Chapter 18 #2
“Bear claws, huh? How can I say no to that?” I smirked and gave his muscled ass a generous squeeze. “How’s your hole after last night?”
The flush on his cheeks deepened, this time with an added shy smile. “A little sore. Those piercings are something else.”
“I know, right?” Oliver mumbled.
“You’re welcome, both of you.”
He swatted me on the shoulder, but my words won laughter from KC and Oliver.
After breakfast, more kissing, and watching Oliver get dressed in KC’s clothes—or more specifically, a clean football jersey that belonged to KC, which admittedly was hot as fuck—we headed out to the market in Shakira.
I had a lot of expectations after growing up in LA, and the market was nothing like them.
There were a lot more stalls than I’d conjured up in my mind and they were filled with homemade creations, from food to furniture to knickknacks that were honestly adorable.
My mom would call them dust collectors, though.
Our house had always been more of a designer mansion than a cozy home.
“They’re here!” Oliver pointed at the stall with a display of bear claws, his excitement palpable.
I didn’t think I’d ever heard so much eagerness from him.
He leaned in closer. “The woman who bakes them does it when she has spare time. Her name is Madam Winters. Really nice lady, originally from the South.” Then, he straightened again and grinned wider. “I’ll buy us all one!”
KC shook his head. “Sorry, baby, but I have my food for the day.” He held up his fresh protein smoothie, and I eyed it with distaste.
As soon as he’d finished his breakfast one, he’d made a new batch from stuff I had sitting around in my kitchen and an “emergency” bag of protein powder he’d had stashed in his Jeep like drugs. I wasn’t impressed.
“Are you sure it’s healthy to knock out real food for those drinks?” I dragged him closer, ignoring the ache of concern that swelled in my stomach.
“Of course.” He shrugged. “I need to get bigger. Our quarterback is giving me shit. I mean, he’s an asshole anyway, but I have to protect our team, you know? So, I need to pack on the bulk. It’s part of the game.”
“You can do that in other ways.” I listed them off with my fingers. “Chicken breast, eggs, fish, lean beef, or there are vegan high-intensity athletes who eat real food—”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” He chuckled and leaned his head against my shoulder. “But not bear claws. They’re all sugar. I’ll eat something later. For now, this smoothie works.”
“Hmm.” I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t call him out on it, either. Instead, I nodded at the stall. “I’ll have one, Kitten.”
Oliver went to walk toward the stall, but I reached out to stop him before he could.
“Actually, two.”
He went to move again, but I didn’t release my hold.
“Wait—three!” I let him go and pulled out my wallet. I dragged out my credit card and passed it to him. “It’s on me. Get as many as you want.”
Oliver laughed and his entire face lit up. “You’re such an asshole.” He slapped my arm but took the card anyway, the flush returning to his cheeks. He practically ran to the end of the line.
“He’s warming up to you.” KC brushed a kiss over the pulse point in my neck, and I shuddered as a wave of pleasure swept through me.
He hummed, then moved my necklace to the side and did it again.
Apparently, he enjoyed torturing me. There was no way in hell I could get hard in a fucking market with families everywhere.
“What can I say? I have an awesome personality.”
He barked out a laugh. “If you say so.”
Once Oliver grabbed the bear claws, he came back with an extra bounce in his step.
He passed one to me immediately, and we both took a bite of the dough at the same time.
The satisfaction of a well-made treat hit me.
It’d been a while since I’d had a pastry, and the claw gave me exactly what I needed.
“The best, right?” Oliver’s grin was all knowing and smug. What a brat.
“I don’t know, let me try yours.” I grabbed his wrist and dragged his bear claw to me, taking a shark bite out of it and chewing.
“Hey! You have your own.” Oliver laughed anyway, and KC joined him, taking a sip of his smoothie.
“You two are incorrigible,” KC said.
“Oh, look at that big word from the football jock,” I teased, and Oliver’s laughter grew.
“Just because I play football doesn’t mean I’m dumb.” KC’s tone was light. He poked Oliver in the ribs, and Oliver wiggled away from him with a feral smile.
“Okay, let’s go a’walkin’, boys.” I slipped my hand in KC’s, and he nudged my shoulder with his. He tilted his head to Oliver, and Oliver cuddled up on his other side. They couldn’t hold hands because KC had his smoothie, but I was nice enough that I would share KC’s hand every so often.
We moved slowly, perusing the stalls with interest. When I finished my bear claw, I seized Oliver’s hand and ignored the shocked glance he gave me. We got some looks because I was holding both KC’s and Oliver’s hands, but nobody said anything.
“All right?” I asked Oliver to make sure he wasn’t uncomfortable.
He nodded in quick, short movements, his flush more vibrant than ever. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He darted a glance toward a woman who was staring at us skeptically, and I squeezed his hand to get his attention.
“Eyes on me, Kitten. KC and I are the only ones who matter.” I swooped down to give him a kiss, and he moaned into my mouth. Once I was done, KC stalked around to get his own kiss.
“We’re good here. Safe.” KC winked.
“If you say so.” Oliver ducked his head, but I didn’t miss the curve of his lips.
“And if someone gives us trouble, we know the Kings. They’d defend us,” KC continued.
I snorted. He wasn’t wrong. Between Luke and possibly PD, I had a feeling KC and Oliver were well protected, which meant as soon as I broke their hearts, I needed to brace for impact. But I wouldn’t be chased out of town before I got to see Luke crying about his world crashing down on his head.
We came across a dunk tank. A man with short dark hair sat in a chair over a tank of water, and above him was a sign that read “Support the New Gothenburg Unicorns and A Home for the Heart!” Another dark-haired man sporting a pair of fake kitten ears stood behind a table with a metal box I assumed was for cash.
He had on a pink jersey. A muscled blue unicorn with a rainbow horn was splashed across the front.
I pulled KC and Oli to a stop because I loved this type of shit.
“Unicorns?” I asked.
Mr. Jersey’s mouth twisted, clearly displeased with being here, and he nodded. “We’re a kickball team. We’re raising funds for A Home for the Heart. It’s a charity that takes in LGBTQ plus teens who were kicked out of their homes.”
“Oh, I’d be so good at this.” KC went to yank out his wallet, but I shook my head.
“Oliver has my credit card. He can get us ten tries each.”
Oliver gaped at me. “I’d suck at this.”
“So?” I frowned. “It’s a game, Kitten. Not a competition. For charity.”
Mr. Jersey raised his eyebrows at Oliver’s pet name and glanced curiously at him. He studied Oliver with careful consideration, then some of his previous irritation bled out. He wasn’t pleasant, but he wasn’t acting bored, either, as he took the payment and gave KC three balls.
He pointed at the ring near the chair in the dunk tank, and in the process, turned his back to us. Silvain was printed on his jersey. “You get the ball through that, it dunks him. You miss, nothing happens.”
KC managed to dunk the man on the seat with his first try. The man spluttered, while Silvain snickered.
“First time he’s been in the water today,” Silvain said.
The man in the water coughed as he swam to a ladder and climbed back onto the seat. He also had a jersey, but Widstrom was printed on the back of his in shiny pink letters. He pointed at Silvain. “You’re next in the seat. I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Kitty.”
Oliver’s attention shot to Silvain. “He calls you kitten, too?”
“Kitty.” Silvain tapped one of his fake ears. “I’m a kitten, and he’s my owner.”
Oliver gasped. “Oh, that’s cool!”
I didn’t think Oliver was into pet play, but it was nice how easily he accepted someone else’s preferences.
It must’ve been nice for Silvain because he softened even further.
I suspected if he was an actual cat, he would’ve shown Oliver his belly.
But he also seemed the type that if Oliver went to pet said belly, Silvain would scratch him.
Each throw from KC resulted in a dunk. I wasn’t as great, and only five went in. Oliver did better than me, to his surprise. He got seven in. Poor Widstrom was probably happy to see us go.
Oliver laughed as we walked away. “That was fun.”
“Maybe you need to join a baseball team,” I teased.
“Oh no, I spend all my free time drawing.”
KC dragged him against his chest and pressed a kiss to his forehead before taking another sip of that damned smoothie. I had the urge to throw it into the trash. “You start with Ren this week, right?”
Oliver nodded eagerly, then froze. He peered at me carefully around KC. “If he still wants me.”
I smiled instinctively, the urge to tease and manipulate at the back of my mind. I couldn’t joke when he looked at me with this much worry. “Yeah, I still want you. We’re going to make you into an awesome tattoo artist.”
His grin broke across his face and it was worth checking my worst tendencies. My heart thumped hard against my ribs and a wave of happiness assaulted me.
How the fuck was I going to break their hearts? Did I still want to do that? I had no idea, but I knew one thing for sure. I was in trouble.