A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(21)

“Like what?”

She motions to my hands. “Like you’re taking a driving test.”

“Nine and three are the safest places to hold the wheel. And in an accident, you’re less likely to break fingers if the airbag deploys.” Also, keeping both hands on the wheel means I don’t give in to the urge to tuck the pink strap of her bra back under her tank.

“Good to know.” She glances at the speedometer. “Careful: you’re over the speed limit.”

I glance down and notice that I’m driving five miles above the posted limit, so I take my foot off the gas and slow down until I’m back where I should be.

“I was kidding.” Queenie crosses her legs and shifts in her seat so she’s turned toward me. “Have you ever had a speeding ticket?”

“Never. I’m a very careful driver.”

“I can see that.”

The light we’re approaching turns yellow, so I slow down instead of risking it turning red while I’m in the intersection. A horn blares from the car behind me, and the alarm on my phone goes off.

Queenie glances at the screen. “You have an alarm set for dinner?”

“I have to eat frequent meals, so it helps if I set a reminder, particularly at the beginning of the season, or when we’re traveling. Otherwise it can interfere with my workout schedule, since exercise on a full stomach isn’t particularly effective.” I don’t generally touch my phone when driving, but since we’re stopped at a light, I silence the alarm.

“That makes sense. You guys must get hungry often, considering how hard you all push yourselves,” Queenie replies.

“I try to eat every two to three hours.”

“Or for an hour straight,” she mutters.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Her cheeks flush pink to match mine. I’m pretty sure she just referenced our night together. “If you need to stop and grab something, go ahead.”

“Are you hungry? We could grab something together.”

“Uh, that’s nice of you to offer, but it’s probably not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, that’s kind of like a date, isn’t it?”

“Friends go for dinners, don’t they? Bishop and I go for food all the time.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t ever wet humped Bishop, have you?” Queenie slaps her palm over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

I grip the wheel tightly, trying not to let the memories surface. “I can take you home if that’s what you prefer.”

“I’m sorry, Kingston, I didn’t mean to make this awkward. We can grab something to eat. As friends.”

I glance over at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. It’ll probably help us get over all the awkward, right?”

“Definitely.” Or at least it should. I hope. “How do you feel about a steak house?”

“I feel good about it. How do you feel about it?”

“Also good.” I signal left and switch lanes, slowing down so I can make the turn, then heading away from Queenie’s house and toward one of my favorite restaurants. It’s nice but also casual, so it should feel less like a date.

Except they seat us in a cozy corner in the back of the restaurant, at a private table.

Our server, who is a guy in his midtwenties, tucks Queenie into the table, which is what I should have done if he hadn’t gotten to it before me. “Can I get you something to drink? Would you like to look at the wine menu?”

“Oh no, that’s okay,” Queenie says. “I’ll take a root beer, please.”

“And for yourself?”

“I’ll take a large milk. Two percent if you have it, please.” I wait until the server leaves before I turn my attention back to Queenie, who looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “What?” I swipe at my chin, worried I have something on my face.

“Milk?”

“I have a glass with every meal.”

Queenie props her chin on her fist. “So did I as a kid; my dad insisted on it.” She’s grinning, and obviously poking fun at me. I’m used to it. The guys on the team like to razz me about it all the time.

“I have a sensitive stomach. It helps coat it before a big meal. Also, it’s good for your bones; has lots of calcium, essential vitamins, and minerals; and is a good source of protein,” I explain.

Queenie chuckles and bites her lip. “I’m just playing with you. I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?”

“Mmm, cute.” She ducks her head. “You’re an interesting guy, you know that?”

“Because I drink milk with every meal?”

She makes a general motion toward me. “Because you’re you.”

“That’s not much of an explanation.”

The server returns with Queenie’s root beer and my glass of milk. We order our meals, and I opt for chicken and pasta with a salad so I can cover all my food groups and everything is easily digestible. Queenie orders steak, truffle fries, and a garden salad. I have to remind myself that this isn’t a date, just two friends having dinner together.

Once the server leaves us alone again, I prompt her to elaborate.