Hot Shot (The King Brothers Book 3)

by Teagan Kade

“I guess you will.”

  Phoenix helps me up, my legs like Jell-O and an odd dizziness sending me a shallow circle before I regain my senses. “Damn. What did you do to me?”

  He laughs, stretching his arms above his head, his abs pulling tight and flat. “Nothing a good meal won’t fix.”

  I reach forward and trace the crown tattoo on his pectoral. “Don’t tell me all you Kings have one of these?”

  He looks down to it, taking my hand. “Kind of like branding cattle. If you’re a fan of Yellowstone, you’ll get what I mean.”

  “The TV show? Last I checked you brothers didn’t live in a bunkhouse.”

  He laughs aloud. “I’ll let you be the judge of that when you’re over.”

  “You’re inviting me over now?”

  “Depends on how good this famous breakfast burger is.”

  I push him away and take up my apron, fixing it in place, surprised by how sensitive the material is against my bare skin. “Take those cute buns of yours and go over to the pantry there, top shelf, for buns of a different kind.”

  “Yes, boss lady,” he smiles, his erection the most obscene thing this kitchen’s seen since spaghetti pizza.

  I’ve never had so much fun in the kitchen, and that’s just making the burgers. I fry up new eggs, hash browns, adding the spinach in at the end until it’s wilted and vibrant, stacking everything up with a splash of hot sauce. I grill the buns and start to plate up.

  I give a yelp when Phoenix spanks my bare ass with a spatula.

  I spin around, a warning finger in the air. “I’m going to have to sterilize that now.”

  He looks at the offending utensil in his hand. “I don’t know. Seems like it’s potential is wasted here in the kitchen.” He places it down and hugs me from behind.

  I get that same spell of reassurance, that sudden swell inside me that says everything is going to be okay. I know I should regret moving so fast with him, but the reality is I don’t. The sex was incredible, but that sinking feeling I thought I would have afterwards never eventuated. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of what I expected.

  It’s only going to land you in trouble, my better self warns. You’re smart. You know this.

  Maybe I do, but why can’t I at least enjoy it a little? Haven’t I earned a bit of happiness?

  We eat at the small table by the window, one of those fold-up camping tables that look like it would collapse in a light breeze.

  Phoenix picks up the burger with two hands, hoeing into it. He smacks his lips. “Damn, where have you been all my life?”

  I laugh-slash-choke. “Just to clarify, you want to date me or the burger?”

  “Well, I’m not into threesomes, but I’m happy to make an exception in this case.”

  I place my burger down doing my best not to get yolk over my fingers. “Hey, I’m going to make some sandwiches after this, taking them around to some homeless folk down near the bridge. You… want to help?”

  “Sure.” The answer comes quicker than I expect.

  Or you could just stay in and go for another round, I consider. Hit the stratosphere again.

  My thighs rub together under the table—a stubborn attempt to drive off the desire pooling there, because once was most definitely not enough.

  “You have made a sandwich before, right?”

  I get a raised eyebrow. “Does Subway count?”

  “It does not.”

  He takes another bite of his burger, eyes closing in bliss. He swallows. “Like I said, I’m a fast learner.”

  “You better be,” I tease.

  *

  I make sure we dress before we start on the sandwiches. There’s just something very wrong about making sandwiches for the homeless in your birthday suit… as pleasing as Phoenix’s suit may be.

  He wasn’t wrong about being a fast learner. Before long we’ve got a real production line going, the sandwiches piling up at the end of the counter. I pass him another box of salami. “I think you’ve got a real knack with food, you know.”

  “Eating it, sure,” he replies, smiling. “You going to keep teaching me? I’ve seen my share of reality TV and Hell’s Kitchen this is not.”

  I can still place the exact spot where his tongue was against me no more than an hour ago. “I can yell at you if you like.”

  If I’m digging deeper here, I know I can’t be completely sure he’s not trying to ingratiate himself, though if that was the case, he probably wouldn’t be feigning any interest at all now we’ve slept together.

  “If you’re willing,” I tell him, passing across another loaf of bread, “I’ll keep teaching, but it’s going to cost you.”

  “Orgasms are the only currency I know, sorry.”

  “Hmm,” I muse, “I suppose that will do in lieu of more concrete payment.”

  He smirks, the banter between us coming increasingly easily.

  “Where does all this food come from anyhow?” he asks.

  “There’s a food bank on Main Street, believe or not, the local baker and supermarkets help out where they can. I usually do a run around town before closing, grab whatever they’re about to throw away.”

  “Sounds like a full-time job.”

  “I enjoy it, giving back.”

  He stops what he’s doing and makes eye contact. “Me? I simply enjoy giving.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  PHOENIX

  It’s crazy, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to this side of Crestfall. As kids parents would tell us to avoid it, that it was full of criminals and child-snatchers, monsters lurking around every corner.

  Driving along in Heather’s car, an exhaust leak droning away underfoot, I don’t know about the monsters, but it’s clear we’re not in Paradise Point. The houses become ramshackle, shops boarded up and empty. I had no idea things were this bad just ten minutes from home.

  Heather looks out the window. “It used to be nice, or nicer.”

  “What happened?”

  “Progress. They started developing the other side of town, moved Main Street. The big tire factory closed down, people lost their jobs, cops stopped showing up and the drug dealers moved in and made bank. I suppose it’s the story of every small town in America. Quite different to the Crestfall you know, I imagine.”

  A guy smoking a joint eyeballs me as we stop at a traffic light. “You could say that.”

  We weave our way down the hillside to where the bridge crosses south of town, Heather coming to a stop in a dirt patch. “Here we are.”

  I look through the windshield, get an increasing feeling of unease. “You sure it’s safe?”

  “I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

  “I can’t stop an army.”

  “Of the starving homeless? We’re giving out sandwiches here, not rehashing Dawn of the Living Dead.”

  It’s dark under the bridge, but I see movement in the shadows, a barrel fire casting an orange glow on the underside of the structure. “You used to hang out here?”

  She pulls the handbrake up, turns off the ignition. “I had nowhere else to go. When you’re living rough you take what you can get, even if it’s a box under a bridge.” She pops her door open and steps out. “Come on. Help me ’round back.”

  As we start to take out the sandwiches from the trunk, I notice people walking on over. I know Heather said this wasn’t Dawn of the Living Dead, but these folk sure as hell have a zombie-like vibe to them, staggering over foot in front of foot, eyes sunken. I shift a touch closer to Heather, tense up to act if things take a turn.

  I can’t believe she does this on a regular basis—by herself. It’s insanity.

  An armful of sandwiches each, I’m surprised when the people approaching start to form lines, as if we were back in the dining hall, as if this was expected practice.

  Heather smiles as the first guy approaches her. She hands him a sandwich. “How’s it going, Bill? You seen someone about that tooth yet?”

  He mumbles something back I can’t understand, nodding
his thanks before walking off eating his sandwich.

  With a shuffle of feet, I notice a girl in front of me with her hand extended. She can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, face waxen.

  I fumble with the sandwich. “Ah, here you go. Bon appétit.”

  Bon appétit? The fuck you saying, idiot?

  “I mean, enjoy,” I correct.

  The girl takes the sandwich and smiles, looking to Heather. “Who’s the pretty boy, H?”

  “You’d rather Gordy?” she laughs, handing out her next sandwich, the line moving along.

  The girl in front of me winks. “See you around, hot stuff.” She walks off, unwrapping her sandwich immediately and crouching to eat.

  “How you doin’?”

  I don’t think the next guy has any teeth at all. It gives his voice a curious, whistling tone. “Not bad,” I reply. “Here you go.”

  I flinch when he slaps his big hand on my shoulder.

  “God bless you, son,” he says. “God bless you both.”

  He waddles off and I keep handing out sandwiches.

  My initial reluctance starts to dissipate. These people aren’t dangerous. They’re just hungry, seem to have better manners than the student body of Crestfall combined.

  Five minutes later the line’s gone.

  Heather pops the trunk again. “See? It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  I notice her pulling out another box of sandwiches. “There’s more?”

  She dips her head towards the bridge. “Couple of shy ones.” She hands me the box. “Here you go ‘hot stuff’. Follow me.”

  Even with the fire going it’s cold under the bridge, the river a dirty, cigar brown. It’s almost like a small town under here, huts and makeshift shelters everywhere, some quite ingenious and elaborate.

  I follow behind Heather. She nods to some people, others popping out of their abodes to say hi. It would seem she’s well known around these parts.

  We come to the end of the pylon where an older woman’s sitting there staring at a lifeless TV. She’s wearing about ten blankets, the topmost tattered and frayed.

  Heather takes a sandwich from the box, crouching in front of her. “Sal?”

  It takes a moment for the woman to register. “Heather!”

  Heather reaches out and squeezes her hand. “You doin’ okay, Sal?” She looks to the TV. “Anything good on?”

  Sal scrunches up her face. “Just that stupid I Love Lucy. That Ricky Ricardo is a real sleaze.”

  “I know,” Heather replies, offering the sandwich with her other hand. “Hungry? It’s your favorite.”

  Sal takes the sandwich slowly and tucks it under a blanket. “You’re a doll, Heather.” Sal seems to notice me for the first time. “Who’s the muscle?”

  Heather invites me forward. “This is Phoenix King. Phoenix, this is Sally.”

  “Huh,” Sal nods. “I used to know a King—the King of England. We were very close before that bitch Elizabeth came along.”

  I can see Heather suppressing laughter. “I bet you were a real peach back in the day, Sal.”

  “Just like you,” she says, looking to me with narrowed eyes. “And you, buster, better take good care of our Heather. You hearing me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I might look old, but I can still whip your ass if I want to.”

  Now I am the one trying to suppress laughter. “I, ah, I’m sure you could, ma’am.”

  Sal waves us away. “Off you go then, lovebirds. Thanks for stopping by.”

  Heather gives her hand a final squeeze. “We’ll be back real soon, Sal. You stay safe, okay?”

  “You know me,” she smiles.

  We hand out the rest of the sandwiches to those unable to make it to their feet. It was a shock seeing how these people live at first, but the way Heather moves among them, her generous spirit… It moves even the stone I have for a heart.

  We stop at a diner not far from the bridge. It’s empty, looks like it hasn’t been updated since the twenties. There are still hat hooks on every booth, the chipped tabletops all original. A waitress arrives who also looks like she’s been here since Calvin Coolidge was president. We relay our orders and she walks off in no great rush to the grill.

  “You look like you’re still in a state of shock,” Heather tells me. She sits with one arm over the top of the booth, casual as can be.

  “Impressed, more like it. You do that every week?”

  “Twice, three times a week when I can manage it, but it’s still not enough. You saw those people. They ain’t getting shit from the government, less from the town itself. I owe them what I can. We all do.”

  My mind’s churning, seeing possibility. “Tell me more about this charity thing you want to start up.”

  “You already got into my pants. There’s no need to play along.”

  “I’m not that fucking shallow. Come on. Humor me.”

  She rocks forward and places her arms on the table. “Okay. Simply put, the soup kitchen lost its funding and we couldn’t make up the difference with donations, thus the whole food truck thing I’m trying to get going given we don’t have enough to buy a place for the kitchen. You think it’s a stupid idea, don’t you?”

  I put my hands up, realize I haven’t thought about basketball once today. “Not at all. What if I could help?”

  “You?”

  “Why not? I’m a King. I’ve got connections. We could,” I pause to think of something, but I’m working on the fly here, hunting, “have an auction perhaps?”

  “An auction?”

  “A fundraiser,” I detail. “I can get people I know to donate, and I know a shitload of people with more money than sense who’d jump at the chance to offload some of it for a bit of moral laundering.”

  “You really think that would work?”

  The idea’s starting to grow on me. Our burgers and milkshakes arrive, but I’m too caught up in this to care. “Come on,” I press, “you know it would work. We could make serious money—enough to get your truck, maybe even get the soup kitchen going again if that’s what you really want, an actual brick-and-mortar establishment the town can’t take away.” I point out the window. “You know how much cash there is on the other side of the tracks waiting to be spent on the next Porsche or Louis Vuitton? Let’s redirect that shit to something that matters.”

  “If this a TED talk, I gotta admit, you’re kind of winning me over.”

  Her smile tells me I’m on the right path. “We could even enlist Alissa. She’d be great at organizing this, give her something else to do other than spend my father’s money.”

  “Who’s Alissa?”

  Details. Details. “Dad’s latest, ah, wife, whatever... It doesn’t matter. The key point here is I can make something like this work if you’re in. Are you in, boss lady?”

  She bites her lower lip, bright eyes betraying her own excitement. “You know I am, but there’s a lot you’d have to do. This isn’t just some science project you can cobble together the night before.”

  I shrug. “I know.”

  She slides my burger across to me. “Eat up. Dumbass. We can discuss details later.”

  I pick up the burger. “After sex?”

  She starts to blush even though there’s no one else around. “If you’re a good boy.”

  I act shocked. “Aren’t I always?”

  “Don’t know if Sal was convinced.”

  I laugh. “You mean the same woman who just told us she was banging King George?”

  Heather almost chokes on her first bite. “I’m sure they didn’t ‘bang’ back then. It was probably a very cordial affair.”

  “Is that what we are, a ‘cordial affair’? Because earlier? That was just the aperitif.”

  Heather swallows. “And I suppose you have something with a bit more meat to it for main course?”

  “Baby,” I tell her, leaning close, “you’ve never seen what’s on my menu.” I bring my hands to my feet and push them away. “Boom. I�
��m talking mind-blowing stuff here.”

  “How did I wind up with such a modest, humble man-child?”

  “Modesty didn’t seem high on the agenda when I was eating you out.”

  She reaches forward and slaps at my hand. “Quiet. You’re going to get us kicked out of here.”

  I look around. “By who? Betty White over there?”

  We laugh, eat. It might not be the most glamorous of restaurants, but it’s enough. I look at Heather and I don’t want to disappoint her, ever. I know she’s thinking I won’t move forward with this fundraising thing, but she’s dead wrong.

  If a King puts his mind to something, you can damn well guarantee they’re going to see it through.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HEATHER

  I know it’s building up inside me, that smitten-ness that wants to overwhelm reason and logic, to give my all to Phoenix. I’ve seen a different side of him these last few days, a caring and compassionate side I had no idea even existed in a creature of this nature. I thought it may have been a show, but I was wrong. There’s a lot more to Phoenix King than a pretty face.

  And cock, my head interrupts, the sexual thoughts that follow cutting through the static.

  We parked out the back of the diner, but I can’t even wait until we get to the car.

  I pull Phoenix into a side alley and press him up against the wall. An angular line of light cuts his face in two, turns his eyes into upturned icebergs. He’s smiling. “Is this where you mug me? I’ve done some kinky shit, but that would take the cake.”

  I part his leather jacket and start to undo his belt. “I simply want to show you my appreciation.”

  “For?”

  Belt undone, I pop the button on his jeans and take down the zipper, fishing inside his underwear for his cock. It’s hot and hard in my hand as I pull it free, lightly pumping it in the open. “Giving a damn, I guess,” I finally reply.

  He looks left to the end of the alley, but barely anyone comes through here. “I didn’t take you for the ‘act of public indecency’ kind.”

  I get down to my knees, tugging his pants and underwear with me until they’re bridged between his thick thighs, his beautiful cock on display right before my eyes, and it is a thing of beauty, tall and regal and proud, the cock of a champion.