A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(8)

I cover my mouth with my palm, not because I’m going to be ill but to hide the fact that it’s hanging open and I can’t seem to close it. Although my stomach is starting to do those awful somersaults that will soon turn into full-on nausea. The kind I used to get when I’d first hit the ice for a game.

This is bad. Really bad. I’ve never had a one-night stand before. I’ve always been in committed relationships, and I prefer to get to know my bed partners before they actually get into bed with me. Teen pregnancy was pretty common where I grew up in Tennessee, because there wasn’t much else to do apart from playing sports or getting into trouble with drugs and alcohol—my brother, Gerald, went the latter route. I obviously fit into the sports category. By the time I became a teenager, my parents had finally learned their lesson. It was drilled into me to never become that kind of statistic, or to turn my girlfriend into a mom before she was ready to take on more than senior-level algebra.

Ironic how my actual mother would’ve been one of those girls had my grandparents not made the choices they had.

“King?” Bishop nudges me. “You’re staring, man.”

Jake whistles with his fingers, causing the woman beside him to cringe but then quickly school her expression into an uncertain smile. “Who’s ready for a new season?”

He’s rewarded with a chorus of cheers from the players. Waters stands off to the side, clapping enthusiastically. He generally runs all team meetings, but Jake is a hands-on GM, so he always manages first-meeting intros before he hands it over to our coach.

Jake waits for everyone to settle down and take their seats before he continues. “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to my personal assistant, Queenie.” He throws his arm over her shoulder and pulls her into his side.

A hot spike of anger rushes down my spine—it’s a foreign feeling. I’m usually very levelheaded. But not right now. It’s obvious by the way Jake and Queenie interact that there’s a relationship there. Is she a cheater? Did she make me one? There’s a definite age gap. He’s young for a GM, but he’s in his forties, and I’m pretty sure she’s in her midtwenties.

“She also happens to be my daughter, so don’t get any ideas, boys.” He somehow manages to wink and glare at the same time.

And it just went from bad to worse.

My one-night stand isn’t my GM’s girlfriend; she’s his daughter.





CHAPTER 3

I WISH THE FLOOR WOULD SWALLOW ME

Queenie

This is not happening. I blink several times, hoping that my lack of sleep last night is causing me to hallucinate. It’s not.

My hookup from six weeks ago is sitting front and center amid a sea of hockey players.

What are the freaking chances?

My mouth is suddenly dry and my nipples harden as the memories wash over me. Such a pretty boy. So nicely dressed, so polite. So very, very respectful. But good God, get that man’s clothes off and get him into a bed, and it’s a whole different story. One I’d like to write a few more chapters in, or maybe an entire novel—a long one. I took the Boy Scout out of the polo and unleashed a very dirty man.

Based on his wide-eyed, horror-struck expression, he’s as shocked to see me as I am to see him.

For the past six weeks I’ve replayed that night, and the following morning, in my head. I can’t believe I left a Post-it and my destroyed panties behind. I wonder if he threw them out. Or kept them.

I wonder if he was as disappointed as I was that I didn’t bother to leave a number. I still have his address, thanks to the Uber ride from his place to the diner my dad and I frequent every single Saturday.

The father who I now work for.

Who manages this guy’s team.

Who told me not to get involved with any of the players. It’s day one, and I’ve already inadvertently gone against the one request he made.

This isn’t a great situation, and, based on how pale Ryan’s face has gone, I’m thinking he feels exactly the same way.

I’m so stunned I forget to be embarrassed about the fact that my dad pulled the father card in front of the entire team.

“Queenie?”

I drag my gaze away from my one-night stand—I’ve been staring at him—and give my attention to my dad. I smile questioningly. “Yes, Jake?”

His right eye twitches, like he has something in it. But he doesn’t. It means he’s irritated, likely because I’m calling him by his first name, and there’s some annoyance in my tone. I’m sure I also appear mortified, but not for the reason he probably thinks.

He passes me a stack of folders. “Can you hand these out, please?”

I want to say no, because that means I’ll have to make some kind of purposeful eye contact with Ryan. But since I’m my father’s assistant, my role is literally to do every single menial task that could potentially distract him from anything important. Which means I get the job of handing things out to the team, and collecting them and filing them. Riveting work, really.

If I’d been on the ball this morning, which I was not, I would’ve had the forms already set on the tables to make it easier on myself and the players. And then I could avoid some up close and personal embarrassment.

“Of course.” I take the folders with clammy hands and start on the left side of the room, setting one in front of each player. I get a lot of mumbled thanks and brief, uncomfortable smiles.