Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Oh, hi, sir!” he almost shouts.
“King? What’re you doing in my daughter’s room at this hour? And what happened to your face?”
Shit. Of course my dad has to pick this exact moment to drop by. I slip past Kingston, and my nipples brush his arm, causing them to peak more than they already are, especially when the blast of air-conditioning hits me in the hall. I cross my arms to cover them. “He’s having an allergic reaction. He needs an antihistamine.”
“A reaction to what?”
“I’m allergic to strawberries, sir.”
“Shit. That’s right. What did you eat that had strawberries in it?”
“I didn’t eat anything, sir. Queenie had a strawberry shake.”
His brow furrows. “Jesus. This is from a shake?”
Leave it to Kingston to be far too honest for his or my own good. “Can you ask questions later, Dad? I think we need to get King something for the swelling before it becomes an issue.”
“Right. Yeah. Let me call the team medic.” My dad pulls out his phone, clicks a couple of buttons, and brings it to his ear, then motions for us to follow him.
Neither of us is wearing shoes. “Let me grab my purse in case I need to run to the CVS for anything.” I duck behind King, slip on my flip-flops, grab my bag and his dress shoes, and meet them down the hall by the elevators. I pass King his shoes, because there really isn’t another option.
“We just have to go down a couple of floors. You doing okay there, King? That’s a pretty nasty reaction to a milkshake.” My dad frowns as Kingston slips his feet into his shoes. They’re loafers, which I’d usually make fun of, but for some reason they work on King.
The crease in my dad’s brow deepens as he inspects King’s face more closely. His usually neat hair is a mess. Because my hands were in it. And there’s a somewhat decent chance that we smell a lot like sex.
The elevator dings, and my dad turns his suspicious gaze on me. “I’ve got it from here, honey. You can go back to your room.”
“But—”
“It’s all right. It’s late and you should get some rest. Thanks for your help, Queenie. I’ll see you tomorrow.” King gives me a slightly strained smile and follows my dad into the elevator.
I sincerely hope King is alive come morning.
CHAPTER 12
PLEASE DON’T CASTRATE ME
Kingston
My swallow is audible as the elevator doors slide shut. Jake leans against the rail and crosses his arms.
I can smell Queenie on me: not only a faint hint of her perfume but also, and far more pungently, her special scent, completely unique to her, because it’s still all over my face. I glance at my reflection, getting a good look at my swollen lips and chin and my unruly hair. I quickly try to tame it but then realize Jake is watching me, so I clasp my hands in front of me.
“Sir, I—”
The elevator dings and the doors open. A couple in their midthirties gets on, preventing me from saying anything else. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to tell him. Obviously I’d planned to talk to Jake about my relationship with Queenie, but I hadn’t anticipated doing it while having an allergic reaction caused by making it to third base with her.
We get off at the next stop, and I silently follow Jake to the medic’s room. Bill is already waiting for us, his bag of supplies laid out on the coffee table.
He makes a face as soon as he sees me. “Oh, man, that’s one hell of a reaction. Are those hives? Aren’t they itchy?”
“Yes and yes,” I say with a nod. The worst of the itching is below the belt. I’m actually nervous about what things might look like down there at the moment, considering how uncomfortable I am.
Bill ushers us inside, motions for me to take a seat on the couch, and begins by inspecting my face and looking inside my mouth. “Okay, no swelling of the tongue, so that’s a positive. It’s not anaphylactic, but I think we should probably have you retested, since this seems to be a pretty intense reaction.” He holds my chin and shifts my head from side to side. “So this is from strawberries, huh? What’d you do, smear it all over your face? It’s all down your neck too.” He pulls at the collar of my shirt. “How far down does it go, King?”
“I, uh . . . it’s not . . . it doesn’t go too far,” I stammer, and then I glance over at Jake, who legitimately looks like he’s going to murder me.
He pushes off the edge of the dresser. “I’m going to let you two manage this. King, I’d like you to stop by my room before you head back to your own. I’m right next to Queenie, across the hall from you.”