26. Rip #2
I can’t suggest therapy. He might not admit it to me, but being born who he is means therapy is rarely on the table. According to Ryland, he’s trying to prove himself, and everyone knowing he’s telling a random person his issues to help him feel better won’t look good.
So, for now, this works. I’ll eat with him every day if it means he’s alright. Anything to keep him safe.
King is the first one to break the silence. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”
I sit up straighter, wiping my hand with a napkin. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he mumbles. “Whatever it is, it can’t last. This is gonna sound cliché, but we’re from two different worlds. We will never last.”
We’re not as different as he thinks, but he isn’t wrong. Even if he knew the truth, this could never work. Not before, not now, never.
It kills me inside to look at him, knowing all of this is only so I could find out his deepest secrets. Part of me believes he’d understand and see that’s just life, but can I expect that from King, knowing I’d react differently if I were in his shoes?
This was always going to end eventually. It shouldn’t have ever meant anything to begin with. I don’t do relationships and never get attached to anyone, especially not the guy I’ve been deceiving since the first day we met.
My biological parents taught me that lesson early on, but I’ve ignored it for Kingsley.
Because he isn’t just anyone. I’d burn down an entire city for him if anyone touched, hurt, or even looked at him the wrong way. I’m a hot-headed, selfish fuck, and I only protect those who my selfish instincts decide to claim.
The prince is mine, and now its the worlds problem.
“Then we’ll enjoy it as long as we can,” I say gently, laying my hand atop his thigh.
He blinks, his eyes wide with more worry than anything else, almost fear. For a second, he seems less clueless than I thought he was. But then he blinks it away, gripping my hand and giving it a squeeze.
As the song wraps up, the lady hands her mic to the host, and everyone claps when she walks off stage and heads right for the bar. Meanwhile, I sense a stellar opportunity.
I raise my hand high, yelling to grab the host’s attention. She holds the microphone up with a welcoming demeanor, and I turn to Kingsley, whose regretful eyes already know what I’ve done.
“Let’s enjoy it right now,” I say, standing and pulling him on his arm.
Kingsley tries to sneakily pull his hand away at first. Too bad my grip is tight around him, and I don’t take no for an answer.
The bright stage lights illuminate us while a strong, cold wind gusts, blowing my hair around from our high vantage point. As the host hands us the microphone, she asks what song. With his jaw glued shut and his brows deeply furrowed, it’s clear Kingsley isn’t contemplating any song. Boring.
I tell her to pick any song, and the opening tune starts.
The song starts mellow, and we can’t see the lyrics yet, but did she seriously choose a contemporary, soft tune for us to sing to? Do I look like the man who wants to sing a gushy love song? That’s what I get for telling her to choose anything.
But then the beat picks up, and I let out a breath. I find myself bobbing my head and tapping my foot to the rhythm while I wait for the words. Meanwhile, Kingsley is stiff as a board, and I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or anger.
“I’m going to kill you,” he grits through his teeth. I guess it’s anger.
“Looking forward to it, Prince,” I whisper in his ear.
The lyrics flash on the screen, and I hesitate, but lift the microphone anyway. I hold it between us as I read the words, my tone low and controlled. It’s a cheesy love song, like I thought, but the peppy beat is one I’ve heard a million times before.
Kingsley stubbornly folds his arms across his chest, his gaze bored on the screen. I continue singing—at least, attempting to—and the crowd claps along.
I stick the mic in his face, and he bites his lip and glares at the thing like it’s the bane of his existence. I don’t know if it’s the embarrassment of not trying or if he simply gives up, but he joins in.
At first, he sings it monotone, as if he’s reading a newspaper.
But by the chorus, he sounds much less like a zombie and steadier than before.
Kingsley’s voice sounds almost angelic and nothing like the bored, kill-me-now tone he speaks to everyone with.
Similar to the gentleness of his moans when my dick is deep inside him.
He may not be the next famous singer, but his voice, with its ideal blend of softness and depth, is a tune I could listen to all day.
I butcher the next line, going ten octaves over what I can handle, and the crowd laughs. Kingsley can’t help but laugh too, interrupting his flow of singing, and I could kiss it right off him. Why haven’t I, again?
Our voices overlap as we finish the song, my mouth right beside his ear, and his warm breath against my jaw. The onlookers mean nothing to us; we’re focused on our own performance. It’s the most genuine, normal fun I’ve had in… ever.
The crowd’s appraisal has me on top of the world, but seeing Kingsley out of breath, staring at me with parted glistening lips and panting, puts me on cloud nine.
It wouldn’t take much for me to taste his soft lips. Right here, mere inches away, heat radiates from his breath. We’ve already broken every unspoken rule in the book. We can break this one, too.
The host appears between us with a toothy grin and hearts in her eyes. She enjoyed the show, too.
What was I thinking, wanting to kiss him in front of everyone?
I hand the woman the microphone and head off the stage, but we’re barely down the steps when a blinding light flashes in our faces.
We whip our heads around, and there stands a man with a camera, aiming it straight at us.
Seeing our intense, angry stares, he slowly lowers it, but it doesn’t matter. The photo remains.
Then, he darts off like a mouse spotted by a cat.
Kingsley grips my biceps, eyes pointed. “Has he been taking pictures this entire time?”
My eyes narrow as he runs. Well, I should say jog, because he’s slow as fuck. “Probably.”
Kingsley doesn’t spare a second before he’s power walking toward him, and I’m right on his heels.
It’s not a night with Kingsley if I’m not jeopardizing the mission.