Just This Once (The Kings)

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

My brother Royal looked down at his black apron. The words I Heart MILFs in bold, white letters and a glittery red heart were emblazoned across his chest. He’d even “forgotten” to wear a shirt underneath.

A smile crept across his face. “What?”

My eyes rolled and I shook my head, then lifted the black steel door to one of the smokers various residents had lent out for the Mother’s Day Off event. Plumes of white vapor carried the mouthwatering smells of perfectly smoked barbecued chicken.

“Don’t you mess up my chicken, young man.” Mama Faye pointed her long, bony finger in my direction as she walked past. “I don’t care who your daddy is, I’ll take the spoon to you.” She extracted a long wooden spoon from her apron and swirled it in the air as proof.

“Yes, ma’am.” I smiled at the woman. Mama Faye had been cooking up Remington County’s best smoked barbecue since before I was born. She was bird-boned, with leathery wrinkles across her dark skin, and had one of the most genuine laughs I’d ever heard. If Mama Faye was around, people were having a good time.

Much to my father’s dismay, she had declined his offer to move her from the silver Airstream trailer she cooked out of and allow her to rent one of the Kings’ many storefront properties. Despite his assurance that it would be better for business—and his bottom line—Mama Faye had insisted that nothing could top the trailer her beloved deceased husband had built for her when she dreamed of opening her own barbecue restaurant. In public Dad had acted as if he was happy for Mama, but in reality he’d been dissatisfied with her independent spirit.

Dad abhorred anything and anyone he couldn’t control.

“Okay, boys”—Mama Faye smiled and winked at our female firefighters—“and ladies. I’d like to thank those of you who donated your time or equipment. We’ve got lots of orders to pack, and I expect more walk-ups than usual. Let’s get some food on the table.”

Whoops and hollers rang out. In the open field behind the fire station, Mama Faye’s Airstream stood proudly, and the banner announcing her business flapped in the breeze. Chief Martin had approached several of the shifts at the station, hoping for volunteers to assist in a fundraising project for the local school district. Once people got wind that Mama Faye would donate a platter of food in exchange for the help, others—like my brother—were all in.

Just before three o’clock, our first customers started walking up. You couldn’t blame them either. For ten dollars per container, you could get half a smoked chicken, potato salad, smoky baked beans, and a side salad. For Mama Faye’s barbecue, it was the steal of a lifetime.

When Chief Martin walked up, I busied myself with stacking empty containers, ready to complete the orders as the food was prepared.

“Sure smells good around here.”

I grinned at him. “Mama Faye’s is the best.”

“Thank you for volunteering your time. It’s good for the crew to see their own stepping up. That’s the kind of leadership we’re looking for.” Pride swelled in me. I was a grown man, but the chief’s approval still tended to hit me in the center of my chest every time. “It also means a lot to Emily,” he added.

My brows pinched. “Sir?”

“My daughter, Emily. She’s the new chair of the educational foundation, and she and a few of the women in town came up with some new ideas to raise money for the school.” Chief shook his head. “She’s hoping to impress the principal over at the junior high, but he’s a fool if he can’t see how resourceful and stubborn she is.”noveldrama

That’s Prim, all right. I bit back a grin.

“You’ll meet her today, I’m sure.”

Not wanting to deceive my chief, I offered a tight smile.

Chief Martin clapped his hands together. “Well, I suppose I better make myself useful. But before I forget, the missus asked me to invite you to supper tomorrow evening.”

I wanted to refuse. There was no way I’d be able to be that close to Emily and not screw it up, and the last thing I wanted was Chief Martin knowing I’d fucked his beloved daughter. The very same daughter who got under my skin and somehow turned me into a version of myself I barely recognized.

A nod was my only response.

I stared at his back as he walked away. He was completely unaware of the history between his daughter and me.

My hand flexed as irritation rolled through me. The last time I’d been face-to-face with Emily, I’d been unhinged—jealous of Charles fucking Attwater and his two left feet.

Though she mostly looked down her nose at me like a bug under her shoe, there were moments—like in the bathroom when I caged her against the sink and her round ass pressed into my cock—when the fire in her eyes melted into something hungrier.

I shook away the image of Emily’s lush body pressed against mine as my first customer walked up. Wyatt Sullivan was Outtatowner’s golden boy—hero quarterback who went on to the NFL and returned to coach at a university not far from here.

His cocky swagger was every bit a Sullivan as he stepped in front of me. “Whip,” he said and nodded.

“GB,” I shot back, knowing full well he’d fought long and hard against his Golden Boy nickname.

Unfazed, Wyatt said, “I’ve got five orders for pickup.”

I scanned my list and placed a check mark next to his name before accepting his payment. As I stacked the premade containers into bags, I got curious. “Your little girl hit a growth spurt or are you feeding a few more these days?”

Wyatt smiled. “Pickle can eat a linebacker under the table lately, but we also have a player who lost his mom spending the weekend with us . . . so he doesn’t have to be alone.” He shrugged. “Plus, Lark likes having the players around.”

That was the thing about Sullivans—they were so fucking perfect. Unlike the Kings, they’d been raised to fight fair and work things out with words rather than fists. I had no clue what that would have been like.

I handed the bags across the table.

Before he turned, Wyatt paused. “You got him pretty good.”

My eyebrows raised.

“Rewiring the fuse box in Lee’s truck so the horn blared anytime the turn signal went off,” he continued with a laugh. “It was a damn good one.”

My lip twitched. I had laughed my ass off when Lee rolled through town and couldn’t figure out why his horn was honking in time with his blinker. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Wyatt raised the bags in silent salute. “Still. It was entertaining.”

The afternoon flew by. There had been no sign of Emily—a fact I found mildly annoying since I had been looking forward to ruffling her feathers a bit. It was probably for the best. I ignored my begrudging disappointment and did what I could to make the event as successful as possible. I was attempting to put my best foot forward, and Chief didn’t need to catch me mooning over his only daughter.

An endless stream of families picking up their platters and even donating extra funds for the foundation made Mother’s Day Off a resounding success. After the final orders were picked up, the rest of the barbecue was sold out in under an hour. Mama Faye had set some food aside just for the volunteers, and we greedily accepted.

My back was tight, but we hoped to make quick work of stripping the white plastic tablecloths from the long tables and cleaning up after the event. Rounding the corner, a hunched figure caught my eye. I instantly recognized the bunched shoulders and shuffling gait of Bootsy Sinclair.

Bootsy and his deceased twin, Bowlegs, were born and raised in Outtatowner. Though they often lived on the fringes of our town, they were still part of us. I glanced at my containers of food, and my stomach grumbled. With a sigh, I swiped the containers off the table and headed toward the back of the fire station.

“How you doing, Bootsy?”

He startled at my greeting. “Oh, hello. Hi.” He tipped his head. “Good to see you, Whip.”

His eyes snagged on the container in my hands, and I held it up. “There was an extra platter of food. It would be a shame to go to waste. You wouldn’t want it, would you?”

Bootsy was a proud man, and I assumed someone like him never wanted to be viewed as a charity case. Bootsy licked his lips and stepped forward. “If it’s just getting thrown away, I could take it.”

I handed him my platter and nodded.

When I went to turn, he called out to me. “There is one thing . . .”

I turned and waited, my stomach jumping.

“Your father kindly asked me to check in on you. He wanted progress on the historical society.”

My jaw flexed and I sighed. My father often used Bootsy’s circumstances against him, offering money, food, or housing in exchange for keeping an eye or ear on people in town. Apparently that also meant his own children.

“You can tell my father that if he has something he needs to ask me, he can do that himself.”

Bootsy shook his head. “Oh no, young man. Can’t do that. Mr. King is a good friend, and I made a promise to talk with you.”

Some friend—one who requires you to call him Mr. King.

I gently placed my hand on Bootsy’s slight shoulder. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve just had a long day. You can tell him not to worry and that I’m taking care of it.”

He grinned up at me. “I did good then?”

My smile faltered, but I did my best. “Real good.”

With more pep in his step than before, Bootsy clutched my dinner and walked away. Exhaustion washed over me. Russell King had the special talent of draining my energy even when he wasn’t in the room.

My boots stomped across the grass but stopped short when Emily’s round ass came into view. Bent over, she was fighting with the folding legs of one of the tables. Denim stretched over her lush curves as she bent at the waist. My dick twitched, and I bit back a groan when she wiggled.

I hated the way her presence unearthed something carnal inside me. Everything about Emily Ward was wrong, but my body didn’t care. My traitorous mind had a field day with flashes of her face down, ass up in that exact position as I felt each row of my piercings slowly slip into her tight pussy.

I growled and suppressed the memory before stepping beside her. “You’re going to break it.”

Her face whipped to the side, sending her soft hair cascading over her face. She blew the strands with an annoyed breath. “I’m fine and don’t need your help.”

I crossed my arms. “I wasn’t offering it.”

She huffed and stood tall. “Figures.”

“Can’t even show up to your own fundraiser?” I poked.

Her eyes betrayed her by snagging on my uniform and lingering for a second too long. Her hands settled on her hips with a huff. “Well, I can’t cook, and Dad said there were plenty of volunteers, so I decided I’d be best put to use with cleaning up.” She glared at me. “Not that I have to explain myself to you.”

Damn. That makes a lot of sense.

I lifted a shoulder in indifference. “Fine. You can explain to Mama Faye how you broke her table.”

Emily glared at me, and I smiled broadly, just to piss her off.

“Hey, Prim!” Brooklyn walked past us toward the parking lot, raising her container of food. “Great idea for a fundraiser. Seemed like a hit.”

Emily swiveled in her flats and glared at me. “You did not.”

I held my hands up innocently. “You wanted to be a townie. A nickname is just part of the gig.”

Emily turned her back to me and lowered to her knees to continue fussing with the table leg. I distinctly heard her grunt and mumble something over her shoulder about me and my glitter dick.

A laugh threatened to burst from my chest, but I tamped it down, not wanting her to permanently detach it from my body. After letting her struggle for another minute, I decided to put myself to use loading the smokers onto the truck beds of their owners, but not before ruffling her feathers one last time.

“Hey, Prim.” She glared up at me, and I bent low so only she could hear. “Figure it out yet?”

She sat back on her heels, sizing me up as I peered down at her with an amused look on my face. She pointed her finger at me, motioning up and down the length of my tactical cargo pants. “Are those functional pockets where you store all of your audacity?”

I laughed and her scowl deepened. I turned to walk away. “You know . . .” I turned back, rubbing my palm against the stubble on my chin. “I forgot how good you’d looked on your knees.”

Blush flooded her cheeks as fire ignited in her eyes. A coy smile spread across her face as she looked up from under her lashes and raised her middle finger. “Enjoy it, because this is the last time you’ll ever get to see it.”