A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(58)

I duck down, getting in close, because security is only a few feet away and I don’t want them listening in on our private conversation. I also don’t want to put her on the spot, even though I’d like to hear those words from her too. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to say it back.”

“It’s not . . . that’s not it.” She strokes my cheek with her knuckles. “I just haven’t heard those words in a long time . . . from anyone other than my dad, I mean.” She shakes her head. “I love you too.”

“King! Man, you’re gonna see Queenie in like four hours. Get your fucking ass in the locker room and get your gear on unless you wanna watch the game from the bench and give Van Horten a shot to hone his skills in net. He’s been dying to show your ass up all season,” Bishop yells from all of five feet away.

I shoot him a glare. “Are you serious right now?”

“Well, it’s true. You’ll see Queenie after the game, and Van wants to hump your net more than you want to hump your girl. No disrespect meant, Queenie.” Bishop gives me a knowing smile.

Queenie ducks her head and chuckles. “Go do your job. We can talk about . . . everything else later.” She pushes up on her toes and tips her head back.

I bend to kiss her and whisper “I love you” against her lips.

“I love you, too. Now go.”

She pats me on the butt as I pass her, and I nearly flip Bishop off with the way he’s smirking. I manage to control my fingers, unlike my mouth and the things that come out of it with Queenie. I glance over my shoulder before I disappear into the locker room. Queenie’s already rushing down the hall, fingers at her lips.

I don’t let the ribbing from the guys get to me as I suit up for the game.

“You’re a little late, eh, King? We thought we were gonna have to bring in the reserve,” Slater says as he adjusts his laces.

“Just lost track of time.” There’s no way I’ll let him dampen my good mood.

He hasn’t been a positive addition to the team. His linemates are always on edge, never knowing what kind of garbage he’s going to pull when he’s on the ice. He’s guaranteed to get at least one penalty a game.

“I hope you didn’t waste all your game energy on some used pussy.”

I’m halfway dressed in my gear, but no shin guards or chest pads, so I still have the benefit of mobility. Before I can even consider how bad an idea it is, I’m off the bench. I grab the front of his jersey and haul him up so we’re eye to eye. “I already warned you once, Slater: do not disrespect Queenie, or we’ll be having more than words,” I hiss.

He throws his head back and laughs. “Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

“You looking to find out?”

“Jesus, King, back the fuck down, unless you want to sit this game out. This jock-rot fuckstick isn’t worth the bench time.” Bishop grabs me by the back of the neck and tries to loosen my grip on Corey’s jersey with the other hand.

“He’s disrespecting Queenie.”

“He disrespects his own mother every goddamn day just by existing. Still not worth damaging your hands over.”

He has a point. I can’t do my job if I break my hands. And if I get a suspension, I could end up on the bench, or, worse, I could be told I can’t even travel with the team. I’ve seen it happen before. Then I wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on Queenie. I don’t like that thought—not at all. It’s the only reason I let go.

“Such a fucking Boy Scout, huh, King? Never like to get your hands dirty, do you? Except now you are, and you don’t even fucking know it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just remember: she was mine before she was yours. You’re welcome for breaking her in.” He winks, still smirking.

“You son of a bitch.” I lunge for him but end up in a choke hold before I can do something really stupid, like rearrange Corey’s face.

“What the hell is going on here?” Alex’s voice barely cuts through the haze of red. “Bishop, stop fucking around. King, why the hell aren’t you suited up? You need to be on the ice in two minutes.”

“Just messing around. He’s on it, Coach.” Bishop releases me and claps me on the shoulder. “Channel the anger on the ice. Every puck coming at you is that fucker’s balls.”

I run my hands down my face, trying to find some calm. I don’t like the way Corey is suddenly trying to get under my skin. It’s obviously intentional, and I’m not sure what the purpose of it is.

I finish dressing and try to clear my head and get in the zone. Once I hit the ice, I search for Queenie in the arena. I spot her up in the box with the rest of the girls. Which is good: she’ll be too close to Corey if she sits behind the bench.

I take my place in net and focus on the game, not the one player who gets under my skin. I guess now I know how Bishop felt when he and Rook weren’t seeing eye to eye. It’s hard not to be preoccupied.

I take a few deep breaths and remind myself that later tonight I’ll have Queenie in my bed, under me—or on top, or both—and that she’s finally admitted how she feels about me. She’s my raging rapids, and I’m her calm lake at dawn. We’re good. Perfect. She’s going to meet my family, and they’ll love her. Corey can’t touch what we have.