A Secret for a Secret

by Hunting, Helena

  I motion between us. “Does your pregnant fiancée know what happened?”

  Confusion mars his expression. For as skilled as Corey is on the ice, he’s sort of an anomaly in the hockey world, since he’s not all that smart. Usually these guys have the brains to match the brawn, and Corey definitely doesn’t. “No.”

  I wait for him to process the information. It takes three long, stinky garlicky breaths before he finally clues in. And then the aggressive dick I knew and learned to loathe back in college rears his ugly head. He moves in even closer and barricades me against the machine. “Is this your attempt at a threat, Queenie? Look at you, still running home to Daddy when things don’t work out for you. Just like you did back in college. I mean, how pathetic can you be?”

  CHAPTER 18

  BACK OFF MY GIRL

  Kingston

  Today has been amazing. I had a great workout and an excellent practice. One of the best of the season so far, and I’m attributing that to Queenie. And amazing sex. I’m definitely looking forward to more of that.

  I whistle as I head for her office, hoping I can convince her to stay at my place again tonight. We have a game tomorrow afternoon, and normally I’d avoid the possible sleep disturbance, but considering how beneficial it seems to have been today, I feel like a repeat would only be helpful.

  The sound of people arguing causes me to pause as I pass the gym. I hesitate to get involved, concerned I’m intruding on something I shouldn’t be, until I catch sight of Queenie, chin tipped up in defiance while some huge guy gets right in her face.

  I have a low tolerance for any kind of behavior that threatens the fairer sex. Not because I believe women can’t fend for themselves but because men generally have the physical advantage, and this is especially true when it comes to Queenie. She’s petite.

  I can’t tell who has her cornered, but there is absolutely no way I’ll allow this to continue. Even if it’s Jake. Especially if it’s Jake.

  I yank open the door as the guy grabs for her wrist and she tries to duck out of the way, except he has her pinned up against a piece of equipment. “Hey, buddy, you need to back off. Now.” I don’t recognize my voice, which seems to be more growl than actual words.

  The man encroaching on Queenie’s personal space turns around, his expression reflecting irritation. I recognize him, I realize. He’s Corey Slater, forward for Philly, and one of the most difficult players in the entire league. He has more game suspensions than any other player. Even more than Lance Romero in his rookie years, and that’s saying something. But he’s also leading in goals, so while he has a reputation for being a general pain in the ass, he’s one of the top players in the league.

  A smug smile turns up the corner of his mouth as he looks me over. “This is a private conversation, buddy, so maybe you need to mind your own fucking business.” He turns back to Queenie, dismissing me.

  Anger like I’ve never felt before makes my spine hot and my fingers curl into fists. I step into the gym and let the door close behind me. “Queenie happens to be my girlfriend, so the fact that you’re putting your hands on her and using your size to physically intimidate her makes this one hundred percent my fucking business.”

  Queenie’s eyes flare in surprise, and Corey chuckles.

  “So it is true. How’s your daddy feel about that?” He shakes his head and glances over his shoulder. “Get out while you can, man. She’s not worth the trouble.”

  I take pride in the fact that I’ve never been in a fight on the ice, or ever, really. Even when I was a teenager and hormones made tempers flare, I was always able to keep it together and avoid reacting without thinking.

  But the way Queenie’s face has crumpled and her shoulders have curled in, like she’s physically trying to protect herself from his words, and the actual words themselves, cause a spike of rage to short out my entire center of reason. I also realize, based on that one statement, and the way he’s invading her space, that Corey and Queenie know each other, possibly in ways I don’t want to consider too closely.

  I grab his shoulder, which finally puts his attention on me. “Do not disrespect Queenie. Not ever.”

  His smug sneer pulls higher, distorting his face. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

  I edge my way between him and Queenie, creating a barricade. “Do not push me, Slater.”

  He has the audacity to laugh. “Look at you, getting all righteous and defensive over some chick. I didn’t think you actually had any balls, Kingston.”

  I fist his shirt. In the back of my head I recognize violence isn’t going to help. If anything at all, it’s going to make the entire situation worse, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “First of all, Queenie is not some chick. She is my goddamn girlfriend, and if you talk to her or about her like that again I will not hesitate to put you in your place. Secondly, who the hell do you think you are, coming in here, talking to her like that?”

  “First of all, I’m her ex-boyfriend, so Queenie and I go way back, don’t we?” He glances over my shoulder, his smirk growing. “Secondly, I’m your new teammate, so it might be a good idea to reconsider putting me in my place, unless you want to end up watching games from the bench.”

  “What?” I don’t know which one of those pieces of information I find more shocking.

  “God, you’re such an antagonistic dick, Corey.” Queenie puts her hand over mine and tries to pry my fingers loose from his shirt. “Let him go, King. He’s actually not worth the time or energy it would take to kick his annoying ass.” She squeezes my biceps gently.

  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.

&nb
sp; “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.

  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 b
arbecuing 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—”