“We can make breakfast, or maybe brunch would be better.”
“I didn’t mean for food.” His palm smooths down my stomach, fingertips circling sensitive skin, causing me to jerk and moan.
Half an hour later I’m wearing his discarded shirt from last night—mostly because I don’t want him to put it on—and he’s wearing his khakis and a very satisfied smile.
I hop up on the counter, sucking in a breath when the cold marble meets my bare butt. Kingston stops chopping pineapple and uses his pinkie to lift the bottom of my shirt. “Where are your panties?”
I shrug. “I never know when you’re going to get hungry again.”
He sets the knife on the counter and pushes the cutting board aside. Moving into my personal space, he taps on my knees, a silent request to open for him. I’ve already come twice since I woke up. And I lost track last night once we got to my bedroom. Apparently King loves my feisty.
“I’m always hungry for you.” His palms ease up the inside of my thighs, and he parts me with his thumbs on a low groan.
“Not sure this is a particularly hygienic location for kitty snacks.”
He smirks. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up if I make a mess of you.”
He leans in for a kiss, and we both startle at the loud knock on my door. “Shoot, that’s your dad.” He shifts to the left and makes a quick adjustment in his pants.
I don’t consider the fact that I should probably be wearing more clothes, or that Kingston should be wearing a shirt, when I call out, “The door’s open!”
Kingston gives me a What the heck? look, but it’s too late, because my dad’s let himself in.
“You should probably wash your hands, Boy Scout.” I cough as I jump off the counter. At least the shirt is long and hits midthigh. “Hey, Dad.” My voice is nice and pitchy.
“Morning, Jake.” King’s face is the color of a beet. “I mean, good afternoon.”
My father’s eyes bounce from a shirtless King to me, in King’s shirt. Yeah. It might’ve been a good idea to remedy the clothing situation before telling him to come on in. “Looks like you kids made up just fine, huh?”
“Yuppers.” Well, this is awkward.
“Well, uh, I hope you’re being safe.”
Annnnd now it’s more awkward.
If my dad means Kingston painting my chest every time he pulls out, then we are definitely being safe.
“Of course, sir.” Kingston dries his hands on a towel. “We were just about to prepare some brunch, if you’d like to join us.”
“Oh, uh, before you do that, you might want to call your . . . momster? Hanna?” He holds up Kingston’s phone and keys.
Kingston feels his back pockets. “Did I drop those in the driveway?”
“No, you left them in your SUV. I was passing by about an hour ago and noticed the keys in the ignition and the phone on the seat. The door was unlocked.”
I don’t bother asking why he didn’t knock an hour ago because I already know what we were up to, and I’m pretty sure, based on how red his face is, so does he.
“Oh, wow . . . uh, thanks. I was pretty distracted last night.”
“I accidentally answered a call a few minutes ago. I was trying to turn off the ringer but hit the wrong button.” His face continues to heat up.
“No big deal. I’m guessing you told Hanna I’d call her back?”
“Well, uh, she said there wasn’t a rush, but family dinner is at six, and everyone is excited to meet Queenie, so she’s hoping you two don’t have plans. And that cocktail hour is at five.” My dad sets the phone and keys on the counter, pushing them toward Kingston. “I told her you could probably make it, but I’d get you to confirm.”
“Oh, uh . . .” Kingston’s eyes flare, and he glances at me. “Okay?”
It’s phrased like a question. I respond with the same upturned lilt. “Sure?”
“Great.” My father smiles and rocks back on his heels. “She also invited me to come along too.”
Kingston’s brows lift. “Oh?”
“Are you two okay with that?” my dad asks uncertainly.
“Oh yeah. Totally. It’ll be fun, right, King?” I’m not sure if fun is the word I would use to describe meeting my boyfriend’s parents and having my somewhat overprotective dad tagging along, but if nothing else, it will be an adventure.
Kingston nods, eyes wide. “So fun.”
“Okay. Well, great.” My dad claps his hands together and startles everyone with the noise, including himself. “I’ll run out and grab a bottle of wine or two. And I can meet you there, since I know where you live, King.” He moves toward the door. Pointing a finger at King, he makes some kind of odd clicking sound with his tongue. “You kids play safe.” And then he’s off, with a bounce in his step.
“Sooo . . .” I turn to King, whose expression I’m having trouble reading. “I guess this is happening.”
He nods slowly. “Looks like. Are you nervous?”
I shrug. “Maybe a little.” I don’t think the news has had enough time to sink in for me to process it.
He glances at the clock. “We have a couple hours before we have to head over. I have a few ideas as to how I can keep your mind occupied until we have to go.”
CHAPTER 30
THE KINGSTONS
Queenie
We pull into Kingston’s driveway just after four thirty. My dad was all about getting there early for whatever reason, and I felt weird about him arriving and us not being there, so we left at the same time; however, since Kingston drives like a ninety-year-old on a Sunday, my father is already parked and standing beside his car when we arrive. He keeps checking his hair and he’s wearing a tie, which is probably overly formal, but then my dad sort of likes to dress up.
“Fair warning: my family is a bit . . . off the wall,” King says to me as he puts the car in park.
“You mean compared to you?” Kingston is the least off-the-wall person I’ve ever met. He’s the definition of zen—well, except in the bedroom.
“No, I mean in general. They’re just . . . a lot to handle.”
“Kind of like me?”
“You’re not a lot to handle, Queenie.” His gaze moves over me in a hot sweep. “You’re the perfect amount of chaos, especially when we’re naked.”
“Focus, Kingston. We’re not talking about sex right now; we’re talking about your family.”
“Right. Yeah.” He shakes his head, like he’s clearing it. “They’re just a little . . . excessive.”
“Excessive how?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. You’ll see, though.” He gives my hand a squeeze and then cuts the engine.
I get out of the car before he can open my door for me. And suddenly it’s not me who looks nervous anymore; it’s Kingston.
“You two get stuck at every red light?” my dad asks as we walk up the front steps.
King doesn’t even have a chance to key in the entry code before the door swings open.
“Gerald found your good scotch two hours ago,” Hanna says by way of greeting. “Queenie. Hi! Hello! You’re even more beautiful in person than you are on video chat!”
“Momster.”
“Sorry.” Her nose wrinkles. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m going to apologize in advance for whatever happens this evening.” She pulls me in for a hug and says quietly in my ear, “Just remember that you love Kingston, and it’s not his fault we’re his family.”
“What are you whispering about?” Kingston asks suspiciously.
“Oh nothing!” Hanna releases me from the hug and smiles brightly at Kingston.
Up until this point my dad has been hanging back. He steps up and extends his hand. “Hi, I’m Jake, Queenie’s dad. We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“Oh, yes.” Hanna’s eyes move from his face all the way down to his polished dress shoes and back up, slowly. “Hello, Jake.” She slips her fingers into his open, waiting palm. “I’m Hanna, Ryan’s momster . . . I mean
sister. I mean mom. I’m actually both. Well, biologically I’m his mother, but we were raised as siblings.” She grimaces. “I am so sorry for that excessive overshare and terrible introduction. There’s a reason I’m not a public speaker and work in an office most of the time.”
My dad laughs and winks. “I can imagine it’s not necessarily the easiest thing to explain.”
“No. Definitely not.”
They’re still shaking hands, staring at each other.
“So . . . should we go in and introduce Queenie and Jake to the rest of the family, or . . .” Kingston trails off.
Hanna drags her gaze away from my dad. “What’s that?”
Kingston motions past her. “We should come inside.”
“Oh! Yes! Of course!” Hanna’s eyes go wide and her cheeks flush pink, but she finally releases my dad’s hand and steps back to let us in.
The noise level in the house grows exponentially as we walk down the hall. Kingston jams his hands in his pockets and blows out a breath, rolling his shoulders back. The first thing I notice when we enter the kitchen is that it’s not neat and tidy like Kingston usually keeps everything. In fact, it’s pretty much bedlam. And his family is congregated around the island, talking over each other.
“Hey, guys!” Kingston says, but they’re so loud they don’t notice him.
Hanna brings two fingers to her mouth and lets out a shrill whistle.
Kingston’s brother—I’m assuming, based on his age—drops to the ground and covers his head with his hands. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Get up, Gerald. Hanna, was that really necessary?” King’s mom-not-mom props a fist on her hip. “You know how much Gerald hates whistles. Oh! Hi there!” she says when she notices us.
I lift my hand in a wave, and my dad mirrors me. I don’t know what to think about the gong show that is currently happening in my boyfriend’s kitchen. I’m not sure what I expected from his family, but this sure isn’t it. Maybe I thought they’d all be polo-and-khaki-wearing rule followers. However, it appears as though Kingston might be the only one who fits that bill.
“Mom, Dad, Gerald, this is my girlfriend, Queenie, and her dad, Jake.”
Kingston’s mom-not-mom looks from me to Jake and back again, clearly assessing the age difference between us. Or lack of age difference.
“It’s so lovely to meet you both!” Kingston’s mom-not-mom pulls me in for an aggressive hug. She then holds me at arm’s length, like she’s performing some kind of inspection. “Oh yes, I can see why Ryan is enamored with you. I’m so sorry about Jessica. I thought I was doing the right thing, but as it turns out I’m actually pretty good at doing the wrong thing. Like not telling Ryan I’m not his mother until the cat was already out of the bag.” She grimaces and squeezes my shoulders.
“But in my defense, he’s always been such a good boy. And I was really quite worried about how he would take the news. Gerald has been to jail more than once: not for anything serious, but still. And, well, you know all about the Hanna situation, so . . . I’m sorry. I should know better than to question Ryan’s judgment.”
“Uh, Mom, this isn’t a therapy session or confessional. It’s dinner and an introduction. You can save some of our family secrets for another day.” Kingston rubs the back of his neck, cheeks red and his expression reflecting his embarrassment.
Over the next several hours I discover that Kingston is the most normal member of his family. I have no idea how he turned out the way he did. Gerald has been to prison not once but twice for stealing semis while intoxicated. Hanna is probably the second-most grounded in her family—teen pregnancy and recent divorce aside, which is ironically very familiar.
I’m regaled with stories of Kingston from his teen years. Apparently, he was frequently friend zoned by girls in high school because he was so hyperfocused on hockey that he failed to realize they were interested in him until it was too late.
I also find out why Kingston doesn’t usually drink, thanks to his brother, Gerald, who seems to be the most off the hook. “When King was seventeen, me and our cousin Billy took him camping and fed him all kinds of drinks,” Gerald tells me, wearing a huge grin.
“I thought it was just soda.” Kingston swirls his white russian around in his glass, making the ice tinkle. “Not spiked with copious quantities of alcohol.”
“You were so drunk you couldn’t even stand.” Gerald starts laughing and slapping his knee. “And of course he thought he could go for a run and burn off the alcohol, because King is nothing but practical, even when he’s so shit faced he can’t see straight.”
“It seemed logical at the time,” Kingston grumbles, cheeks flushing.
“I’m assuming that didn’t go well,” I press, imagining a drunk, teenage Kingston trying to sober up by going for a run.
“He kept stumbling around; ended up in a raspberry bush and scratched himself all to hell. Broke out in hives too.”
“Because whatever you were feeding me had strawberries in it.” Kingston rolls his eyes.
“We didn’t know.”
“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 o
pen 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
A Secret for a Secret Page 26