Just This Once (The Kings)

“Mom. What did you do?” My teeth ground together as my mother arranged another place setting at the table. Despite a casual cookout, she gently placed a thick, white paper plate in front of the proper seat.

“What do you mean?” She blinked and tried to play innocent, but I could see right through her.

I sighed. “Who is coming for dinner?”

Her shoulder raised, causing her light-brown hair to fall in a lovely cascade down her back. “Just a friend of your father’s. He’s up for some promotion, and I thought it would be hospitable to invite him to supper.”

My eyes tracked my mother as she scurried around the farmhouse-style table. I toyed with the inside of my lip. “As long as this isn’t another one of your setups. After Dickie and Tall Chad, your matchmaking privileges are permanently revoked.”

“Other Tall Chad,” she said.

“What?”

“I tried to set you up with Other Tall Chad.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Totally different person.”

I shook my head and tried not to laugh at how bizarre this town was. I shot my mother a pointed look. “Please just tell me this dinner isn’t you trying to arrange another date for me.”

“Of course not.” She batted her lashes as a smile teased the corner of her lips. “Our guest works with your father. That would be scandalous.” Mischief glittered in her eyes as her eyebrows waggled.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. I looked over my dusty-pink blouse that was french-tucked into a simple pair of ankle-cropped jeans. “Just tell me who it is so I at least know whether I need to hurl myself off the roof before or after dessert.”

My mother’s soft laughter filled the dining room despite my total lack of humor regarding the situation.

“His name is William, and he is very charming. I’d wait until after dessert, at least.” Her blue eyes swept over me. “Maybe do up your hair a bit?”

My head tipped back, and I audibly groaned to the ceiling. Nothing made me feel more pathetic than being twenty-five years old and relying on my mother to resuscitate my love life. “I really wish you’d stop trying to find me a boyfriend, Mom.”

Her eyes softened as she stepped closer. “I just want to see you happy.”

“I am happy,” I insisted. “If I get a full-time job here, I’ll be even happier.” I swallowed hard, giving voice to the words I’d rehearsed over and over in my mind. “That’s what I need to focus on. There are goals that I have every intention of achieving. I can do this.”

My mom’s arm settled across my shoulder as she pulled me into a side hug. Her soft, floral perfume filled my nose, and I sank into her hug. “You can do anything. I only know how deeply you feel, but that you’re afraid to show it. I just hate that he took that from you.”

Emotion clogged in my throat. Feelings were something that could be used against you. It was the most important lesson Craig had ever taught me. “It has nothing to do with him.”

I hated lying to my mother, but she let the small untruth go without an argument. “Sometimes I think you’re all action and you forget to remember that the best parts of life aren’t line items to be checked off, but moments you can only feel your way through.”

“That sounds awful,” I deadpanned as my mother squeezed.

Her bubbling laughter broke the tension, and I touched my head to hers. I knew she meant well, no matter how misguided her matchmaking attempts were. “Just . . . try leaning into your feelings. For me,” she pleaded.

I pouted. “Fine. But only because I’m going to steal a brownie before dinner!” With a laugh, I escaped her hug just as I took off like a shot toward the kitchen.

“You better not!” She whipped a dish towel in my direction and chased me into the next room.

My laughter died a slow, squawking death, and my feet came up short. My mother’s body propelled me forward from behind as I stared at Whip, standing in my parents’ kitchen.

“There are my girls.” My father beamed at us as he shoved the remainder of a brownie into his mouth.

“Joseph Martin. I told you those were for dessert. I swear, you and Emily are cut from the same cloth.”

Dad wiped his hands as I continued to stare at Whip. Heat prickled along my hairline, and Whip’s eyes stayed locked with mine.

Mom moved past me in one graceful motion, opening her arms wide. “William, it’s so good to see you.”

My jaw came unhinged as I watched Whip envelop my mother in a comfortable, familiar embrace. His eyes stayed on me as he hugged her. Clearly she’d left out a few details regarding William—specifically that she had a soft spot for him and that outside of her and my father, everyone seemed to call him Whip.

Her hands came to his biceps. “I hope you’re hungry. Joe bought far too many hamburgers, as usual. I’m afraid you’ll have to carry the leftovers to the firehouse.”

Whip’s laugh was warm and laced with familiar affection. “I doubt anyone is going to complain about that. Especially if there are any of your famous black-and-white brownies left.”

“That will be up to these two.” She laughed, gesturing between her husband and me.

“Mom . . .”

Mom turned to me. “What? Why are you standing there?” She motioned toward Whip. “Come on over here and say hello.”

I took one wooden step forward. He was dressed casually in dark denim and a white T-shirt. My stomach flipped at how his shirtsleeves strained against his muscles.

“William, meet my daughter, Emily. Emily, this is William.”

Whip held out his wide palm. “Emily.”

Manners took over as I slipped my hand into his. “William.” I tipped my eyebrow up, acknowledging his name with my steely gaze.

The corner of his mouth hooked up as he squeezed my hand. Heat unfurled in slow waves up my arm, liquefying my bones under his touch. I snatched my hand back.

“Can I give you a hand outside, sir?” Whip turned his attention to my dad, who held up a platter of thin round hamburger patties to be grilled.

Dad smiled. “Grab a few beers and meet me outside.”

Sir. What a kiss-ass.

An image of me bent over Whip’s bed, bare ass in the air as he burned a path of hot, wet kisses up the back of my thigh flashed through my mind.

NOPE. Thinking of literally anything other than that . . .

I growled and watched from the safety of Mom and Dad’s kitchen window as my stepdad and the man I was determined to forget laughed over beers in the backyard. This house may not have been where I grew up, but somehow my mom had made it feel like home. Pictures of our happy, simple lives dotted the hallway, and she’d decorated the kitchen with framed recipe cards written by her grandmother.

It was cozy and safe, and Whip’s presence was fucking it all up. It was clear my dad was in love with him, and the more they joked and laughed, the more annoyed I grew.

Whip’s eyes moved, catching mine through the window. Deep and intense, he held my stare. His mouth eased into a satisfied smirk after he must have realized I was trying to steal a peek at him.

My fingers dug into the granite countertop as I glared a hole into Whip’s forehead from the window.

Cocky prick.

Mom hummed beside me. “Mmm. Heck of a view, don’t you think?” She smiled as she took a sip of her sweet iced tea.

“Mother,” I deadpanned and turned away from the window.

A content laugh floated from her. “What? I’m happily married, but I’m not blind.”

“He’s a jerk. I don’t know how Dad doesn’t see it.” I continued studying Whip from the corner of my eye as he leaned in closer to my father. It looked as though my dad was teaching him something about the grill or the food. Whip nodded, asked a question, and listened.

Mom moved to finish making potato salad as a side for dinner while the men grilled. “I’ve met William at a few of the firehouse functions. He’s always been polite and respectful. He looks up to Joe.”

I frowned. “Doesn’t he have his own father? I heard his family has more money than God and practically runs the town.”

My mother mixed in the dressing and stirred. “When we moved to Outtatowner, Russell King was one of the first people to welcome us. On the outside he comes across as charming and, admittedly, we were fooled. But there’s something off there—something darker. I’ve always had a strange, uneasy feeling when it comes to him. Russell is always angling for something, and I can’t put my finger on it.” She shrugged. “I keep it to myself since it’s the role of the fire chief’s wife to remain neutral. But it’s something I noticed working at the police station too—if there’s trouble, somehow Russell King seems to be at the center of it.”

I mulled over her words. My mother’s intuition was rarely wrong. “What about the mother? What’s she like?”

“As far as I know, she’s not in the picture. I heard a rumor that she up and left all six of those kids when they were pretty young. Apparently starting a new life without them was better than staying with her husband. I can imagine that’s hard on any child.”

My stomach soured. I didn’t want to feel pity for Whip and the shit hand he’d been given, but it was there, lurking on the edges, nonetheless.

My mother pushed the bowl toward the center of the island and wiped the countertop. “It’s a wonder, but those kids all seem to be thriving in their own ways.”

“Maybe they’re all rotten on the inside like their father, but know how to put on a good show.” I studied her as I leaned against the counter and popped a rogue cherry tomato into my mouth. “What do the Bluebirds say about the Kings?”

Mom’s shoulder lifted. “Not a lot. Bug is Russell’s sister, and she’d never let anyone speak ill of her family. She’s tough and loyal. Though the Bluebirds try to stay out of it, with the King–Sullivan feud, it seems you pick a side and stick with it.”

I lifted my eyebrows, eyes wide. “So you’re saying you’re Team Sullivan?”

She pointed the potato-covered spoon at me and winked. “I’m Team Let’s Eat. Finish that salad.”

I shot her a playful look and finished topping the lettuce with tomatoes, cucumbers, and a sprinkling of cheddar cheese.

Once the burgers were done, Dad and Whip joined Mom and me in the dining room. My stepdad sat at the head of the table, with my mother to his left. I sat across from her, and to my dismay, Whip took the seat next to me. I subtly angled my body away from him and did whatever I could to ignore his presence.

Heat radiated off his body, and tiny hits of his clean, masculine scent distracted me from the conversation more than once. I participated in the conversation when directly spoken to, but otherwise spent my time shoveling food in my face to hasten my mother’s disastrous attempt at a love connection.

When Whip’s knee grazed my outer thigh, I nearly choked on a chunk of cheeseburger. I coughed and sputtered in an attempt to not die at the dinner table.

“Are you okay?” Mom half stood from her seat, concern thick in her voice.noveldrama

I coughed again but managed to hold up my hand and nod between hacking coughs. A hard thump on my back rattled me, and I glared at Whip. His wide palm stayed planted on the center of my upper back. His fingertips stroked the base of my neck.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. “I’m fine,” I reassured my mom, then turned to Whip. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” His eyes roamed over my face, and heat licked up my spine. His hand was heavy on my back.

I shifted my shoulder, hoping he’d remove his hand, but it stayed planted. He leaned in and I sucked in a breath.

“You’ve got . . .” He gestured toward his own face with a gentle smile.

Heat flooded my cheeks as I snatched my napkin from beside my plate and furiously wiped at my mouth. Sure enough, a streak of mustard stained the white paper.

Whip finally removed his hand, and I glanced around the table. Everyone was amused by my mishap, and I wanted to crawl under the table and die.

Dad leaned back in his seat and patted my hand that was clutched around my napkin. “She’s all right. Melly’s in good hands here if she needs the Heimlich.”

Whip laughed in agreement. “Yes, sir. I know what to do if she chokes.” He turned to me with devious, knowing eyes.

Take it. Choke on it.

The memory of the deep rumble of Whip’s voice as he spoke those deliciously dirty words hummed through me.

I stood abruptly, rattling the table after bumping it with my knee. “I’m good. Thanks. Can I take your plate?”

I scooped up Dad’s plate before he could answer and escaped to the kitchen.

I stomped across the kitchen floor. It was impossible. How could I be so turned on by someone I couldn’t stand? Whip was everything I didn’t want or need, yet somehow every word out of his mouth liquefied my insides and turned me into a needy puddle.

I tossed our used paper plates in the trash and paced in the kitchen. Maybe it’s just hormones. Maybe in some sick way I’m trying to get back at Craig for cheating on me with my supposed best friend and blaming me for being boring in bed when I didn’t want a threesome with her. Maybe Whip bewitched me with his gigantic pierced dick, and none of this is my fault.

Yes! Love this for me. It’s his fault—definitely the magical penis.

I bent and touched my toes, stretching my back and trying to refocus. I tipped my face toward the ceiling and exhaled. “Fuck.”

“Emily,” Mom admonished from behind me.

I straightened and offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry.” I rolled my shoulders and sucked in a deep lungful of air. “I’m just having a weird day.”

“I can see that.” She waited for me to explain myself, but I stayed silent. Finally, she sighed. “Dad is taking Whip to see the Chevelle, though I know it’s really a ploy to sneak a cigar.” She unwrapped a white platter. Piled high were her black-and-white brownies—a favorite of Mom’s. Half were dark chocolate fudge brownies with little hearts cut out of the middle, which were replaced with a blondie heart. The other half were blondies with fudge brownie hearts. “Give them a few minutes to think their secret is safe and then take these out to them, will you? I’ll start cleaning up.”

My molars ground together. The last thing I wanted to do was offer up a heart on a platter—brownie or otherwise—to Whip King.