Chapter Five
Evie
I'm a nervous wreck while Everly is trying to do my hair before the show. Of course she notices. The second she accidentally jabs me with a bobby pin, I nearly levitate out of my chair.
"Why are you so jumpy today?" she asks, her eyes locked on my face like she's preparing for the Inquisition.
"What? Who is jumpy? Not me."
"Uh-huh." My sister grins at me. "And you haven't been checking your phone every five minutes since we got here either, have you?"
"Nope, not me," I lie, sliding it off the makeup table. I tuck it under my leg, hiding it from her. Almost immediately, I want to pull it back out to look at it…just to see if Kingston has messaged me.
He's been radio silent all day. It's freaking me out a little bit. I'm not sure if I want him to show up tonight, if I want him not to show up…or if I want to go back to last night, when he asked me if I thought about him inside me, so I can tell him the truth.
The truth is, I have thought about it. I've thought about it incessantly. My laundry is a mess of wet panties and sweaty sheets, and it's entirely his fault.
I think this is how addiction starts. First, your body lights up anytime you get the thing you crave. Then, you get twitchy when you don't get it. Then, before you know it, bam! You can't live without it.
Kingston Monroe is Pavlov'ing me. It's the only explanation for why his name makes me so giddy.
I'll die before I tell my nosy ass sister that I'm losing my mind over the Knights' Most Fuckable—I mean Most Valuable—Player. It's the truth, though. No matter how hard I try, I can't get him out of my head.
"Did you know that your eye twitches when you lie?" Everly asks, her tone conversational.
"No, it doesn't."
"It does. How do you think Mom and Dad always busted us when we were doing something we shouldn't have been doing? All they had to do was ask you and watch your eyes. If the right one started twitching, they knew you were full of shit," she insists. "It's twitching now, by the way."
I slap my hand over my right eye, which makes her cackle.
"I knew it!" she cries, spinning my chair around until I'm facing her. "Spill right now. What is up with you and the phone?"
"Nothing."
"You know I have your passwords."
Crap. I forgot about that.
"Don't you dare hack into my stuff, Everly Grace!"
"Tell me what you're trying to hide, and I won't."
"Fine! Kingston has been messaging me." I slap my hand over my mouth like I just revealed state secrets. I might as well have. She's never going to let this go.
"Well, duh." She crosses her arms, smirking at me. "Are they dirty messages?"
I scowl at her.
"They are, aren't they?"
"I'm not telling you that."
"That's a yes, then." Her smirk grows. "You're into him."
"No, I…" I can't even finish the lie. "He hinted that he might show up here tonight."
"So that's why you're so nervous!"
I shrug helplessly. "We haven't seen each other since the game. I don't even know what to say to him!"
"If you dated like a normal person, you wouldn't have this issue, you know," she says.
I scowl at her again.
"I'm not judging you," she murmurs, holding up her hands. "I grew up the same way you did, dealing with the same type of crap because of Dad. Believe me, I get it. But you never let yourself believe there are decent men out there."
"Because there haven't been."
"There have. You just weren't interested."
She might be right. I don't know. From where I'm sitting, it feels like everyone who's interested in me has an agenda. They never want to date Evie. They want to date Evie Alexander, the Next Big Thing, or Evie Alexander, Kasen's daughter. They want the status, not me.
None of them even takes the time to get to know me.
They don't care what I like or don't like, how I grew up, or where my favorite place is.
They just want their names linked with mine, like I'm a ladder to climb or a box to check.
I don't want to be either. I just want someone who doesn't care about any of that.
It scares me how much it feels like Kingston might be that man…and how much it's going to disappoint me if he's just playing the long con. For the first time, I want this. And I'm afraid that this is some game to him, that he's only interested because I blew him off.
I don't want to be a challenge he has to win or some victory he needs.
I just want to be the girl he messages every ridiculous, random thought.
I want him to be the shameless, effortlessly charming man who will not stop invading my DMs to tell me about petty arguments with his teammates or about getting mean-mugged by his coach or about how he's so hard he can't stand it because he's looking at my photos.
I want him to keep asking me questions—even the wildly inappropriate ones.
I don't feel like a status symbol when he's messaging me. I feel…normal. Ridiculously, beautifully, perfectly normal.
Is it wrong to want to hang on to that?
"You want my advice?" Everly asks, and I know she's going to give it to me whether I agree or not.
That's her way. She says what she wants, whenever she wants.
"If you want him, go for it. The only person standing in your way is you.
For once in your life, get out of your own way and see what happens. "
She makes it sound so easy. Hell, maybe it is. I don't know.
I'm halfway through my set when I spot him in the crowd. He's near the front, watching me like he can't look away. His eyes bore into me, burning a hole straight through me.
Everly's advice comes drifting back.
Get out of my own way and see what happens…
Maybe it really is that easy, and I just have to stop overthinking and go for it.
I don't even know what I'm doing before I do it. I just…get out of my own damn way for once to see what happens. Maybe it'll be a disaster.
But maybe it won't.
I want to find out.
"We have a special guest tonight," I murmur to the crowd. "I told him not to come, but considering how hard he's been stalking my DMs, I'm not entirely surprised he's here."
The crowd roars in response, everyone looking around to try to figure out who I'm talking about. The people standing closest to Kingston seem to know it's him. They all point and start shouting his name.
"That's right," I say, smirking at him. My heart is beating a million miles a minute. "Kingston Monroe of the Los Angeles Knights is here, ladies and gentlemen. Should we call him up here to see if he dances any better than he skates?"
"I'm going to spank you," he mouths as the spotlight finally finds him in the crowd.
The entire stadium goes nuts.
I grin, crooking a finger at him. "I warned you not to come, Hockey Star. But here you are. Come on up here and show us what you've got." I pause, one brow arched. "Unless you're afraid you'll fall, and I'll have to step over you again."
That gets him moving. He surges through the crowd like he's on a mission, his gaze never deviating from mine. I can read the heat in his eyes from here. I think the audience can, too. They're all roaring so loud the whole damn stadium is shaking.
I wait patiently for security to usher him to the steps. Only when he's on the stage, stomping toward me, do I think that maybe, maybe I made a mistake. Because he doesn't look like a man playing my game. He looks like one playing his own.
And there's no running now.
He stalks right up to me, so close I smell his cologne. His lips brush my ear, his big body pressed against mine in a hard line.
"I'm going to spank your perfect fucking ass for this when you get off this stage tonight, princess," he rasps in my ear.
That doesn't sound like a bad time to me.
"Maybe I'll let you," I whisper back. "If you can keep up."
Not even the armies of hell are prepared for a smirk like his. It's unholy…and unholy hot.
"Try me, baby."
I turn, motioning for Chet, my guitarist, to bring him a microphone. Chet comes running, grinning like a madman as he slaps it into Kingston's hand.
"Good luck," he laughs before rushing back to his place.
Kingston just grunts, turning until his body is facing the audience. He isn't looking at them, though. He's looking at me.
"If y'all know the words to this one, why don't you help him out?" I shoot him a tiny grin. "Judging by his performance on the ice the other night, he might need the assist."
Kingston lifts the mic, one brow arched. "You know I belong at your feet, princess. I was just getting in position."
Oh, my goodness.
We have to wait for the crowd to stop screaming before Chet can count us off. Kingston never once looks away from me. And the way he's looking at me? God, it's the same way my dad always looks at my mom—like there's not a single other damn thing on the planet that he'd rather look at.
He isn't mad, embarrassed, or annoyed that I called him up here or that I'm teasing him in front of twenty-five thousand people. He's just playing along, watching me like he's ready to pounce.
This will be all over the news tomorrow. Hell, it probably won't even take that long. But for once, I don't really care. Our names are already linked all over the damn place, and what anyone else thinks doesn't matter right now. I'm doing what Everly said. I'm getting out of my own way.
If he turns out to be a jerk, well, at least I'll know.
My gut tells me that isn't going to happen, though. Kingston wants me—really wants me. Not my name or fame or my bank account or access to my father. He wants me.
I launch into the song, line dancing across the stage. "Got a little dirt on my boots, but I don't care. My nails are a mess, but I still throw my hands in the air. My feet are on the dash, and I'm singing off-key. If you're looking for perfect, honey, it ain't me."
Kingston grins when I point at him for the next lines. "Her mama said, "Don't you dare dim your light", so my baby shines brighter than Vegas on a Saturday night."
I gape at him, shocked that he changed the lyrics—mama said don't you dare dim your light, so I shine like Broadway on a Saturday night—but he just winks at me, holding his microphone out to the audience.
They scream the chorus at us as Kingston attempts to complete the steps beside me, making everyone laugh and yell. He's a terrible dancer.
Three steps in, he gives up and grabs me, spinning me in a circle. My heart launches into my throat. His hand fits against my lower back like it's supposed to be there. I think he feels it too. His eyes meet mine, the hunger in his obvious.
"I've got a laugh that echoes down the block, and a heart that dances like it was born to rock. With a sweet tea buzz and a rebel soul, I don't color inside the lines anymore," I sing breathlessly, shimmying with him.
"They can talk, but my baby won't turn down," he sings off-key. "She was born to be this kind of perfectly loud."
We launch into the chorus. Kingston attempts to line dance again but fails miserably. He just shrugs and grins, pulling me into his arms.
By the time we hit the outro, I'm breathless and dizzy, and I think I'm having more fun than I've ever had on stage.
"I'm a little too loud, and I like it that way," I belt out.
"Go on then, baby, keep turning me on," he says into the microphone, catching me around the waist.
The crowd screams at his risqué lyric change…and then screams louder when he tips me backward, planting his lips on mine. He kisses me like no one is watching, licking into my mouth to steal what breath I have left.
I clutch at his shoulders, the crowd disappearing as he annihilates my world right there for everyone to see.
I fall for him in front of twenty-five thousand people, not a little bit, not slowly, but like a damn star crashing to the earth.
Only…I don't hit the ground.
Kingston catches me, hauling me up into his arms to press his lips to my ear. "You're fucking beautiful when you're happy, baby," he rasps. "You belong on this stage." He nips my skin. "But I don't. I'll wait backstage where I belong."
I stare at him wide-eyed and then nod.
What the hell else am I supposed to do?
This man—this beautiful, wild, perfect man—just blew my whole world apart. Publicly.