Playing To Win: The Complete King Brothers Collection (A Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  It’s been a long and tough road, too many nights for the both of us spent collapsed on the kitchen table, but it’s paid off. I’m cynical about it all, of course, especially the mayor’s part, but I’m glad our efforts have forced the Powers That Be to back down.

  Heather invites me over for the photos, a cheeky squeeze of my ass when the cameras start firing.

  “You’re going to pay for that later, Mrs. King,” I whisper, continuing to smile for the crowd.

  “Just as long as we don’t wake the baby again.”

  Maya, Titus’s wife, cuts through the throng with our three-month-old, Aiden, in arms. She passes him to Heather. “May as well make it a family photo.”

  Amelie, Titus and Maya’s two-year-old, tugs at Maya’s skirt. “Can I hold the baby, Mommy?”

  “We’ll let Aunty Heather hold him for now, hey?” she replies.

  I take my baby boy all swaddled up and still cannot believe we produced this. The decision to have a baby was made on the fly, has been the subject of much missed sleep later, but I wouldn’t trade him for world. Every time he looks up to me with those trademark King baby blues I turn into a fluffy ol’ souffle all over again.

  Heather says being a father suits me, but she doesn’t realize the impact motherhood has had on her. It’s cliché, but she glows. There might be rings under those eyes I can never get enough of, but I also see a newfound energy in her. It overflows into every area of our lives—pure sunshine.

  It’s god damn infectious.

  The mayor makes a quick getaway, the media following suit shortly after.

  Titus approaches me, pinching Aiden’s cheek. “Poor kid.”

  “Hey,” I tell him, “at least I won’t have to fend off future boyfriends.”

  Titus raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

  The thought over a second kid almost puts me to sleep on the spot.

  I look over at Amelie following Maya ’round like a little shadow. “She’s a cutie,” I say.

  Titus laughs. “You talking about my wife or my daughter?”

  Even though I’m holding Aiden I still manage to give him a light kick in the ass. “I’m more than happy with my lot, thank you very much.”

  Titus slides his hands into his pockets. “So I can see, and you’re graduating from that cooking school next week, right?”

  I nod. “With honors.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to come cook at our place.” He leans in close. “Let’s just say neither of us would know the first thing to do with an eggplant.”

  “You sure about that?” I tease, managing to dodge the ass-kicking that follows.

  “Hey,” I tell him, holding up Aiden, “baby on board, bro.”

  Two hands fall on my shoulders, Heather placing her chin on my shoulder and smiling down at Aiden. “And what mischief are you three up to, huh?”

  Titus paints on that look of innocence he’s been able to conjure since he was a kid. “Mischief? Us? Never.”

  “Right,” Heather smiles.

  Nolan joins us, has had quite the adventure of his own lately, though that’s a story for another time. Even Peyton managed to get away from his gig in New York to be here. It’s hard to imagine what he went through all those years ago. It seems like forever ago now.

  Dad approaches with Alissa in tow. “You got time for a word, son?”

  I pass Aiden to Heather. “Sure.”

  I head with Dad to a shaded spot by the entrance of the soup kitchen away from the others. My father undoes the top button of his suit, looking to where the entire family is gathered. “Quite a sight, isn’t it? Family’s like music, you know—some high notes, some low notes, but always a beautiful song. Have I ever told you that one before?”

  “You told me, ‘Winners never quit, and quitters never win.’”

  He laughs. “Perhaps I did, but I’d like to think I’ve relaxed a bit in my old age.” I nod to his belly. “Too many of my pain au chocolats, probably.”

  “Probably,” he muses, reaching into his jacket pocket and handing me a slip of paper. “Here. You said you wanted to open a restaurant, right?”

  It’s a check, the sum listed rather substantial.

  “Dad, I can’t… This is too much.”

  He takes my shoulder and looks me in the eye. I see myself in them, all of my brothers, that steely look of determination that has made us Kings—and broken us at times. “You and Heather have done a lot for this town. Let me do something for you. Allow me that.”

  He lets go of my shoulder and takes another check out of his pocket, handing it over. “And this one’s for Jackson County. Headed through there the other day and thought they could do with a soup kitchen too.”

  I have to laugh. “You really are getting soft.”

  I know there’s no use arguing with him. In fact, he’d consider it offensive to refuse, so I take the checks happily knowing they’re going to a good cause, that it’s yet another endorsement of the decisions I’ve made and my father’s acceptance, finally, that I’m my own man.

  Heather’s waving me over, a beaming Gordy standing there like the proud grandfather we want him to be.

  “Duty calls,” I tell Dad.

  He smiles back. “That it does, son. That it does.”

  HEATHER

  “See you tomorrow. Great job today.”

  I send the last of the staff out the front door and lock it, drawing the blinds in the windows and moving around the main dining area looking for anything out of place.

  I can hear Phoenix down the back of the kitchen finishing off the last of the dishwashing. I told him we had people who could handle it, that he should enjoy this moment, but he was adamant about pitching in.

  I spot something under a table and pick it up, turning it over in my hand. It’s a flyer for Crestfall Sports Academy. ‘Are you an elite athlete?’ it reads. ‘Register your interest now.’

  I give a short yelp when Phoenix whips at my butt with a dishtowel from behind.

  I spin around. “If you’re looking for an ass-kicking, mister…”

  He drops the dishtowel and raises his hands. “Please, Your Honor, it wasn’t me.” He notices the flyer. “What do you have there?”

  “Someone left a flyer for the academy behind.” I turn it over again. “Do you miss it?”

  He throws the dishtowel over his shoulder and stands beside me, taking the flyer and placing it on a nearby table. His hands snake around my waist. “Do you mean, did I make the right decision?”

  “You could have been a star, one of the best. Everyone used to say so.”

  “For sure.”

  I give him a light slap on the chest. “Still no modesty.”

  “I could have been the best,” he continues, “but I would have been unhappy, resentful. That’s not the life I chose and if I had to make that decision all over again, to move in with you and build everything from scratch, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  I have to swallow to hold back the tears. Maybe it’s just that it’s been a long day or the residual hormones of pregnancy getting to me, but I don’t know how I came to be this lucky.

  I take his face and pull him to me, kiss him long and deep and savor everything about it, breaking away with the taste of him on my lower lip. I reach between us and find his cock, use the butt of my palm to rub it through his jeans. “It’s been way more than six weeks, you know.”

  “Is that what the doctor said?”

  I make my voice low. “Uh-huh, and I am rather horny after all this excitement.”

  His hands fall to my ass. He lifts me and places me on the edge of a table, hands running under my skirt, my bra popping upwards so his hands are filled with my breasts.

  His fingers find my nipples, lightly squeezing them until they’re firm and proud, blood pulled from all extremities to pool at my core. “What about Aiden?”

  “I convinced Peyton and Erin to take him for the night.”

  “You what?”

  “I told Pe
yton he’s just like a football—a really cute sleeping, pooping football with arms and legs and a little button nose.”

  “You think those two are trying?” Phoenix asks.

  “I think you better take off my pants and show me what I’ve been missing.”

  He smiles. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, hands falling and stripping my jeans away, my panties bundled up inside and my sex hungry for his hardness.

  He falls to his knees in front of me, separates my thighs and seems suddenly mesmerized by my vagina. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he smiles, practically licking his lips with anticipation.

  I reach down and spread myself, know I’m insanely wet already. “It’s probably not quite like you remember,” I warn him. “The doctor said…”

  Phoenix reaches up and places a finger to my lips. “Fuck what the doctor said. It’s beautiful and I’m going in.”

  I don’t get time to reply before his mouth is on me, his tongue inside me, moving and lapping and shifting and turning me into a puddle.

  I close my eyes and there, before my orgasm, everything passes by in a hazy blur—meeting Phoenix in the dining hall at Crestfall, that cheeky King pull, the mugging, the arrest, the auction… And through it all he was there, supporting me, pushing himself to be better, loving me for who I am and not giving a flying fuck what anyone else thought.

  That’s the man I married.

  That’s the father of our child.

  Because I might have come from the wrong side of the tracks, but I’ve finally found my happy place.

  I finally found where I belong.

  The Penalty Box

  Teagan Kade

  * * * * *

  Published by Teagan Kade

  Edited by Sennah Tate

  Copyright © 2020 by Teagan Kade

  CHAPTER ONE

  NOLAN

  A guy wearing nothing but a pizza box walks past. He starts hitting on a girl with a skirt made out of condom wrappers—surprisingly, a fairly cliché choice for a party like this.

  The Anything but Clothes party is a Crestfall classic. I’ve attended my fair share, but now, as a senior, I’ve seen it all before. That includes the short blonde in a life jacket and her friend in a bra of hundred-dollar bills.

  I’ve gone for the beach towel. It’s simple, effective, and easy to remove should the situation call for it. But I’m not feeling it tonight. There was a time we’d head out together, the twins and me, Peyton once or twice if we could pull him away from the mirror. These days all three of them are too busy with their better halves for juvenile shit like this. In many ways I’m looking forward to leaving this place.

  “Nolan King.”

  I let my eyes drop to a mousy brunette who’s speaking to my abs. She’s wrapped in a Twister mat, points to the blue circle over her left breast. “Your turn, if you want it.”

  Pass, I reply internally, winking instead. “Another time.” I press off the wall and move back into the main throng of the party. Someone’s spinning up Toosie Slide by Brake, dancers doing their best to look simultaneously slick yet apathetic.

  “I’m, like, really flexible,” comes the shout of desperation from Twister girl.

  I keep moving until I end up at the back of the loungeroom. I pull up next to Clay, our team goalie. He’s gone with the old duct-tape wrap. Given what I’ve seen in the locker room, the poor bastard’s going to be screaming blue murder tearing that shit off.

  “See anything that takes your fancy, King?” he asks, scanning the crowd.

  I breathe out and slowly shake my head. “Just a whole lot of STDs and regret.”

  He elbows me, beer sloshing out of his Solo cup. “Jesus, lighten up, Holden Caulfield.”

  “A Catcher in the Rye reference? Fuck me. And here I was thinking all you were good for is catching hockey pucks.”

  “And pussy,” he corrects me, with a wagging finger. “Lots of pussy.”

  I nod downwards. “If you can even get your dick free of all that duct tape.”

  He takes my shoulder, smiling. “Hey, you know what Coach says, ‘Weakness becomes my weapon, and pain my pleasure.’”

  “He was talking about working out, not waxing your balls,” I tell him, spotting Twister girl again and doing my best to slink deeper into the shadows—not an easy task considering the place is lit up like Las Vegas.

  I’m pretty sure Clay is a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but he’s harmless enough. I don’t know where I’ll end up next year, but I’ll miss the boys—the entire team.

  A girl I recognize from the track squad stops in front of Clay, the cling wrap she’s wearing leaving little to the imagination. Her hands glide over Clay’s chest. “It’s like you’re a big birthday present,” she chirps.

  Who the fuck wraps birthday presents in duct tape? I want to ask her, but I bite my tongue.

  Clay side-glances to me before grinning back to her. “I’m all yours for the unwrapping, baby.” He takes her hand. “Shall we?”

  They go off, Track Girl giggling away. I have to laugh thinking about the poor thing dealing with all that duct tape, Clay messing with the cling wrap in return. It will probably be sun-up before either one is naked.

  I watch the crowd and once again get the feeling I’m past this. Unlike my dear brothers, I haven’t slept my way through Crestfall. Some say I’m the odd King out, that my shy and reserved demeanor doesn’t suit the surname, but I think it’s a strength. I don’t want a series of quick flings I’m going to forget the following morning. I want something real and lasting, an actual relationship. I’d never openly admit it, of course. That would be high treason around our household.

  I think of the kind of relationship my father and mother had. I hated it as a kid, thought their constant tongue-wrestling and pinches on the ass were disgusting, but now I look back at what they had with a kind of deep-seated envy. Even though Dad’s been with Alissa for a number of years now, he’s admitted to me many times, even in front of Alissa, he’d still be with Mom if she hadn’t died.

  I indulge in the occasional hookup, have had a couple of relationships—a loose definition of the term—but nothing has ever felt like ‘it’ before. Nothing has been ‘the one’.

  And you think you know what ‘it’ is? I ask myself.

  I wouldn’t have the faintest fucking idea.

  “You look like you could use a drink.”

  I hadn’t noticed the girl in front of me. Her hand’s extended out with a wine glass.

  I take the glass cautiously. “Is this wine?”

  “Franzia, actually, so it’s hard to say, but you don’t strike me as the jungle juice type.”

  I look over to the bowl of said beverage in the corner filled with god knows what. “You can say that again.”

  I sip slowly and get a better look at my mystery guest. She’s wearing an impressive dress made of fake flowers that runs diagonally across her body, a hint of skin here and there, haunting jade eyes made only brighter thanks to the downlights above. She seems at once familiar and not. I can’t place her. “Do we know each other?” I ask.

  She extends her hand. “Linnea Marsden.”

  I take it and shake, surprised how soft her skin is, the warmth below the surface where we meet.

  “And you are Nolan King, naturally,” she finishes.

  “My reputation proceeds me?”

  “Well, you’re hot stuff on the ice.”

  “And off it?” I question.

  Her eyes narrow. “The Batman of Crestfall.”

  I have to laugh. “How’s that?”

  She surveys me, doesn’t hide the fact she’s checking out every exposed inch of me. “You know, dark and broody and mysterious.”

  “I don’t spend my life holed up in a cave. The mancave that is the King house, maybe, but I think you’ve got me all wrong, Linnea Marsden.”

  It’s an unusual name, and again there’s that ding of familiarity. But I’d remember those eyes.

  “It’s Swedish, if you’re
wondering.”

  “Sorry?”

  “My name. People often ask.”

  And it’s not the fact I’m standing here in nothing but a towel that’s got me feeling buck naked. “You’re a senior?”

  She nods, sipping on her wine, the way her lips linger on the rim of the glass strangely erotic. “That’s right. Do you want to guess what sport I play?”

  “I’m not into games.”

  “Says Crestfall’s star ice hockey player. Humor me.”

  I study her back and it’s not a hard thing to do. She’s tall, almost eye to eye with me, in itself a little disconcerting, with a confidence and air about her that’s throwing me way off kilter. “Long jump.”

  “I don’t like sand up my ass, sorry.”

  Where did this girl come from? I look around half expecting her flying saucer to be parked outside. “I take it beach volleyball is off the cards then.”

  “You’d need to be near an actual beach for that. Try the team sports.”

  “Soccer.”

  “I like to use my hands.”

  “Lacrosse?”

  “Too hoity-toity.”

  “Basketball.”

  She pretends to shoot me. “Got it. Think of me like a female Charles Barkley…but with boobs and a better attitude.”

  “So, you’re a—what? Power forward, aggressive, intense on the floor? Start the occasional brawl?”

  She plays coy, left shoulder tilting towards me. “I’ve been known to get a little competitive—a trait I imagine we both share.”

  “Mmm,” I mumble, still unsure how to take this one. But I am intrigued. She called me mysterious, but I get the same sense from her, that she’s a puzzle I want to dig into and play around with myself, mess with until all the pieces fall into place—or apart.

  “This doesn’t seem like your kind of party, Charles,” I tease.

  She looks behind herself at a girl twerking in what appears to be a Victoria’s Secret shopping bag. “Ah, no. It’s my first ABC party, actually.”