I bend to kiss her and whisper “I love you” against her lips.
“I love you, too. Now go.”
She pats me on the butt as I pass her, and I nearly flip Bishop off with the way he’s smirking. I manage to control my fingers, unlike my mouth and the things that come out of it with Queenie. I glance over my shoulder before I disappear into the locker room. Queenie’s already rushing down the hall, fingers at her lips.
I don’t let the ribbing from the guys get to me as I suit up for the game.
“You’re a little late, eh, King? We thought we were gonna have to bring in the reserve,” Slater says as he adjusts his laces.
“Just lost track of time.” There’s no way I’ll let him dampen my good mood.
He hasn’t been a positive addition to the team. His linemates are always on edge, never knowing what kind of garbage he’s going to pull when he’s on the ice. He’s guaranteed to get at least one penalty a game.
“I hope you didn’t waste all your game energy on some used pussy.”
I’m halfway dressed in my gear, but no shin guards or chest pads, so I still have the benefit of mobility. Before I can even consider how bad an idea it is, I’m off the bench. I grab the front of his jersey and haul him up so we’re eye to eye. “I already warned you once, Slater: do not disrespect Queenie, or we’ll be having more than words,” I hiss.
He throws his head back and laughs. “Do you even know how to throw a punch?”
“You looking to find out?”
“Jesus, King, back the fuck down, unless you want to sit this game out. This jock-rot fuckstick isn’t worth the bench time.” Bishop grabs me by the back of the neck and tries to loosen my grip on Corey’s jersey with the other hand.
“He’s disrespecting Queenie.”
“He disrespects his own mother every goddamn day just by existing. Still not worth damaging your hands over.”
He has a point. I can’t do my job if I break my hands. And if I get a suspension, I could end up on the bench, or, worse, I could be told I can’t even travel with the team. I’ve seen it happen before. Then I wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on Queenie. I don’t like that thought—not at all. It’s the only reason I let go.
“Such a fucking Boy Scout, huh, King? Never like to get your hands dirty, do you? Except now you are, and you don’t even fucking know it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just remember: she was mine before she was yours. You’re welcome for breaking her in.” He winks, still smirking.
“You son of a bitch.” I lunge for him but end up in a choke hold before I can do something really stupid, like rearrange Corey’s face.
“What the hell is going on here?” Alex’s voice barely cuts through the haze of red. “Bishop, stop fucking around. King, why the hell aren’t you suited up? You need to be on the ice in two minutes.”
“Just messing around. He’s on it, Coach.” Bishop releases me and claps me on the shoulder. “Channel the anger on the ice. Every puck coming at you is that fucker’s balls.”
I run my hands down my face, trying to find some calm. I don’t like the way Corey is suddenly trying to get under my skin. It’s obviously intentional, and I’m not sure what the purpose of it is.
I finish dressing and try to clear my head and get in the zone. Once I hit the ice, I search for Queenie in the arena. I spot her up in the box with the rest of the girls. Which is good: she’ll be too close to Corey if she sits behind the bench.
I take my place in net and focus on the game, not the one player who gets under my skin. I guess now I know how Bishop felt when he and Rook weren’t seeing eye to eye. It’s hard not to be preoccupied.
I take a few deep breaths and remind myself that later tonight I’ll have Queenie in my bed, under me—or on top, or both—and that she’s finally admitted how she feels about me. She’s my raging rapids, and I’m her calm lake at dawn. We’re good. Perfect. She’s going to meet my family, and they’ll love her. Corey can’t touch what we have.
I do what Bishop suggested and channel all the negative energy into protecting the net. It’s incredibly effective, especially the part where I envision Corey’s flattened face on the puck every time it gets close to the net. We end up with a shutout, which means I feel fantastic about the game, and most of the negative energy seems to fade away with the back pats and my teammates complimenting me on a job well done.
I’m in a great mood as I shower and get ready to meet up with the girls, who are likely already at the bar. Corey’s too busy with whatever’s happening on his phone to pay attention to me, which is probably good for both of us. I’m riding a high, and I would gladly knock him out if he decides we need to have a go at each other.
“You’re going to stay for a couple of beers tonight, right?” I ask Bishop as I shrug into my dress shirt.
“That’s a rhetorical question, right?” Bishop makes an adjustment in his underwear. They always have a ridiculous pattern on them. Tonight it’s a pineapple and olive dancing together. It’s hard not to look at them.
“Uh, just making sure. I think I might have a drink.” I fasten the top button on my shirt and make sure the collar is smooth.
Bishop’s brow quirks. “You all right?”
“Yeah. I’m great, actually. My family’s coming to visit, so Queenie’ll get to meet them, and I told her how I feel about her, and she feels the same, so we’re solid. It’s good. Everything is perfect. I think I might ask her to move in with me. For real this time. Maybe after the holidays. That’s not too soon, is it?”
Bishop holds up a finger, taps his lips a couple of times, and then looks at me like I’m the stupidest person on the face of the earth. “You realize I’m the last person you should ever ask for relationship advice, right? I told the woman I’m married to that her face was a boner killer.”
I cringe, because that’s a horrible thing to say, let alone to the woman who willingly sleeps beside him every night. “That was before you realized who she was, though.”
“Yeah, but the point is, I’m not the person you want to ask for advice. I mean, I’d tell you to pin her the fuck down before she realizes she’s made a mistake, if you were me, but you’re not me. You’re likable and friendly and shit. I’m lucky I’m nice to look at and that I can give my wife multiple orgasms; otherwise I’d be fucked, man.”
“Is that a common thing?”
“Is what a common thing?” Bishop works on tying his tie.
“Multiple orgasms.”
He looks away from his reflection for a moment. “You asking me for pointers in the bedroom?”
“No. Of course not. I know what’s effective with Queenie. I just didn’t realize multiples were that common.” I’m actually a little disappointed. Although I won’t admit that to Bishop, or anyone else. Jessica was always very . . . proper. And basically silent. It didn’t matter how many questions I asked, how much direction I sought, everything was always “fine” or “nice.”
Queenie is the opposite. Which I love. She’ll tell me exactly what she needs and how she needs it. And she seems to really like that I seek direction from her. I can only learn her body if she shares with me what makes her feel the best.
“Can I ask you something without offending you?”
“As long as you’re not disrespecting Queenie, sure.” I tie a windsor knot without looking in a mirror.
“Are you, like, missionary only?”
“Pardon?”
“Positions. Do you have more than one you like?”
I meet my best friend’s questioning gaze and consider how much information I want to give him about my private, personal life. “I can appreciate all views.”
His eyebrows climb into his hairline. “I thought I knew you.”
“You do know me.” I shrug into my suit jacket and check for any lint I missed.
“Queenie’s good for you, though, because this isn’t a conversation we would’ve had a year ago.”
“
I’m not being disrespectful.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “No, man, but with Jessica there wasn’t ever a conversation, about anything. She was an accessory. Queenie is a partner. She’s the olive to your pineapple.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It’s actually not that bad on pizza, but you need hot peppers, bacon, ham, and pepperoni to balance it all out. The pizza isn’t the point. It’s that you found someone who lights a fire under your ass. It’s a good thing. That’s all I’m saying. And multiples are the fucking bomb.” Bishop makes a fist and approximates a jerking-off motion before he realizes Rook is watching him. “It’s good for everyone.”
“Especially my ego,” I agree.
“Fucking shit!” Corey barks from across the room. He punches at his phone and brings it to his ear. “What in the actual fuck, Sissy? I told you I’d take care of it. What the hell were you thinking?” He screws his eyes shut and exhales heavily through his nose. “This is going to be a nightmare to manage. What? No. Don’t do that!” he snaps, then changes his tone. “Come on, baby, that’s a bad idea. Where are you now? I’ll come get you. We’ll figure out how to fix this.” He pushes up off the bench and stalks out of the locker room.
“I wonder what that was about,” Bishop mutters.
“Sounds like there’s trouble in paradise.” We gather up our things, and Rook falls into step with us.
“If there were two people who deserved each other, it’s Slater and Sissy,” Bishop says. “She’s the perfect nightmare for Corey to end up with.”
“The douche factor and the crazy pair nicely, that’s for sure,” Rook says. “At least she’s not trying to siphon jizz out of used condoms anymore.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I made the mistake of hooking up with her once back in my rookie days, obviously long before I met Lainey,” Rook replies, his expression a mix of embarrassment and regret.
“Oh, man, I remember that! Didn’t she fake a pregnancy? Took pictures on social media and tried to blackmail you or whatever?” Bishop asks.
“That she did. Used the plaster casts from her sister’s baby belly to stage photos.”
“That’s just . . .”
“Certifiable?” Rook supplies.
“Yeah.” I can’t imagine getting involved with someone that unbalanced. It’s why I’d never had a one-night stand until Queenie. It obviously turned out a lot different than either of us expected, but it could’ve gone very badly had she been a Sissy.
We leave the arena and head across the street to the bar we usually meet up at after home games. I decide tonight I’m going to indulge in one of those fun drinks Queenie and I had that first night we met, between the shots. The white russians. Those were tasty.
My phone buzzes in my pocket repeatedly as we enter the loud, hectic bar. I slip it out of my pocket, wanting to send Queenie a message and find out where they’re sitting so we’re not searching the whole place for them.
“What the heck?” Message after message comes in from my family chat. I open the feed and try to make sense of what’s going on, but they’re coming in too fast.
“Oh shit, I think we’ve got some trouble.” Bishop elbows me in the side.
I look up from my phone and follow his gaze across the crowded pub to the bar. Where my girlfriend is being yelled at by Slater’s pregnant fiancée.
CHAPTER 22
BROKEN VOWS
Queenie
I cannot believe this is happening.
Actually, I can. Because my life is one big shitstorm after another, so why wouldn’t I get called out in a bar, in front of my friends, and a bunch of strangers, by a pregnant woman?
“You had your chance, and he doesn’t want you. He wants me.” Sissy, Corey’s lunatic fiancée, points to her chest and then waves her hand around in the air. “You see this diamond? He spent over fifty thousand on this! He told me he didn’t even get you a ring at all, so that shows you exactly how important you were to him. I’m the one who’s having his baby, not you!” she screams.
“I think you’re confused. Queenie’s dating Ryan Kingston, the goalie.” Stevie holds her hands up like she’s trying to ward off a wild animal. Or perform an exorcism.
Speaking of King, I spot him pushing his way through the crowd, trying to get to me. Which is not what I want at all. In fact, it’s the very last thing I want to happen. I was supposed to have had time to tell him tonight. When we were back at his place and all our friends and a whole bunch of strangers weren’t around to witness it.
“Does he know you’re married to my fiancé?” Sissy continues to scream at ungodly volume.
Kingston is right behind her now, and, based on his confused expression, he definitely heard her, as did everyone else within a fifty-foot radius.
“I hope he dumps your stupid ass! You better give Corey that divorce or I will kick your skinny ass right after I’ve had this baby! He’s spent more than a hundred thousand dollars on our wedding already, and we have all sorts of famous people coming, so you better not fuck this up for me. And you can’t have any of his money either. That’s for our baby!”
There are too many people looking at us. My face feels like it’s on fire, and I’m sweating. I raise my hands in submission. “Look, I understand that you’re upset, but there’s been a misunderstanding. Can we go somewhere else to talk about this? In private?”
“Absolutely not! Everyone should know you’re a lying, cheating slut! He told me you’re the one who took off on him. You’ve been cheating on him for years!” she sneers. “And I exposed you for the money-grubbing fraud you are.” She holds her phone up in front of my face.
I can’t hear what’s playing on the screen, but the caption “Wedding Dreams Crushed by Vengeful Estranged Soon-to-Be Ex-Wife” says it all. It’s one of those horrible tabloid-style media sites, but it’s still out there, for everyone to watch. And Sissy is an overdramatic nightmare, so it will definitely garner attention.
“Sissy, baby, what’re you doing?” Corey comes barreling through the crowd, pushing people out of the way.
She whirls around. “Fixing the problem, since you won’t! I told her she needs to give you the divorce so she doesn’t ruin my wedding.”
Corey looks like his head is going to explode. I sincerely hope he falls into the dump truck of bullshit he’s thrown at me with this freak show.
Kingston reaches around Sissy for me and brushes her shoulder in the process.
Sissy smacks his arm and whirls around, shoving her finger in his face. “Do not manhandle me! I’m pregnant!” As if we couldn’t tell with the disco ball–style sequined dress she’s wearing. Which is totally not reasonable for a hockey game, or even a New Year’s party in Vegas.
She looks over her shoulder at Corey, who seems like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Are you going to let him put his hands on me like that?”
All hell breaks loose—not that it wasn’t loose already, but it’s suddenly that much worse when Corey tries to come at Kingston. Bishop gets in the way, and Sissy starts slapping him. It gives Kingston the opening he needs to pull me out of there.
“Just go.” Bishop tips his chin up. He’s holding Corey at arm’s length while Sissy continues to swat at him.
She suddenly stops and grabs her belly. “Oh! Something’s happening in there! If I go into labor early I’m suing you!” she screams at me.
Kingston wraps his arm around my waist and lifts me up so my feet aren’t touching the ground anymore and carries me out of the bar.
“You can put me down now,” I say when we’re halfway down the street, heading in the direction of the arena.
He doesn’t respond, just continues to carry me like a child, across the street and to the private lot where the players park. Even when we reach his car, he doesn’t put me down. Or speak. Which is starting to worry me. As is the way his jaw keeps ticcing. He unlocks the car, opens the door, and deposits me in the passenger seat. I jump when he closes it
rather firmly. He stalks around the front of the car and gets in the driver’s side.
But once he’s in the car, he doesn’t make a move to buckle up, or check all the mirrors, or turn the engine over. He’s breathing heavily, and he grips the steering wheel, knuckles almost white.
“Kingston?”
“Is it true?” His voice is thick.
“Yes. But it’s not what you think.”
He closes his eyes, and his hands flex on the wheel. Prying one free, he rubs his chin, and when he turns his gaze on me, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger. “You’re married. I’ve committed adultery with you. Repeatedly.” It makes sense that this is where his mind has gone. Kingston is unfailingly loyal. He’s also very much about following rules, doing the right thing, and being a good person.
“I shouldn’t be. I’m not supposed to be. Married to Corey. I’m not supposed to be married to him.” I take a deep breath, trying to manage my anxiety and my mortification over the fact that I’ve been painted as a home-wrecker on some horrible third-rate tabloid show. “It’ll make more sense when you hear the whole story.”
“Can you explain then, please?” he says, his voice shaking.
“We met in my first semester of college. He pursued me, invited me out with him and his friends all the time. He played hockey, and I knew a lot about it. I was eighteen. I had decided I wanted to wait to have sex. I mean, I don’t think I necessarily planned to wait until I was married; I just . . . my dad and I talked about the importance of making sure I was ready for the consequences and the responsibility, and for him, that had been me.” There’s more to it than that, obviously. So much more, but I figure I’ll give King the abridged version before he cracks all his teeth from grinding them together.
“Anyway. I’m impulsive and Corey isn’t super smart. I was even more impulsive then than I am now, which I know might be hard to believe.” I laugh nervously, but when Kingston doesn’t join in, I clear my throat and barrel on. “We’d only been dating for a month when he proposed.” With a twist tie.
“And I stupidly said yes. We went to a justice of the peace, got married in secret, and figured we’d wait until the holidays before we told anyone.” That was Corey’s idea. “I moved in with him, except he lived in one of the off-campus frat houses. It was a constant, unending party. And disgusting, because college boys don’t clean anything, especially not bathrooms.”
A Secret for a Secret Page 18