A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(86)

“You should probably wash your hands, Boy Scout.” I cough as I jump off the counter. At least the shirt is long and hits midthigh. “Hey, Dad.” My voice is nice and pitchy.

“Morning, Jake.” King’s face is the color of a beet. “I mean, good afternoon.”

My father’s eyes bounce from a shirtless King to me, in King’s shirt. Yeah. It might’ve been a good idea to remedy the clothing situation before telling him to come on in. “Looks like you kids made up just fine, huh?”

“Yuppers.” Well, this is awkward.

“Well, uh, I hope you’re being safe.”

Annnnd now it’s more awkward.

If my dad means Kingston painting my chest every time he pulls out, then we are definitely being safe.

“Of course, sir.” Kingston dries his hands on a towel. “We were just about to prepare some brunch, if you’d like to join us.”

“Oh, uh, before you do that, you might want to call your . . . momster? Hanna?” He holds up Kingston’s phone and keys.

Kingston feels his back pockets. “Did I drop those in the driveway?”

“No, you left them in your SUV. I was passing by about an hour ago and noticed the keys in the ignition and the phone on the seat. The door was unlocked.”

I don’t bother asking why he didn’t knock an hour ago because I already know what we were up to, and I’m pretty sure, based on how red his face is, so does he.

“Oh, wow . . . uh, thanks. I was pretty distracted last night.”

“I accidentally answered a call a few minutes ago. I was trying to turn off the ringer but hit the wrong button.” His face continues to heat up.

“No big deal. I’m guessing you told Hanna I’d call her back?”

“Well, uh, she said there wasn’t a rush, but family dinner is at six, and everyone is excited to meet Queenie, so she’s hoping you two don’t have plans. And that cocktail hour is at five.” My dad sets the phone and keys on the counter, pushing them toward Kingston. “I told her you could probably make it, but I’d get you to confirm.”

“Oh, uh . . .” Kingston’s eyes flare, and he glances at me. “Okay?”

It’s phrased like a question. I respond with the same upturned lilt. “Sure?”

“Great.” My father smiles and rocks back on his heels. “She also invited me to come along too.”

Kingston’s brows lift. “Oh?”

“Are you two okay with that?” my dad asks uncertainly.

“Oh yeah. Totally. It’ll be fun, right, King?” I’m not sure if fun is the word I would use to describe meeting my boyfriend’s parents and having my somewhat overprotective dad tagging along, but if nothing else, it will be an adventure.

Kingston nods, eyes wide. “So fun.”

“Okay. Well, great.” My dad claps his hands together and startles everyone with the noise, including himself. “I’ll run out and grab a bottle of wine or two. And I can meet you there, since I know where you live, King.” He moves toward the door. Pointing a finger at King, he makes some kind of odd clicking sound with his tongue. “You kids play safe.” And then he’s off, with a bounce in his step.

“Sooo . . .” I turn to King, whose expression I’m having trouble reading. “I guess this is happening.”

He nods slowly. “Looks like. Are you nervous?”

I shrug. “Maybe a little.” I don’t think the news has had enough time to sink in for me to process it.

He glances at the clock. “We have a couple hours before we have to head over. I have a few ideas as to how I can keep your mind occupied until we have to go.”





CHAPTER 30





THE KINGSTONS


Queenie

We pull into Kingston’s driveway just after four thirty. My dad was all about getting there early for whatever reason, and I felt weird about him arriving and us not being there, so we left at the same time; however, since Kingston drives like a ninety-year-old on a Sunday, my father is already parked and standing beside his car when we arrive. He keeps checking his hair and he’s wearing a tie, which is probably overly formal, but then my dad sort of likes to dress up.

“Fair warning: my family is a bit . . . off the wall,” King says to me as he puts the car in park.

“You mean compared to you?” Kingston is the least off-the-wall person I’ve ever met. He’s the definition of zen—well, except in the bedroom.

“No, I mean in general. They’re just . . . a lot to handle.”

“Kind of like me?”

“You’re not a lot to handle, Queenie.” His gaze moves over me in a hot sweep. “You’re the perfect amount of chaos, especially when we’re naked.”

“Focus, Kingston. We’re not talking about sex right now; we’re talking about your family.”

“Right. Yeah.” He shakes his head, like he’s clearing it. “They’re just a little . . . excessive.”

“Excessive how?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. You’ll see, though.” He gives my hand a squeeze and then cuts the engine.

I get out of the car before he can open my door for me. And suddenly it’s not me who looks nervous anymore; it’s Kingston.