Chapter Three #3
"You have that mixed up. The important case is you. The paying case is in second place. This is fucking amazing," he added, pointing his fork toward his plate before getting another big scoop.
"I'm lucky you're you and not Rush," I told him with a smile.
"He'd be hiding the peas under his napkin, handing off the carrots to the dogs."
"I don't know how he's not three-hundred pounds when all he eats is junk food and sandwiches."
"Shane," Kingston told me, meaning Shane Mallick, who was his sister's brother-in-law, a loan shark enforcer, and the owner of the local gym.
"Gets on his ass anytime they see each other about how between his sweet tooth and his new desk job, he was going to get bloated and soft and that no one would want to fuck him. "
"Well, that is one way to find the motivation to hit the treadmill. I should get a membership."
"Like Shane would let you pay. And you don't need it," he added.
It was a compliment, in an offhand, matter-of-fact way, but it still sent a shiver through my very needy insides. "I could barely outrun those guys," I told my plate, pushing the food around.
"Your legs are shorter," he offered, being kind.
As King almost always was. It was one of the most charming things about him.
I couldn't even imagine him slinging a harsh word, let alone losing his temper.
"And I don't plan to allow you to get into that kind of situation again.
But if you want to stretch your legs more, when all this is over, you can pop over anytime and steal Padfoot for a walk or run.
He would love that. You have the code," he added, an open invitation to be a bigger part of his life.
It was more than I had, but if I was going to be completely honest, it wasn't nearly everything I wanted.
As much as I tried to play it down with Peyton and Jamie and the entire Mallick clan—or, at least, the women—who seemed like they were on a mission to make me a part of the family in a more official way, there was no denying it.
I wanted Kingston.
Sure, there was a time when I had wanted all of the Rivers brothers. Back when they were just a group of unfairly good-looking guys I got to be around once in a while.
But the longer I was around them, the more that I knew them, the more attached I got to Kingston, to the idea of Kingston and me.
He was the oldest, strapped with the task of being a parental figure when his mother died, shouldering the burden of being an adult before he was truly old enough to be one himself. It made him wiser, more patient, kinder, more grounded than the rest of his siblings.
And every bit of that spoke to me more than I could have anticipated.
Then having to watch him start his life over from scratch so late, busting his ass renovating the building he had gotten on a song, building a clientele, burning the candle at both ends, well, that endeared him to me all the more. The way he craved to finally set down roots, build a life.
Then, well, there was the way he played with the Mallick kids, the way I would catch him looking at them with a paternal longing, like it was one of those other things he had needed to put on a back burner for so long that he wasn't sure if it was something he could have in his life.
A similar, somewhat buried, maternal yearning in me responded, made me want to give that to him.
"That'll be great," I murmured, trying not to let myself get too disappointed by a girlish fancying that was never going to be a reality.
Besides, it would be great to walk Padfoot. Between him and Hannibal, it might almost satisfy the need to have my own dog—something my schedule simply wouldn't allow.
"You look beat," Kingston commented, dragging me out of my thoughts. His plate was scraped clean, his fork snagging bits of veggies from mine.
"I am," I admitted. "It's crazy, actually. I can work seventeen-hour days then stare at my ceiling, unable to sleep. I haven't done anything today, and I'm exhausted."
"Think maybe it's that workaholic schedule finally catching up to you now that you have some downtime. Maybe you can consider this a little vacation. Lay around, watch TV, take naps, hang out with a cute dog."
"Sounds like the perfect vacation," I agreed, feeling the weight on my eyelids.
"So, go get ready for bed. I have the clean-up," he reminded me, reaching for my plate before I got a chance to object.
And because I was wholly unused to anyone doing for me, always being the one to do for everyone else, and I realized how nice it was for anyone to do something even as little as the dinner dishes, I took a quick shower, climbed into my own pajamas—silently missing Kingston's clothes on me—and climbed into bed.
Alone.
Because King had called down to me to let me know that he was going to take Padfoot for a quick walk before bed, that the lock would be set, that he would be within eyeshot the entire time.
Padfoot barreled in a while later, warming my feet as Kingston turned the water for the shower on.
"Sorry," King's voice called a few minutes later when I jerked at the sound of the door pushing open. "I just need to grab some clothes. I'll be right back out."
Everything in me knew it would be torture to my poor system, but I couldn't resist the urge to turn, finding him standing there in one of his oversized bath sheet, slung so low on his waist that I could see the cut outs of his hipbones, the perfect slopes of his muscles, that little trail of hair to the only part of him that was out of sight.
"We agreed we were going to share the bed." There was no denying the airlessness of my voice. I wondered if he heard it, if he knew the source, or if he just figured it for tiredness.
"Savvs..."
"No. Don't Savvs me, we agreed. Look," I added, patting the empty space on the other side of the bed.
"There's plenty of room." I watched his back as he dug through his dresser, finding pants and a white tee.
"Don't make me feel guiltier than I already do," I added, knowing it was a low blow to someone like him, with his big heart, and not caring.
Because I knew that it meant he would be in the bed with me because of it.
"You have nothing to feel guilty about, sweetheart," he assured me, turning away, sliding his pants up his legs from under his towel.
Unfortunately, it only fell when he had already covered all the good bits.
Flipping on his shirt, he moved to the side of the bed.
"But I won't fight you. That couch isn't comfortable," he added, getting under the covers, sharing my warmth.
"Thank you for dinner," he said a long moment later.
"Thank you for saving my life."
Despite thinking there was no way I could fall asleep with his body so close, so easily touched, fantasies just within reach if I, well, reached, sleep pulled at my eyes until I finally drifted off, body curled as close as I could get to Kingston and his warmth without actually touching him.
And then I slept with King.
In the most literal way possible.
I guess in the future when I begged the universe for things, I had to be a hell of a lot more specific.