get dressed if we’re still going out for dinner; otherwise we’ll get guilted into staying here and barbecuing with my dad.” I realize she’s changing the subject on purpose, but she also has a point. I would definitely prefer that he doesn’t come knocking on her door when we’re both naked and lying in her bed. It’s one thing for him to have the inkling that we’re sleeping together; it’s another thing to have it shoved in his face—the rash was bad enough. Maybe even worse.

I clear my throat, because the image of how I ended up with that rash is still stimulating despite the unfortunate effects. “Would you rather stay here?”

“If it was another night, sure, but after today . . . I know he has a pile of questions he probably wants to ask, and I’m not really interested in answering them.”

It sounds like that statement is meant for me just as much as it is for her dad.

“Okay. Let’s get dressed so I can spoil you with food, embarrass you with public displays of affection, and then stay up irresponsibly late making you come.”

“Should I wear panties I don’t mind parting with, then?” She plucks a pair from her dresser and dangles them from her finger. Based on the complete lack of fabric, I’m guessing it’s a thong.

“That was an accident.” I sit up and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.

She turns away from the dresser and drops the scrap of fabric on the wrinkled comforter. Queenie nudges my knees apart with one of her own. She’s still naked and so am I, which means it’s hard to focus on anything but the bare expanse of skin in front of me. I tip my head up so I’m not staring at her nipples.

She bites her lip and runs her fingers through my hair, smoothing it out, running her nail along the part. “You know it’s okay to want someone so much that you can’t wait to get them naked, right? Everything about that night was entirely consensual, including my ruined panties. And they were made out of cheap, flimsy material, so you can stop feeling bad about this insane chemistry we share.”

I trace the contour of her hips, following it to the dip in her waist. “It’s never been like this before. I feel—”

“Hungry all the time. Insatiable.” She trails her fingers down the side of my neck and over my shoulders.

“Exactly.” I could forgo food, stay in bed for days with Queenie, forget every single obligation there is, including my job, if it meant being able to appease my appetite for her.

“It’s nice to be wanted.” She bends, and I think it’s to kiss me, but her lips skim my cheek and brush my ear. “Maybe I’ll skip the panties altogether. Then you don’t have to feel bad and I don’t have to risk losing another pair.”

She snatches up the panties from the comforter and tosses them in her overnight bag. It’s a distraction, a way to end a conversation that makes her feel . . . uncomfortable? Vulnerable, maybe? But I’m not sure that’s it. Not after everything that’s happened today.

Every time I think I’ve made some progress, I run into another wall. But I’m nothing if not patient. I’ll get inside more than just her body. Eventually I’ll work my way inside her fortress of a heart too.

CHAPTER 19

THE EDGE OF THE SWORD

Queenie

I fully expect my dad to stage a massive inquisition about Corey and my previous relationship with him. But for whatever reason, that never happens. Possibly because he’s too busy putting out fires with his new asshole superstar. He and Alex have been in a meeting with Corey’s agent for the past hour and a half, and, based on the number of times I’ve heard raised voices, it’s not going well.

It’s amazing how much one person can change the entire dynamic of the team. Corey is the same entitled, self-indulgent, egotistical jerk he was six years ago. In the short time since he’s come to Seattle, he’s had altercations with several players—on his own team.

Despite Corey’s unpleasant reappearance in my life, and the dissension he creates for the team, things between Kingston and me are amazing. When we’re in Seattle, I spend most nights at his place. I have an overnight bag already in his car for tonight.

Kingston is a big fan of what he calls “little surprises.” Pretty much every time I end up at his house, there’s something new in his closet for me, which now has a rack that’s slowly amassing outfits in my size. He’s even started to fill a drawer with cute pajamas and pretty lacy bra and underwear sets—some expensive and some not. He says it’s so I don’t have to worry about packing an overnight bag all the time, and if I forget something, I’ll have the essentials at his place. It makes logical sense, and I love his thoughtfulness, but sometimes I wonder if I truly deserve all this, him included.

I give my head a shake and focus on work. As I wrap up replying to emails, Violet pops her head in the office. While she’s always a bit of a verbal whirlwind, she’s also generally very put together. Today that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Oh, thank God you’re here. Have you seen Alex? He’s not in his office.”

“He’s been in a meeting for”—I check the time on my computer screen and cringe—“a couple of hours now. I’m not sure when he’s supposed to be done.”

“Is it important? Do you think we can interrupt?” Two little figures appear behind her: Lavender and River. Today they’re not holding hands, though. Instead, River is clutching one of those plastic beach pails to his chest. His little shoulders cave in, and he makes a sound that’s a combination of a groan and a sob before he wretches. Lavender pats him on the back, and Violet turns her head and tries to suppress a gag.

“Oh God, is River okay?”

“I think he has the flu.”

I grab a handful of tissues and round my desk. After leading him over to one of the chairs, I get him to sit down while Lavender clambers into the one beside him. I wipe his clammy face and brush his damp hair away from his forehead.

“Thank you for doing that. I have a hard time with—” She motions toward her face and the bucket River is holding.

“It’s fine. So does my dad. Whenever I was sick as a kid, I had to keep him away from me so he wouldn’t react by tossing his cookies too.”

“I can totally relate to that.” Violet blows out a breath. “I have an appointment with his doctor in half an hour, but I was hoping I could leave Lavender with Alex, because I’d really like to avoid her getting it too. Or being in a doctor’s office with a bunch of other sick people.” Violet pats her daughter on the top of her head but keeps her gaze averted from the contents of the beach pail.

“Lavender can hang out with me until he’s finished his meeting, if that works for you.”

Violet drops down into a crouch so she’s at eye level with Lavender. “Do you think you’d be okay to stay with Queenie for a while? Just until Daddy is out of his meeting?”

Lavender looks from her mom to me and back again, little lips pursed in a line.

“Did you bring your coloring stuff? We could draw together while you wait for your daddy,” I offer.

Lavender considers that for a few seconds before she finally nods.

“Awesome. Looks like you’re good to take River to the doctor and get him all fixed up,” I tell Violet.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

Violet kisses Lavender on the forehead. “I shouldn’t be too long: an hour and a half or so tops. And I’ll call or text with updates so you don’t worry too much,” she tells Lavender.

“What about Robbie and Maverick? Are they here too?”