by Danah Logan
My stomach somersaults. "I, um…don't you have practice?"
"Not until late afternoon. I have to be there at two. We could grab lunch after your second class, and I can take you home before heading to the field house."
He even knows that I attend two lectures tomorrow. "Are you asking me on a date, Weston Sheats?"
"I guess I am, Kingsley Monroe." The laughter is audible in his reply.
I fall backward on my bed, letting out an inaudible squeal, and kick my legs like a lunatic. My free hand covers my face, and I look at the ceiling between my fingers.
"Yes."
"Good. I'll be out front at at eight thirty."
"Okay." No question, he can hear my ridiculously wide grin as my voice pitches.
A chuckle reaches my ear. Yup, he totally heard it. "I'll see you in a few hours."
I peer at my alarm clock. Oh shit, I'm gonna need a lot of caffeine.
"Night."
"Night, King."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
What the actual fuck?
I'm standing outside King's second class, rubbing my palms against my jeans. I don't remember ever being this nervous to see someone. Especially because Exhibit A: I've already seen her today. I picked her up only a few hours ago. And Exhibit B: I had my hands on her bare ass and her nipple in my mouth last night. So again, what the fuck?
The clock on the wall opposite me shows one minute to noon. The noise level inside the lecture hall gets louder, and I wait for the first student to exit.
When the door opens, I involuntarily hold my breath. Of course, it's some geek in khakis and a tucked-in, light-blue polo shirt. A black belt and brown loafers complete the cringe-worthy outfit. I fight the compulsion to take a picture for D—she would have an aneurysm at the color combination. Chuckling at the thought of her reaction, I miss my girl exiting until she is right in front of me.
"What are you laughing about?" She scrutinizes me with her head slanted, hands on her hips.
"Nothing, just admiring your classmates." I pull her to me until her body is flush with mine. She raises herself to her tiptoes, and I press my lips to hers.
Her arms wind around my neck, and I slip my fingers into the back pockets of her black jeans, rocking my already hard cock against her belly.
Drawing back far enough to meet her eyes, I murmur, "Have I told you this morning how hot your outfit is?"
King snorts and rolls her eyes. "I'm wearing jeans, an oversized hoodie, and my DMs. Your taste is lacking, Sheats."
"My taste is spot on." I place a kiss on her cheek. "For starters, you are wearing my hoodie." (When she was shivering in her thin, long-sleeve shirt this morning, I forced her to put my spare hoodie on that I always have in the car.) "Secondly, I don't think I have ever seen a sexier ass." To emphasize my point, I squeeze so hard that she yelps and shakes her head at me. "And thirdly, I would take your Doc Martens over those ridiculous heels"—I cock my head in the direction of a group of jersey chasers that are openly glaring at King—"anytime."
King places a kiss against my chin, and a wave of goose bumps runs down my spine. This girl!
"Denielle wears those heels," she points out, and I know what she's getting at. We still haven't talked about my relationship with D. King is aware we're friends, but I feel like I owe her more of an explanation.
"True," I concede, returning her kiss by leaning down and nipping on her neck. "But Den is not the one I want to fuck senseless."
"Fair point." King's response is a blend between a breathy moan and a purr, which makes my erection strain against my jeans.
"What do you say? We skip lunch and go to your place?" I'm blunt as hell, but my balls have taken on a permanently unhealthy tint, and I need to get that remedied sooner rather than later.
She holds my gaze for a moment, her lids already hooded, and her chest is rising rapidly. She peers to the side, where the chicks are now openly talking about us. A devilish smirk turns the corners of her mouth up, and I wrinkle my forehead.
She steps away, and I instantly crave her body against mine again. When she intertwines our fingers and turns in the group's direction, the one in the lead stumbles back. I'm dying to see what's going to happen next.
King guides me down the hall. We're about to pass them when she halts and swivels toward the herd of fake blondes. "Okay, so would you like him to strike a pose, or no? How do you want him?"
Huh?
The girls' perfectly plucked eyebrows draw together in unison, and I have to press my lips together to not laugh out loud at the picture.
The one in the lead props her arms on her hips. "What's that supposed to mean?" Her nasal tone is like nails on a chalkboard. It's my turn to scowl.
King shrugs, then lifts our joined hands. Pointing at them with her free one, she says, "Well, I figured you'd like to take a picture for visual aid when you pretend that it's his fingers touching you when you hide under your pink princess covers tonight."
The lead blonde makes a sound between a gasp and like someone who has accidentally inhaled water through their nose. Another one's jaw hangs down, and a third says, "My duvet is blush, not pink."
I can no longer hold back and double over, having to let go of King's hand.
"No photo, then? Okay, because this is the closest you'll get to my boyfriend. If I catch one of you letter sluts ogling him again or calling me a name when it's clear that I can hear you…" She trails off.
"What then?"
Dum-dum is actually challenging my girl.
From my crouched position, desperately attempting to get my side cramps under control, I see King unsheathe her blade, twirling it on her palm.
Gasps ring through the hallway.
"This bitch is psycho."
"Oh my God, why would he hang out with this?"
"Let's go!"
My wheezing laughter has finally subsided, and I straighten. I catch a glimpse of the group rounding the corner down the hall, and I face King.
She studies me impassively, waiting for my reaction.
"Boyfriend?" I smirk.
She shrugs, seemingly not satisfied with my response.
"Was this jealous, knife-wielding-girlfriend performance for them, or was it your attempt to scare me off?"
"Are you scared off?" Her tone is neutral, reminding me of the few times she showed me her other side.
I grin. "Fuck no, girlfriend." I step into her personal space. She retreats until her back hits the wall, but I prowl after her until my large frame swallows her shorter one. With my arms on either side, I lean in. "The only thing you achieved with this show is me getting rock hard, and if it wasn't our first time together, I'd fuck you in the nearest broom closet."
Her eyes bulge before she shoves me away. King takes me by the wrist and drags me out of the building toward the parking lot.
With Kai not having any classes today, I drive us straight to King's place. Neither of us speaks, and she fidgets with the hem of my hoodie the entire ride.
I park in front of their house, and she's out of the 4Runner before I can shut off the car. I follow close behind as she fumbles with the lock.
Cracking a smile at her eagerness, I wrap my arms around her waist from behind. "Calm down, Princess."
I take the key from her and insert it into the lock, letting us in. I don't break our connection as we enter the house. Leaning down, I nip on the skin below her ear, and she moans, pushing back into me. There is no doubt she knows how turned on I am. I trail kisses down her neck when the sound of retching meets my ear.
What the—?
We still, and when we hear it again, my stomach constricts. Please let it be the dog. We follow the noise to Mags's room. As soon as we clear the threshold, her feet are visible through the doorframe of her bathroom.
King takes off, all but dives over Mags's bed, and sinks to her knees next to her friend.
Raking my hand through my hair—I didn't bother tying it back today—I follow a little slower. Conflicte
d emotions between concern and my dick weeping in my pants are raging through my body.
"Mags, what happened?" King is holding back her friend's hair as she is draped over the porcelain bowl.
"I—" More gagging comes from Mags, and I stop right outside the doorframe, saliva pooling in my mouth. I've never been good with anyone un-eating around me, and I instantly feel like throwing up myself. I start reciting different stock values in my head to drown out the sounds coming from the brown-haired girl.
Eventually, the toilet flush signals Mags being done (for now). I take a step inside and lift my hands in front of my nose.
I should've stayed outside.
"It started a little bit ago. I had just made a snack when I got sick."
King swipes Mags's hair from her sweaty forehead. "Did you eat something bad?" She evaluates her carefully.
"I have no idea. I—" Mags swings back around and clings to the toilet as the retching begins once more.
King's eyes meet mine, and her mouth is in a thin line.
"Can I help with anything?" Anything to get me out of here.
"Can you get her a glass of water?" She smiles tentatively.
"Sure." I feel like a complete asshole for the relief flooding me as I make my exit and head to the kitchen.
Returning with the water, I find Mags curled up in King's lap on the floor. The poor girl looks miserable, and King is gently stroking her hair. I hand her the glass, and she sets it beside her leg on the tiles.
"I need to take care of her," she whispers.
"What can I do?" I want to help. I simply can't be around Mags expelling her guts.
King shakes her head and mouths, "I'm sorry."
"Call me if you need me, okay? Either of you." I keep my tone low, not sure if Mags has fallen asleep.
I want to lean down and at least kiss her goodbye, but that would probably be inappropriate, given Mag's current physical state and position. She nods, and I leave the two alone in the bathroom.
I haven't seen my girlfriend in four days. Girlfriend. The term feels as familiar on my tongue as George would look comfortable dressed in a designer suit—or better, a ball gown. When was the last time I had a girlfriend? Probably senior year—Kimberly. Yeah, that sounds about right. Fuck, is King my girlfriend? She called me her boyfriend in front of the sorority jersey chasers, but we haven't talked about it since.
And why am I questioning this? Rhys would laugh his ass off. Rhys. Between my inability to see King and still working through my encounter with Lilly, my ex-best friend has invaded my thoughts more and more. Is King right? Is it time to move on?
My foot is propped up on our couch table, the TV playing a tape from one of our last games. We promised Coach we'd review it over the weekend, and of course, we waited until the last minute. Do we love football? Hell to the yes! What I don't like is getting homework for it. We normally watch our tapes together at the field house, but apparently, Coach is taking a weekend trip to Yellowstone before a specific area of the park closes.
Kai is slumped in the seat next to me, a bottle of God knows what propped between his legs. Zeke is sprawled out on the other side of our sectional, with Kiwi at his feet. The two have been hanging out more, and with Zeke at our place half the time, Kiwi has become our fourth. I'm not complaining; he's King's best friend. That makes him automatically a good dude in my book.
After King took care of Mags all day Wednesday, she took over Mags's shift in the evening, then covered both her and Mags's shift Thursday and slept most of Friday until I had to report to practice. With Coach gone, the assistant coach tortured us extra, so by the time I finished, neither my legs nor my dick were interested in driving over to King's place, which tells you how bad it was.
Mags started to feel better but not nearly good enough to make it through the double she had previously signed up for on Saturday, which meant King also covered those. She promised she'd text me as soon as she knew when Grizz would let her head out Sunday. Today! I finally get to see her, and with some luck, I'll get to see all of her.
My phone vibrates next to me, and I pick it up, glancing at the screen. "Fucking finally!" I feel like doing the touchdown dance on our breakfast bar.
My roommate raises his eyebrows as I shoot to my feet. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"King is getting off in thirty."
"Getting off or getting off?" Kai makes some seriously questionable gestures, and I smack him over the head.
"Shut the fuck up, asshole!"
Zeke pipes in, "The shade of your face is answering that question." Since I can't reach him, I flip him off.
When my eyes meet Kiwi's, I pause. My back stiffens. I don't like what I see. He smirks at me, unblinking, but it's not a positive or genuine amusement.
I narrow my eyes. "What?"
He glances down, examining his nails in meticulous detail, before looking back at me. "I'm sure you care about Roe-Roe, and I know she cares about you—more than she should. So, let me tell you this: if you hurt my girl, I will tongue-punch your fart box until you beg for mercy, and believe me, I will enjoy that more than you." He follows this statement with a wink, and I stare at him.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
Kai sprays his booze across the carpet, pounding his chest, and Zeke is curled up on the couch in hysterical silent laughter.
Kiwi cracks up himself, and I turn on my heels and leave.
I'm fucking speechless.
I'm waiting in the parking lot behind the bar. When Grizz comes out the back door and spots me with my ass planted against King's Jeep, he halts for a second.
"You're waiting for King?"
I dip my chin in confirmation, not changing my stance with my hands in the pockets of my jeans and legs crossed at the ankles. I'm not sure what to make of the guy. He's about as secretive as Lilly's head of security, with the appearance of Ragnar Lodbrok in Vikings, and has more computer monitors on his desk than a certain someone.
"She's finishing up. Front's already locked. You can head on in." He surprises me. My narrowed brows must give it away, because he barks out a laugh.
"If someone can take care of herself, it's King. I'm not worried about her." He starts walking to a beat-up old truck. Before he climbs in, he turns one more time. "I'm more worried about you."
I frown at his retreating rear lights and can't help my fists clenching and unclenching in my pockets. What is it with everyone having a problem with King and me?
Fuck this shit.
I push off the Jeep. Grizz kept the door unlocked, and I hope it's because he knew I was going in. I don't like the idea of anyone walking in when King is alone inside the bar—no matter how many knives she has strapped to her body.
Letting it fall shut behind me, I'm not overly quiet. I prefer not to be stabbed because I startle her in the empty place.
"Princess?" I call out, making sure she's aware I'm here.
King appears in the opening of the hallway leading to the main room. There is a pause before she speaks. "Hey!" Her greeting is slightly breathy, and even though I can't see her expression in the dim light—most of them are already muted—her excitement is audible.
My heart stutters, and I increase my speed. The need to touch her overwhelms my senses. Every cell in my body is starved for her.
Reaching her, I scoop her up by the ass, and she automatically latches onto me like a koala.
God, I've missed her.
Her pussy connects with my dick as she wraps her legs around me, and despite the layers of fabric between us, I can already smell her arousal. How is this possible?
Before I can say anything else, her mouth is on mine. She nips at my bottom lip, followed by soothing the sting away with the tip of her tongue. My dick is throbbing with the need to be inside of her. I walk us into their employee lounge while King trails kisses along my jaw and neck.
A shiver runs down my spine when she reaches my shoulder, and she bites down. I've never been into any of that st
uff (rough sex), but with her, I barely recognize myself.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I wasn't prepared for him to show up at the bar. I thought we'd meet at his place—or mine. When the familiar clang of the metal back door reached me in the front, I figured Grizz had forgotten something. Wes calling out for me—Princess—instantly made the butterflies in my stomach act as if they had received a dose of dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin all at once. My heart flipped inside my chest as I made my way toward the hallway, dropping the cloth I was using to wipe down the counter on the floor.
I find him at the end of the corridor, stance wide, thumbs tucked into his front pockets. His washed-out jeans hang low, the dark hoodie emphasizing his broad shoulders and bulging arms. Has he toned up more in the last few days? My mouth waters at the sight. His hair is tied back, a look that makes me clench my thighs every time. I never knew I was such a goner for a guy with a man bun until Weston Sheats.
He carries me to the break room. I fight the impulse to let go of him and tear his clothes off. The hunger to see him in all his glory has every nerve ending inside me humming. I let instinct take over as I rub my aching core against his hardening length and bite on his shoulder. A primal sound that could bring me to my orgasm then and there erupts in his throat.
Wes drops me on the couch situated on the far wall of the room, and as soon as my back hits the cushion, I let go of him and reach for his pants. They need to go. Now.
With his mouth on mine, his tongue assaults mine in the most delicious way, and I miss him unfastening my belt until my jeans are ripped off my legs.
"Jesus, Princess, do you ever wear panties?" His tone is low as he stares at my bare pussy.
My throat goes dry, and I attempt to close my legs, suddenly insecure about being exposed to him.
"Nuh-uh." Wes stops me, holding my knees and pushing my thighs even farther apart. "Don't you dare."
Before I can respond, his head is between my legs, and his tongue flicks my core. Holy— My hands grasp for his head, and my fingers dig into his scalp as he sucks on my clit.