12. Kingston
Being kidnapped by his rival was not something Kingston Sloan had anticipated after finding out he would be playing for the NHL next season. And yeah, he could have fought harder to get away from Evans, but he had been curious to see where he was leading him.
And it wasn’t like he could do something drastic, like breaking bones or getting into a fist fight. Not when that would take away his spot on the Citadels.
The managers and coaches had made it abundantly clear that Kingston was playing with Evans on a line or not at all. And while it was depressing to know that he was chained to the idiot for the foreseeable future, playing alongside him would put him in a favourable position for advancement.
Kingston would go along with Coach Sullivan’s stupid game, but he was going to do his best to outdo Evans in every way until they figured out how much of an asset he was without the ball and chain.
And while he couldn’t stand Evans on a good day, Kingston knew he had to find some way to make friends with the guy. In hockey, chemistry was everything. All he had to do was lock on to that energy he and Evans had when they teamed up against Banner and Carr, and they would be fine.
So, when Evans grabbed onto him during the ride home, Kingston hadn’t punched him like he was dying to do. Instead, he let the weirdo drag him to whatever destination he had in mind, which happened to be an awesome penthouse in downtown Halifax.
That’s how he ended up sitting on a sectional that cost more than his salary, watching the giant beer league hockey player sort perfectly equal portions of food onto four plates.
“We ate,” said Evans, still looking a little dazed, but at least he was talking now. “You and Allen should get more.”
Kingston narrowed his eyes on the pair. The open concept of the penthouse gave a perfect view of the kitchen, and he would have to be blind not to see how close Evans was pressed up against the massive man.
Not boyfriends, his ass.
“If we’re still hungry, I’ll make more,” said the tall one—Jake.
Evans made a grumbly, annoyed sound in the back of his throat and bumped shoulders with the big guy. “Or we could tell Sloan to leave.”
Kingston had tried that, but the Allen guy had grabbed onto him before he had a chance to voice his opinion and led him to the sectional, glaring at him until he sat down.
He didn’t know how someone so small could look so scary, but Kingston’s instincts had warned him to do as he was told, so he stayed.
“It would be rude to kick him out after you brought him here unwillingly,” Jake said gruffly. “Think of it as a bonding experiment.”
Bonding experiment. Gag.
“What do you want to watch?” Allen asked, dragging his cluster of blankets over to plop them beside Kingston. He appeared totally at ease as he went about creating a nest for himself before sinking into it with a pleased sigh. “Let me guess…hockey?”
Kingston was sweating so much that he had to take his hoodie off. He didn’t know how Allen wasn’t overheated between the warm temperature of the penthouse and the electric fireplace.
“The Conclaves game is on,” he said, draping his hoodie over Allen’s head to complete his transformation into a nesting hamster. “If you don’t mind.”
Allen met his eyes for the first time, and Kingston—yeah, he could see it. The guy was extremely pretty. With those plush lips and big blue eyes, he could pass for a girl if his voice were a higher pitch and his jawline were softer.
“Oh? You can speak sweetly to me, but not the others, huh?” Allen fluttered his lashes like he was trying to be cheeky, and a smirk tugged the corner of his mouth. “Are you an asshole with a heart of gold, Kingston?”
Kingston didn’t know what that meant, so he scowled.
“Scary,” Allen drawled. “Such a big, tough guy. Please don’t hurt me.”
Allen was acting so ridiculously that Kingston found himself shaking his head and smiling. He was beginning to understand why the other two were drawn to the tiny hamster—the playfulness should be cringy, but it was kind of endearing.
A shadow suddenly darkened the area, and Kingston looked up to see the giant one towering over him, his expression blank as he handed him a plate of spaghetti.
“Eat,” said Jake. “And don’t start a fight unless you want me to finish it.”
Kingston let his gaze drift over the bulging biceps and defined stomach muscles and decided that, yeah, he wasn’t going to fuck with the guy. If Jake had kept his shirt off to intimidate him, it was working.
“Thanks, man,” Kingston said, because he wasn’t an animal and he knew how to use manners. “It smells delicious. You cook a lot?”
Jake wasn’t looking him in the eyes, and he didn’t once meet his gaze as he took the other spot between Allen and Evans. The avoidance and the food sorting were enough to believe the guy was on the spectrum, which instantly made Kingston’s heart melt a little.
His cousin was autistic, and watching Jake was making him homesick.
“I cook,” said Jake. “A lot.”
Kingston grinned and gathered a forkful of spaghetti before stuffing it into his mouth. He caught Evans glaring at him from his periphery, and sneakily set his arm along the back of the sectional to flip him off where the other two couldn’t see.
Evans reacted in the most predictable way, choking on his pasta in his haste to swallow it so he could curse at him, but Allen cut him off.
“Finger down, Kingston.”
Kingston blinked and stared at Allen, noting the way his eyes were watching the TV, and there was no way for him to see what was going on behind his back.
Was the guy a witch? Physic?
Kingston lowered his finger and brought his hand back to his plate, wondering what kind of spell Allen had cast over him.
“Ottawa Conclaves need defence,” Jake said randomly. “Su-jin Park’s talent is wasted on that team.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Oh my god!” Allen leaned forward and smacked his plate down on the glass surface of the coffee table. All the blankets and Kingston’s hoodie were thrown off as he stood and went to Evans. “Riley, you made it to the NHL! Holy shit!”
The threesome was the biggest group of airheads Kingston had ever seen.
He watched with furrowed brows as Evans fought to keep his food from spilling as Allen threw himself onto his lap. He wasn’t trying to read into it, he really wasn’t. But goddamn, they were cozy with each other.
“Not gonna lie, I’m still in shock,” said Evans.
He handed his plate to Jake, who set it down out of the way for him.
Then, much to Kingston’s amusement, Evans swung his arms around the smaller man and embraced him, tucking Allen’s head under his chin.
“You guys will come to the arena and watch my home games, right?”
Jake touched Evans on the head, like he was calming a nervous pup. “Home games and away games. We have enough time to get Allen a passport.”
Feeling a little left out, Kingston scoffed.
“Where’s my hug? Aren’t you guys going to watch me, too?”
He was baiting them because that’s what he did best, but that’s why he was shocked when Jake reached out and placed his hand on Kingston’s head, the length of his arm easily crossing the space between them.
“Good job.”
Warmth. Warmth spread through him all the way to his toes.
His silence prompted Jake to finally lift his chin and meet his eyes, and Kingston found himself ensnared by the dark brown of his irises.
“You don’t…have people?” Jake asked, then paused to reword his sentence while Kingston let him take his time. “Family to call and celebrate with?”
He would call his aunt later, once it was a little later in Edmonton—he didn’t want to bother her when they were four hours behind them, and she was likely making lunch for his cousin. But other than her, he had no one.
“Not this second,” Kingston admitted. “Four-hour time difference.”
Jake nodded, finding the explanation agreeable.
Allen returned to his spot, and Kingston didn’t miss how he picked his hoodie back up and wrapped it around himself.
Hell, that made him feel warm for some reason, too.
“Do you guys want to celebrate by doing something?” Allen asked, and Kingston flinched when thoughts of fucking Allen over Jake’s lap crashed into him with the force of a bullet train.
What the fuck.
“You mean like, going out to eat or something?” Evans asked, leaning around the other two to shoot a look at Kingston.
“We are eating,” Jake said.
Allen held a hand over his mouth to hide his laugh and then said, “No, more like—I don’t know.
Dancing? Laser tag? What do you puckheads do when you want to celebrate?
And don’t you dare say you want to go to the rink.
I’m not getting dressed only so I can sit and freeze my ass off while you guys chase each other around on the ice. ”
Jake shrugged. “Then put your skates on and join us. We can have two on two.”
Kingston quietly observed the height difference between Allen and the three of them and concluded that that would be a very bad idea. It would be unfair to expect Allen to keep up with them, even if he could skate.
“Oh!” Evans jumped to his feet and pointed a finger at Allen’s head. “That’s actually perfect. I want to see you play so bad, even if I know you’ll be rusty.”
Rusty? Kingston didn’t know what the hell Evans was implying, unless Allen could play hockey.
“Are you kidding me?” Allen snapped, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that Kingston was the only one interested in finishing his food. “I haven’t played in years. Do you know how old I am?”
Twenty at the most? Maybe as old as Evans, but nowhere near twenty-five.
“It’s like riding a horse,” said Evans, grinning. “Even for a thirty-year-old man.”
Kingston inhaled a spaghetti noodle up his nose.
He was so busy sputtering and trying to get it out that he almost missed Allen’s response of, “Fuck you, I’m never playing hockey again.”
Kingston snuffled and reluctantly put his plate down so he could join in on the conversation. “What’s your last name, pipsqueak?” he asked, taking out his phone.