“All you had to do was read the ingredients.”

“Oh my God, that must have been epic!” I snicker.

Kingston shoots me a look. “I was underage, and they got me blind drunk. Don’t look so gleeful over this.”

I pat his thigh. “I’m just picturing how you’d react, especially as a teenager.”

“He tried to make himself puke, but King hates throwing up, so he started begging me to help him.” Gerald is practically rolling on the floor laughing at this point, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I think Queenie’s heard enough of that story. Luckily I didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

“You had four drinks, and you weighed almost two hundred pounds even back then. You weren’t going to die of alcohol poisoning.”

“I didn’t know that, though. And those four drinks consisted of mostly rum.”

“King made himself puke, and he passed out in one of the lawn chairs. Ended up being bitten by, like, a thousand mosquitos. He looked like he’d come down with the chicken pox.” Gerald turns to Kingston, wiping tears from his eyes. “Remember how you thought you’d fallen in a patch of poison ivy when you woke up?” He slaps his thighs, snorting through his laughter. “He was covered in hives and bug bites and he couldn’t stop scratching himself.”

“No wonder he never wanted to go camping with you again.” Hanna shakes her head, but she’s smiling.

“Maybe we should talk about the time I had to use the find my phone app because you were so messed up you had no idea where you were. Or the time I found you passed out on the front lawn at five in the morning wearing only a pair of women’s underwear,” Kingston fires back at Gerald.

“Those were some of the best nights of my life, even though I don’t remember them at all,” his brother says wistfully.

“Which is why you’re still single.”

“Or maybe it’s because I’m asexual. Thanks for making me out myself in front of your girlfriend and her dad. I’ll bill you for the therapy sessions.” Gerald winks at me. “I’m not asexual. I’m commitment phobic; see the rest of my messed-up family for details.” He motions to his family, lounging around Kingston’s living room, no one apparently scandalized by the stories they’ve shared about each other.

“I’m not messed up,” Kingston says.

“Dude, you drink more milk than infants do, and your entire wardrobe consists of khakis and polos. That’s not normal.”

“Whatever. Someone has to walk the straight and narrow. And I’m the most normal out of the rest of you.” He kisses me on the temple and whispers, “Please don’t break up with me because my family is insane.”

Eventually Kingston has to fire up the barbecue for dinner.

I can practically feel the anxiety seeping out of him every time he walks into the kitchen where his mom, Hanna, Gerald, my dad, and I are helping prep for dinner. Hanna gave my dad the job of cutting buns open for burgers and sausages, and Gerald’s role seems to be playing chicken with cutting board knives, since he’s constantly reaching for cut pickles and cheese.

Based on the stories I’m told, Kingston used to drink a gallon of milk every two days. I’m not sure much has changed.

Hanna decides that dishes are too much work, so she goes in search of paper plates and disposable cutlery, and my dad offers to help. Gerald disappears outside with a beer, leaving me alone with Kingston’s mom.

She wipes her hands on a dishcloth and turns nervously toward me. “I owe you an apology.”

“I know how it must have looked from an outsider’s perspective, and I can fully understand why you would have concerns about Kingston dating someone like me.”

“I appreciate that you’re letting me off the hook here, Queenie, but I’m the one in the wrong, and I should know better than to believe the media.” She tosses the dishcloth on the counter, and I instinctively spread it out over the edge of the sink like Kingston prefers.

“Sissy spins a compelling tale.”

“You’re not wrong about that. It’s still not an excuse for bringing Jessica here and creating problems where there didn’t need to be any. Or for making you feel judged. Lord knows I’ve let other people’s perceived judgment cloud my own vision more than enough times over the years. Ryan has always been the perfect child, and when he found out about Hanna being his mother . . . well, he was rightfully upset. More upset than I’d ever seen him before. I didn’t want my role in his life to change, so I tried to control the situation, because that’s what I’ve always done. But I see now how very wrong I was.” She smiles softly. “I’ve never seen him smile more than he does when you’re at his side. Thank you for being brave enough to come here today to meet all of us despite how uncomfortable it must have been.”

“I love King. I’d brave just about anything for him.”

She hugs me, and suddenly I understand what a real mother is supposed to be. Not perfect, but protective. Willing to make mistakes and own them because sometimes love outweighs logic.

CHAPTER 31

GREAT IDEAS

Kingston

Three months later

“I have never been more excited to see a white polo in my entire life. Eight days is far too long for you to be gone.” Queenie fists my shirt and tips her head back, pulling my mouth to hers.

“I missed you too,” I murmur, but I keep my teeth clamped together so she can’t get her tongue in my mouth. “But we have an audience.”

She backs off right away, smoothing out my shirt. “Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry.” She cringes and looks around. Thankfully there aren’t that many people milling around to witness the PDA.

Queenie was accepted to the University of Seattle, so she can now finish her degree. Last week her conditional acceptance to the master’s program in art therapy came. On top of a full course load, she volunteers at the art center, in addition to working one-on-one with Lavender at least once a week, if not twice. She’s amazing and focused, and I love watching her flourish like this.

I arrived home early this morning from an away series. It was a bit of a drama-filled week away. Sissy had the baby just before we left. Corey insisted on a paternity test, which was a wise move on his part, since it turns out the baby is most definitely not his. He found out right before a game and lost it on the ice, ending up with a twenty-game suspension. I have a feeling management will be negotiating for a trade at the end of the season.

I’m relieved to be home, and I’ve been waiting all afternoon for Queenie to be finished volunteering so I can take her home and show her exactly how much I missed her. Which is why I’m picking her up instead of waiting for her to come to me.

I wrap my arms around her in a PG hug and bend until my lips are at her ear. “As soon as we’re home I’m going to spread you out on the dining room table and eat you until you’re begging to ride me.”

She sucks in a soft gasp and pushes back. For a second I think maybe it was too much, especially since we’re in a public parking lot. She bites her lip, and a coy smile flirts at her lips. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

“Whatever gets you in the car faster.”

“I’ll take the threat, Boy Scout.” She pats my chest. “And you better drag those orgasms out until I’m damn well delirious, or I’ll be hella disappointed.” She nips my chin and then flits around to the passenger side of the car and practically throws herself inside.

I grin and take my time getting in and make sure the mirrors are the way I like them, while Queenie crosses and uncrosses her legs. “Seriously, Kingston? You can’t tell me you’re going to make a meal out of me and then pull this whole seventy-five-point check deal.”

“I just want to get you home safely.”

“You mean you want to get me all worked up and tell me how much you love it when I’ve already soaked through my damn panties before you’ve even laid a finger on me.”

She’s absolutely correct about that. It’s an incredible ego boost to be able to make her come within minutes of getting her naked, but I don’t tell her that since she already knows. “Someone’s testy.”

“Yeah, well, that would be your fault, wouldn’t it?” She fastens her seat belt aggressively.

She’s more worked up than usual. I put the car in gear, and signal out of my spot. “How is it my fault you’re testy?”

“You show up here, looking all delicious, whispering naughty things in my ear, and now I have to try and sit here and be patient while you drive like a grandpa on a Sunday afternoon. It’s been eight damn days, Kingston. Eight days without you, or your tongue or your color commentary, or our mutual-gratification competitions. There will be no sweet and gentle tonight. I better have a hard time walking tomorrow morning. And teeth marks on my ass.”

My erection kicks behind my fly. “I’ll certainly do my best to ensure the difficulty walking and the teeth marks, if that’s what you’d like.”