Just This Once (The Kings)

Forty minutes in and the Forrest Grumps were absolutely dominating the competition. The team of eight elderly gentlemen looked unassuming, but their combined knowledge of pop culture references was astounding.

I hadn’t intended to join a team, but MJ and Rachel insisted that I sit at the table with them, Brooklyn, and Whip. Rachel and Brooklyn sat next to each other with MJ across from the duo. I quickly took the seat next to Rachel to avoid any kind of proximity to Whip. I figured he would opt for the seat at the head of the high-top table. Instead he, of course, sat in the stool directly across from me.

The man was utterly confusing. First, he grabbed me in my parents’ driveway and absolutely destroyed my panties with a soul-searing kiss; then he told me I wasn’t worth it. Instead of stuffing it down and acting like it never happened like a normal person would do, he was staring at me. Sneaking glances and eyes that flicked from my eyes to my mouth to my tits and then back again. It was like he was interested but also beating himself up over it. I didn’t have the energy to keep up.

I massaged the side of my neck and gave it a stretch as we waited for the next round to begin.

Rachel’s forehead creased. “Something wrong with your neck?”

I stretched my neck from side to side. “Just a bit of whiplash, I think.” I shot a pointed look across the table, and Whip ducked his gaze as he took a sip of his beer.

“You should see my masseuse, Ricardo. He’s amazing with his hands,” Rachel offered.

“That sounds perfect. Thanks.” I flashed a demure smile, and when Whip shot me a fierce look, a hot rush moved down my thighs. My body hummed with awareness at his attention. Intentionally, I ignored his presence and focused my attention and enthusiasm on the rest of our table.

Whip scowled into his beer, and I allowed myself a smirk of satisfaction at pissing him off a little.

I bet Ricardo wouldn’t tell me I’m not worth it.

The crowd around us was completely oblivious to our petty, silent bickering. They were engaged and rowdy, calling above the DJ, whooping and hollering as their teams earned points for correct answers. Abel King and a few servers worked the bar and ensured participants were never without a drink.

Sloane had worked our table, and her cheerful wink made me smile. She was sweet, and I promised myself I would ask MJ if she and Sloane would like to go out for coffee or drinks sometime. Making friends as an adult was awkward as shit, but if Outtatowner was going to become my home, I needed to get past any hang-ups of rejection.

As the night wore on, my competitive streak bloomed in full force. More than once I had to catch myself from glaring at tables that weren’t taking it seriously. It became pretty clear that Phil and the Blanks were a team mostly there to pick up women. But I didn’t care, because the purchase of their ticket only benefited the foundation.

When a break between rounds finally came and MJ disappeared for a bathroom break, I focused my attention on assessing the room. For each table, I had included a handwritten thank-you card detailing how their donations benefited the children of Outtatowner, along with other ways they might be able to help. Even the empty Cheese Balls tub used for additional donations was filling up quickly. Each group had also been given a small basket of snacks, provided by the foundation.

Across our high-top table, Whip caught my attention as his eyes flicked from me to the center of the table, where I had my eye on a small bag of pretzels. His hand reached out and snatched it.

What a jerk.

His eyebrow tipped up as he opened the bag and slid it across the table to me without a word. I scowled at him despite my growling stomach. Reluctantly, I plucked the bag off the table and diverted my attention to the DJ, who was announcing the next question just as MJ returned to her seat.

“First question of the round . . . What is the only planet to rotate on its side?” The music, which served as our timer, played in the background.

I perked up and spoke around my mouthful of pretzel. “Uranus.”

Whip sat straighter and planted his hand on his chest. “My anus?”

I didn’t want to laugh, so I concealed my cackle with a clearing of my throat. I shot him a bored look and flicked a pretzel in his direction as Brooklyn’s laugh cracked above the crowd.

I swallowed down my mouthful of dry pretzels. “It’s pronounced Yoor-ah-nis. Not your-anus.” I shook my head. “Child.”

Whip sent a playful look my way, and I coughed into my elbow to hide a grin.

Rachel narrowed her eyes on me as she wrote our answer on a slip of paper. “You’re sure?”

“Sure. Sure.” I nodded. In fact, I’d once had to talk with a few of my students about a particularly tasteless joke on the very topic.

“If you say so.” Rachel folded our slip of paper and held it up. “Runner!” MJ hopped off her stool and took the paper toward the DJ as he counted down the last thirty seconds over the microphone.

Under the table, Whip’s knee bumped mine, and I shifted in my seat to avoid contact. It was bad enough he smelled as good as he did and wouldn’t stop looking at me with danger sparking in his eyes.

When the DJ announced the correct answer, our team cheered, and I added our points to the running total on the slip of paper I was using to keep track. “Okay.” I looked at our team, imploring them to get serious. “If we get the next few correct, we might pull off second place. We’ll need a miracle to beat the Forrest Grumps.” I scanned the crowd, pleased everyone seemed to be having a great time. “And Victorious Secret is hot on our tails.”

The team across the room included Tootie Sullivan and five other women, a few of whom I recognized from the Bluebirds meeting.

MJ laughed and reached across the table to steal my paper. “Relax, Emily. This is supposed to be fun.”

“The Warden?” Rachel teased as she bumped me. “Have fun?”

I playfully snarled in her direction. “I know how to have fun,” I insisted, signaling for MJ to hand the paper back. “I just don’t want the Smarty Pints to win. Smarty my ass,” I grumbled with a scowl. “I saw them using their phones to look up answers. That’s cheating.”

Whip’s rumbling laughter filled the air, but I didn’t get the sense he was laughing at me. It was more like he was enjoying himself despite the frosty attitude toward him I’d be harboring all evening.

“Shh, shh. Next question is coming.” Brooklyn wound her arm around the back of Rachel’s chair, and my cheeks pinched tight with a smile. It looked as though their first date was going really well, and I was so happy for my friend.

“Okay, teams, next question. What is a group of flamingos called?” The music started up again, this time an electric synth-pop song I didn’t recognize.

I racked my brain but couldn’t come up with a plausible answer.

“A murder?” MJ offered, but frowned at her own answer. “No, that’s crows.”

“Flock is too obvious, right?” Rachel asked the group.

“Forty seconds. Let’s get those answers turned in!” the DJ crooned.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My palms went up in defeat. “I got nothing . . . maybe just write down flock. A guess is better than not answering.”

“It’s a flamboyance.” All eyes turned to Whip, who took a sip of his caramel-colored beer. He shrugged off the attention. “What?”

“You’re sure?” I pressed, leaning forward across the table.

He set the glass down and twirled a finger in the air. “The songs. They’re clues. If you listen to the lyrics, this one keeps saying something about being flamboyant.”

We paused just long enough to hear the singer warble you’re so flamboyant in the chorus.

Skepticism laced with angered disbelief in my voice. “The songs have been clues the entire time?!”

“Twenty seconds, ticktock!” The DJ clucked his tongue like a ticking clock.

“Who cares? Just write it down!” Brooklyn urged with a laugh as Rachel furiously wrote down our answer. MJ sprinted toward the DJ table, making it with a mere second left.

Sure as shit, Whip was right. A group of flamingos was, in fact, called a flamboyance. Which, when you really think about it, makes a lot of sense given their stylish pink feathers and statuesque, bendy legs.

After a few more rounds using Whip’s correct assumption that the songs were subtle clues, our team—Four Gals and a Random Dude—eked out a respectable second-place finish.

To my surprise and delight, the Forrest Grumps not only donated their $100 first-place winnings, but matched it with an additional donation as well. Then Abel refused my offer to help clean up, assuring me that he needed the setup, given the influx of customers who were staying after trivia ended.

Rachel and Brooklyn’s first date didn’t seem to be ending anytime soon, and I had zero interest in being a third wheel, so I finished my drink and slid from the high stool. Whip had wandered off to mingle, and I forced myself to not track his movements.

I didn’t care what he chose to do with his time. Not one bit.

With an exaggerated yawn, MJ stretched her arms above her head. “I’m hosed. Time to call it a night.”

“Already?” Rachel asked.

MJ smiled. “Early shift tomorrow, but I’ll text soon.”

She slipped her purse over her head.

“I’m heading out too,” I said, then waved goodbye to Rachel and Brooklyn. “Night, guys.”

“Good night!” Rachel singsonged. She smiled, and as Brooklyn turned to face the bar, she let out a silent squeal and an Oh my god!

I held my hand to my head like a telephone and mouthed, Call me!

Together MJ and I walked into the darkened parking lot. Overhead lights illuminated the space, and the lulling crash of waves could be heard behind the building. Inky indigo clouds loomed above the water.

MJ wrapped me in an unexpected hug. “It was a great night.”

Surprised, I laughed and hugged her back. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.” She beamed at me as the first fat raindrops started to fall. “We should do this again sometime.”

I smiled back, shielding my head with my hands. “I agree.”

I quickly dug my keys out from my purse as I hustled to my car, hoping to dodge the bulk of the rain. Up to that point, the weather had held off, but it looked as though the storm was coming in strong.

My car beeped when I unlocked it, and I sat in the driver’s side with a huff, shaking the droplets from my cardigan. I sighed into my seat.

It really was a good night.

When I went to start my car, nothing happened. I sat straighter. “What?” I leaned over to check and be sure nothing looked wrong, but when I pressed the ignition again, nothing happened. I stomped my foot on the brake and tried again. And again.

Still nothing. Just when things were looking up, the universe dragged me back to reality.

Defeated, I slumped my head back in my seat and let out an aggravated growl. A loud rap on my window had me clutching my chest and screaming.

On the other side, MJ held up her hands. “Sorry!” She laughed despite the sprinkling of rain falling onto her head. “Sorry. Everything okay?”

I tried to lower the window, but because my car was being a dick, nothing happened. Instead, I rolled my eyes and hauled my sorry ass out of the vehicle.

“I don’t know what’s going on. It won’t start.”

MJ’s typically sunny features turned down into a frown. “Shoot. Well, I don’t know anything about cars. Like, at all.”

I laughed. “Me neither.” I dug through my purse to find my phone. “It’s fine. I can call someone to give me a ride.”

Her hand clamped onto my forearm. “Don’t be silly. Whip!”

My head shot up as MJ’s arm waved wildly across the parking lot.

Hell. No.

“Hey!” she called out again. “We need some help over here.”

My cheeks flushed, and I was thankful for the dim lighting in the parking lot. I stayed behind the open door of my car, the metal and glass acting as a form of protection against the way he swaggered across the pavement.

“Something’s up with Emily’s car. Can you help out?”

His brow furrowed, and I frowned at myself for the visceral reaction his grumpiness immediately caused.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked as soon as he was within earshot.

“I’m not sure,” I offered reluctantly. “Won’t start.” Whip stared at me for a beat, so I scrambled. “It’s fine. I’ll call my dad and get a ride.”

“Don’t be silly.” MJ laughed. “Whip, you can get her home, right?”

I stared a hole into the side of my new friend’s face. Why couldn’t she offer to drive me home? I swallowed hard as I waited for his answer.

He scrubbed a hand on the back of his neck, causing his biceps to bunch. “Uh, sure.”

I shook my head. “I’ll be fine, really.”

He tipped his head toward the east end of the parking lot. “I’m parked over there,” Whip ground out.

Unaware of the simmering tension between us, MJ grinned. “Thanks. I’ll call you in a few days, Em. Night, guys!” When she turned, I swore I saw her wink, but dismissed it as the low lighting playing with my senses.

I closed the driver’s-side door and relocked the car. Whip started across the parking lot, now dotted with moisture from fat raindrops, toward his pickup truck. When he moved toward the passenger side rather than his own driver’s side, I paused.

He yanked the door open. When I didn’t move, he let out an exasperated breath. “Get in the truck, Prim.” His words were rough, like sandpaper gliding over my skin.

My bones melted, nearly sliding to the pavement in a puddle of hormones and knowing. By sheer force of will, I pulled myself into the cab of his truck. The door rattled as it closed, and I watched him as he rounded the hood in the rain and climbed behind the wheel.

Without a word, Whip started his truck, and the engine growled to life. After flipping the wipers on, he offered a three-finger wave over the steering wheel as he waited for a twosome to cross the lot. In silence we bumped along the road toward the main thoroughfare through town.noveldrama

When the truck took an unexpected turn, I shifted in my seat. “Where are you going?”

“My place. Your car battery is probably dead, and I have a portable jumper in the shop.”

Like a petulant child, I folded my arms in defiance, mostly to cover the fact that my nipples had formed into hard pebbles thanks to the chill of the rain. “You could have left me in the parking lot to wait for you to come back.”

Whip scoffed but didn’t take his eyes off the shadowy, winding road. “I’m not leaving you in the dark parking lot of a bar, Prim.”

The protective edge in his voice sent a shiver down my back, and I pulled my cardigan tighter around my middle.

My movement caught his attention, and he switched on the heat, fiddling with the vent and pointing it in my direction. “Cold?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. I was very much not fine. I was crawling out of my skin being so close to him. The cab of his truck shrank into a tiny bubble filled with his masculine scent and my needy, achy nipples.

His place.

Despite only ever being there once, it was chock-full of delicious, haunting memories. Memories I wished I could forget but at the same time didn’t mind using to get myself off from time to time. I shifted in the seat as pressure bloomed between my legs.

Good grief.

I needed to get myself under control. Half the time we couldn’t stand each other, and the rest of the time we were in the presence of my father.

The short drive to his home was spent in strained silence. When he pulled down his driveway, I exhaled a sigh of relief. I could get through this. As we pulled up to his house, Whip opened the large bay doors to the detached garage on his property rather than the one attached to his house.

Rain pattered against the windshield as he pulled into the open bay. After he put the truck in park, he glanced at my lips, then quickly darted away. “Be right back.”

Warm light flooded the garage, illuminating the large space. I realized it wasn’t a typical car garage, but rather a workshop of some kind. Exposed beams and wooden rafters framed the space. Wood projects—what looked like furniture mostly—were in various states of completion. I tried to marry the carefree, indifferent nature of the man I thought I knew with someone who could create something so beautiful and with such an attention to detail.

Curious, I exited the truck as Whip looked for the car battery jumper thing. The scent of freshly cut wood mingled with the earthy fragrance of varnish and filled my nose. The shop was bright and clean. Every tool was neatly organized on a huge workbench that ran the entire length of the back wall. In the center of the room stood a gorgeous table that looked as though it had been freshly sanded. It was long, big enough to accommodate at least eight, and had beautifully turned wooden legs.

I ran my hand across the pale, glass-smooth surface. The warmth of the wood seeped into my fingertips.

When I heard his footsteps behind me, I didn’t look up. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Sure is.” His deep voice caressed my skin.

I turned to find him staring at me. As if my attention startled him, he quickly turned and set a small machine in the back of his truck.

Awareness settled over me. Night and rain enveloped us in a cocoon of solitude. Here, on his property, there was no one to see us. No father or boss or ghosts from our past.

Just us.

I ran a hand down the unbuttoned edge of my cardigan, brushing the back of my fingertips across my nipple. I stared at Whip’s chest as I gathered the courage to look him in the eye.

When I did, the fire in his burned back at me. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths.

“I don’t understand you, Whip King.” I surprised myself at how low and sultry the words came out.

He took a step closer to me—a predator stalking his prey. “What do you mean?”

“Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.” I took a step toward the workbench at the back of the shop and ran my hand over the cool metal of his tools. I shot a hot look over my shoulder. “I don’t like things I can’t figure out.”

I turned, leaning against his workbench. Heat sizzled through me, and rain battered against the metal roof, drowning out the rest of the world.

“I never asked you to like me.” He took another step forward, closing the distance between us.

My stomach quivered, and I lifted my chin in challenge. His hand moved to my hip and squeezed. I slid my palm up his chest. Another step and his body was flush against mine. His hard length pressed against me as I was pinned between him and the workbench.

“No. You just asked me to beg.” I lifted an eyebrow and watched his blue eyes darken.

His right hand slid from my hip up my chest and clasped around my throat. My head tilted back to maintain eye contact as my skin ignited.

“I like the way you whimper when I finally give you what you need.” His hand faintly flexed around my throat. “You don’t have to like me to let me praise how well you take my cock.”

The tether of my control snapped at his promise. My grip on his shirt tightened as I pulled his mouth to mine.