Now, it only took one article for me to remember the situation everyone seems so heated about. In fact, I remember everything that happened. The way Kingston had been slaughtered by the press despite the fact that he denied the allegations. One of the biggest problems, though, was that some of the reporters got their facts mixed up. Since Kingston had broken up with his girlfriend at the exact same time as the girl claimed he had manhandled her, there are some articles stating he had actually manhandled Cheryl. Somewhere along the way, it looks as though the Arrows organization used that in its favor, claiming the facts were distorted. I definitely remember the allegation, but thankfully the team managed to quash it before it got out of control.
Or so I thought.
Apparently, it wasn’t the team who managed to deflect, but rather the woman who recanted her statement. Unfortunately, the deeper I tried to dig, the less information I came up with. Who the hell is the woman who said that Kingston manhandled her? And why the hell is this shit coming back up now?
Perhaps I don’t know Kingston as well as some of the people in his life, but one thing I know with absolute certainty is that he does not hit women. Hell, too many times to count, I’ve seen him stand up for a woman who is being harassed by some asshole jerk.
Leaning back against the cushions, I close my eyes. A renewed sense of purpose fills me. It irks the shit out of me that someone would make false accusations like that, then take them back as though they hadn’t already done damage. And though I wasn’t there, and Kingston hasn’t shared the details, I want to know why the woman would do that. All of the articles are the same, all lacking information, and it seems the woman still isn’t talking.
Well, she will be.
Because now I’m on a mission to find out why the hell she did it in the first damn place. It’s time someone held her accountable for her actions.
Kingston
I should be at home, or even at the Penalty Box, not driving my happy ass over to Spencer’s to drop his sister’s keys by. I wish I could say my frustration is due to all the hoopla from my announcement about dating his sister, but that’s not it.
No, the reason I’m headed over there is because the asshole had the gall to tell me I’ve done enough damage for one night. He hadn’t even wanted to hear my side of the story before he so easily passed off his opinion of what I’d done.
Now I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
Okay. Maybe that isn’t quite the truth. I’m glad I broke the proverbial ice with the media, but I do wish I’d gone about it a little differently. Not because I give a shit how Spencer feels. No, my only concern is with how this whole thing will play out for Ellie and Bianca.
After parking in Spencer’s driveway, I hop out of my truck and head to the door. I know he’s expecting me, but I ring the doorbell anyway rather than walk in.
“What’s up?” Spencer greets as though he hadn’t read me the riot act not half an hour ago.
No two ways about it, Spencer was a bit of a dick to me on the phone. And though I’ve got a few choice words I want to say to him right now, I keep my thoughts to myself. In my current frame of mind, it won’t end well. For either of us.
“Here.” I hold out his sister’s keys and wait for him to take them.
Spencer grabs them. “You wanna come in?”
I lift one eyebrow. “Why? So you can rip me a new one? I think I’ll pass.”
He sighs. “Why’d you pick tonight of all nights to bring it up?”
A muscle clenches in my jaw, and I do my best to hold on to my temper. It doesn’t help that Spencer sounds like my fucking parent and not my teammate. I get that he didn’t like hearing that Ellie and Bianca had been ambushed by fucking reporters, but he should’ve given me a little credit. I would never let anything happen to them. Ever. But I’m not in a good place to talk about it right now, so I steer the conversation. “You need me to help get her car?”
Spencer shakes his head. “No. I’m good. By the way, great job on the shutout. You kicked ass out there.”
I manage a nod but don’t say anything.
As I turn around, ready to leave, Spencer’s voice sounds from behind me. “Look, man. I’m—”
“You know what?” I interrupt, turning back toward him. “I really don’t want to hear it right now. You’ve said your piece. You don’t appreciate my tactics, and maybe I did fuck it up, but it wasn’t on purpose.”
Spencer sighs again. “You’re right, man. I shouldn’t’ve said anything. Amber told you to get the word out and you did. That was the right thing to do. I just wish we’d all had a heads-up. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
My eyes narrow as I process his words. “Trust me when I say I would never let anything happen to Ellie or Bianca. I would lay down my life for them.”
“I know that.”
Well, he sure isn’t acting like he knows it.
Spencer lifts his hand in a wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice.”
Without looking back, I head for my truck, more than ready to be anywhere but here. Shitty fucking way to end the night after a huge fucking win, but that’s the way it goes, I guess.
By the time I make it home, I’m about ready to lose my shit. The high from the game has worn off, and that in itself pisses me off. But there are several more reasons I’m ready to unleash hell on anything that crosses my path.
One, I’m angry at Spencer for insisting that I had done enough for the night and that he would gladly get his sister’s car. Two, I’m pissed at myself for not explaining things to Ellie when she pointedly asked me about them. Three, I’m irked that I didn’t have the nerve to kiss Ellie tonight the way I wanted to.
I’m too keyed up to sleep, so I grab a beer and head for the back porch. Dropping into one of the cushioned chairs, I stare out at the infinity pool that leads to an impressive view of the lake. I’ve always loved this view, but tonight it isn’t doing a damn thing to ease the tension in my shoulders.
My cell phone vibrates, signaling a text. Not sure I want to chat with anyone, I reluctantly pick it up off the table and glance at the screen. It’s a text from my younger brother, Heath.
Heath: Congrats on the win tonight. We’re still gonna crush you on Tuesday.
I smile. My brother is always saying shit like that. Heath plays for Colorado, and rumor is they have an unstoppable team this year. I don’t know about all that, but I definitely look forward to the game.
I tap out a response.
Kingston: Thanks, but I think you’re dreaming.
Heath: Don’t let the win go to your head. We’re seriously going to stomp your ass.
Kingston: I think I’ve heard that before.
Heath: I suggest you get some sleep the night before the game. You’re going to need it.
This could go on all night if I let it. The three of us are competitive, always have been. Both Heath and Scott are younger than me, and both were drafted into the NHL in college the same as I was. Heath plays right wing for Colorado, and Scott is a goalie for Boston. At thirty-three, Heath’s telling everyone he’s nearing retirement, and I can’t necessarily blame him. The moment I lose my edge, I’ll likely do the same, but I can’t bring myself to give it up just yet, even though I’m getting up there in hockey years. As for Scott, he’s still a baby at thirty and says he fully intends to make the record of the oldest player in the league one day.
Like I said … competitive.
As though my brother knows I’m thinking about him, my phone buzzes, and this time it’s Scott.
Scott: Congrats on the shutout. It’s about damn time.
That makes me smile. It’s true. My lackluster performance last year has worried more than just me.
Kingston: How’s Dad?
Scott: He’s good. He watched the game with me tonight, and he seemed to recognize you, but…
I don’t need him to elaborate. At sixty-five, my father suffers from early-onset dementia, and it seems to be getting worse with every passing day. S
ome days he’s completely coherent, others he only remembers us when we were kids, and some days he doesn’t remember us at all. It’s a tough situation, and I’m grateful that Scott convinced Dad to live with him since he’s the only one still in Boston. I know it isn’t easy on either of them.
Putting my phone on the table, I take a long pull on my beer. I probably need water more than this shit because I feel a little dehydrated, but I can’t bring myself to get up.
My phone vibrates again.
Fully expecting clarification from Scott or some sort of snide remark from Heath, I pick up the phone and glance at the screen.
It isn’t Scott. Or Heath.
Ellie: I might sound a little forward, but I think if the press is going to call me your girlfriend, I should at least get a date out of the deal.
My heart stops beating for a second as I read her words. The anger and frustration that consumed me a while ago dissipate completely.
Kingston: I’d be honored to take you on a date.
I’m not sure what else to say to that.
Ellie: Good. When will you be picking me up?
I want to tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes, but I know what Ellie means. Since we have another game on Tuesday night and the team’ll be traveling on Monday, I know I have to sneak this in sooner rather than later. She’s working tomorrow night, so…
Kingston: Breakfast Sunday morning. I’ll pick you up at nine.
I actually hold my breath waiting for a response.
Ellie: I’d like that. See you at nine.
And just like that, my less-than-stellar evening rights itself, and I’m once again riding the adrenaline high. Only this time, it has nothing to do with winning and everything to do with a chance at redemption.
13
Ellie
Sunday, October 16th
I don’t have a clue what came over me Friday night when I practically asked Kingston out. It could’ve been the wine, though doubtful. It could’ve been the fact that I read all that nonsense about the accusations from that woman and I felt bad for him. Only I didn’t. I felt bad for the woman because she had stooped that low. Or it could’ve simply been my traitorous hormones.
I’m leaning toward the latter.
Regardless, I hadn’t thought things all the way through when I texted him and then agreed to breakfast. What the hell are you supposed to wear to a breakfast date? Dinner, I understand. A night out dancing, I can figure that one out, too. But breakfast? Isn’t that the meal usually eaten while wearing pajamas?
For some reason, I’m thinking that won’t be appropriate attire.
I don’t even know where Kingston is taking me, which is how I find myself wearing nothing but a towel, standing in front of my mirror, when my doorbell rings.
“Shit.”
Remembering that Bianca convinced me to let Gabby spend the night and I know they stayed up way too late, I can’t rely on her to answer the door. Apparently I momentarily forgot that I’m not dressed, because I race through the house and fling open the front door before Kingston can ring the doorbell again. The last thing I need is for the girls to wake up. I already told Bianca that I was going to breakfast and that she should text me when they wake up.
“Uh … good morning?” Kingston’s greeting is accompanied by wide eyes as he stares at me.
Yup. I’m standing here in a towel while the goalie god is standing on my front porch.
“Sorry,” I say with a shy smile. “I’m almost ready.”
His grin widens as his eyes slide back to mine. “No need to rush on my account. I’m quite fond of the outfit.”
Rolling my eyes, I step out of the way and allow him inside. “I just need two minutes.”
Now that I notice he’s wearing a navy blue Henley and a pair of jeans, I don’t feel quite so intimidated by breakfast. In fact, that opens up a wealth of options for me as far as my wardrobe goes.
“I’ll be right back,” I assure him, then hurry back down the hall to my bedroom, remembering to close the door behind me.
Ten minutes later, I emerge wearing jeans and one of my favorite lightweight sweaters. It isn’t often that I wear something that doesn’t promote the Penalty Box, so it took a few extra minutes to locate suitable apparel.
“You look good enough to eat,” Kingston says when I join him in the living room.
Yep, ruthless flirt.
“Thanks.”
“Ready?” he asks.
“I am.”
“Bianca coming with us?” He glances at the stairs, and he seems almost … hopeful.
I won’t deny that him asking about Bianca—even accepting that she might join us for breakfast—melts my heart. My daughter is the most important person in my life. I put her first always, so it’s important that the men I date understand that. You’d be surprised at the number of men who can’t grasp that concept.
“Gabby stayed last night, so they’re still asleep. It’s just the two of us.”
“I can deal with that,” he says with a smirk.
After locking the door, Kingston walks me to the truck, his big hand on the small of my back. His warmth infuses me, but it does little to settle my nerves. Even the drive to the restaurant is uncomfortable, though I know it’s just me. I’ve been around Kingston for nearly half my life, yet being alone with him like this… I guess I never thought it would happen.
When he pulls into the parking lot of a small mom-and-pop place, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Kingston must’ve heard me because he laughs. “Relax.”
“Easier said than done,” I tell him, reaching for the door handle.
“Don’t move,” he insists before climbing out and walking around to my side.
I wait for him to open my door, but before I can climb down, he steps forward, inserting himself between my legs when I turn.
I peer up into soulful brown eyes, holding my breath as I do.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he whispers.
“Do what?” I can hardly breathe.
“Kiss you.”
Yes, you can. Kiss me. Please. Kiss me. “Why not?”
His eyes drop to my lips. “Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”
Who cares? It’s clear my inner hussy doesn’t object, but I manage to keep my thoughts to myself, waiting for him to do or say something. Preferably do.
“As much as I want to wait for the perfect time to do this…”
Everything seems to be moving in slow motion again. I feel Kingston’s hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. My gaze is locked to his, my heart is doing a jig, and my skin suddenly feels too tight. I try to focus on the feel of his thigh muscles against the insides of my thighs, but I can’t. I’m so wrapped up in the sensual scrape of his fingers against my neck as he moves his hand behind my head.
His eyes dart down to my mouth once more. “I can’t wait any longer.”
I don’t have the opportunity to sing hallelujah, because Kingston leans down, his lips resting over mine in a gentle kiss that steals the air from my lungs.
It’s hesitant at first, but as I inhale his intoxicating scent, my body takes over. He’s being the perfect gentleman, and it seems my inner hussy has decided she’s had enough. The next thing I know, I have slid my hands up to his neck, my fingers brushing over his short, silky hair as I pull him closer, my mouth opening.
Kingston’s wicked tongue dips inside, meeting mine.
It isn’t a greedy kiss. At least not yet. But good gravy, the man has a wicked mouth. It’s sweet and so damn sexy I’m tempted to tell him we should skip breakfast and just go somewhere private.
It’s possible that I’ve thought about kissing this man at one point—or several—in my life. The guy has lips that are made for kissing. Despite some of my more sex-starved fantasies, this is far better than I ever expected. Who would’ve known that the big, mysterious badass could kiss like a dream? I never want him to stop. Hell, I’m not sure I’d be willing
to give this up for sex.
“Holy fuck,” he whispers, pulling back for a brief moment to stare at me.
Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.
Kingston’s head tilts slightly, and he leans in once more, his lips brushing mine, his beard sensually scraping my chin. I adjust my angle so that he can explore my mouth more deeply, opening for his tongue once more. Ho-boy. It’s quite possible I’ll simply cease to exist before he’s done. I can feel the passion of his kiss in my bone marrow.
Once more, he’s pulling back. I draw in air as his eyes rake over my face.
“You good?”
I manage a nod. But I’m not ready for him to stop.
I think he might’ve read my mind because he growls and crushes his lips back to mine. The kiss hits white-hot territory in a blistering second. I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk when he’s finished with me. I know I’ve slid down from the truck, but I’m not sure whether I’m standing or if he’s holding me up. Probably the latter.
God, he tastes so good. Masculine and hot.
His hand flexes on the back of my head as I shift so his mouth aligns perfectly with mine. There isn’t a second that Kingston isn’t in control of this kiss. As his tongue glides against mine, I manage to resist pulling his lower body closer so I can grind myself against him, somehow ignoring the desperate ache now consuming me. Seriously, even I know that I can’t give complete control to my inner hussy. It would be embarrassing.
A low growl emanates from Kingston’s chest, sending an electrical charge straight to my clit.
No doubt about it, the man could win a trophy for his lips alone.
When he pulls back, I’m breathing hard, but so is he. He doesn’t move too far, merely staring down at me with a wicked smile on his face.
“I’ve wanted to do that for sixteen years,” he mutters.
It takes a moment for my brain to process what he said. He’s wanted… Wow. Sixteen years ago would’ve been about the time we met.
I shake off the thought.
There is no way this man has wanted me for that long.
The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1) Page 13
