Page 35 of Just This Once

NOPE. Thinking ofliterallyanything other than that...

I growled and watched from the safety of Mom and Dad’s kitchen window as my stepdad and the man I was determined to forget laughed over beers in the backyard. This house may not have been where I grew up, but somehow my mom had made it feel like home. Pictures of our happy, simple lives dotted the hallway, and she’d decorated the kitchen with framed recipe cards written by her grandmother.

It was cozy and safe, and Whip’s presence was fucking it all up. It was clear my dad was in love with him, and the more they joked and laughed, the more annoyed I grew.

Whip’s eyes moved, catching mine through the window. Deep and intense, he held my stare. His mouth eased into a satisfied smirk after he must have realized I was trying to steal a peek at him.

My fingers dug into the granite countertop as I glared a hole into Whip’s forehead from the window.

Cocky prick.

Mom hummed beside me. “Mmm. Heck of a view, don’t you think?” She smiled as she took a sip of her sweet iced tea.

“Mother,” I deadpanned and turned away from the window.

A content laugh floated from her. “What? I’m happily married, but I’m not blind.”

“He’s a jerk. I don’t know how Dad doesn’t see it.” I continued studying Whip from the corner of my eye as he leaned in closer to my father. It looked as though my dad was teaching him something about the grill or the food. Whip nodded, asked a question, and listened.

Mom moved to finish making potato salad as a side for dinner while the men grilled. “I’ve met William at a few of the firehouse functions. He’s always been polite and respectful. He looks up to Joe.”

I frowned. “Doesn’t he have his own father? I heard his family has more money than God and practically runs the town.”

My mother mixed in the dressing and stirred. “When we moved to Outtatowner, Russell King was one of the first people to welcome us. On the outside he comes across as charming and, admittedly, we were fooled. But there’s something off there—something darker. I’ve always had a strange, uneasy feeling when it comes to him. Russell is always angling for something, and I can’t put my finger on it.” She shrugged. “I keep it to myself since it’s the role of the fire chief’s wife to remain neutral. But it’s something I noticed working at the police station too—if there’s trouble, somehow Russell King seems to be at the center of it.”

I mulled over her words. My mother’s intuition was rarely wrong. “What about the mother? What’s she like?”

“As far as I know, she’s not in the picture. I heard a rumor that she up and left all six of those kids when they were pretty young. Apparently starting a new life without them was better than staying with her husband. I can imagine that’s hard on any child.”

My stomach soured. I didn’t want to feel pity for Whip and the shit hand he’d been given, but it was there, lurking on the edges, nonetheless.

My mother pushed the bowl toward the center of the island and wiped the countertop. “It’s a wonder, but those kids all seem to be thriving in their own ways.”

“Maybe they’re all rotten on the inside like their father, but know how to put on a good show.” I studied her as I leaned against the counter and popped a rogue cherry tomato into my mouth. “What do the Bluebirds say about the Kings?”

Mom’s shoulder lifted. “Not a lot. Bug is Russell’s sister, and she’d never let anyone speak ill of her family. She’s tough and loyal. Though the Bluebirds try to stay out of it, with the King–Sullivan feud, it seems you pick a side and stick with it.”

I lifted my eyebrows, eyes wide. “So you’re saying you’re Team Sullivan?”

She pointed the potato-covered spoon at me and winked. “I’m Team Let’s Eat. Finish that salad.”

I shot her a playful look and finished topping the lettuce with tomatoes, cucumbers, and a sprinkling of cheddar cheese.

Once the burgers were done, Dad and Whip joined Mom and me in the dining room. My stepdad sat at the head of the table, with my mother to his left. I sat across from her, and to my dismay, Whip took the seat next to me. I subtly angled my body away from him and did whatever I could to ignore his presence.

Heat radiated off his body, and tiny hits of his clean, masculine scent distracted me from the conversation more than once. I participated in the conversation when directly spoken to, but otherwise spent my time shoveling food in my face to hasten my mother’s disastrous attempt at a love connection.

When Whip’s knee grazed my outer thigh, I nearly choked on a chunk of cheeseburger. I coughed and sputtered in an attempt to not die at the dinner table.

“Are you okay?” Mom half stood from her seat, concern thick in her voice.

I coughed again but managed to hold up my hand and nod between hacking coughs. A hard thump on my back rattled me, and I glared at Whip. His wide palm stayed planted on the center of my upper back. His fingertips stroked the base of my neck.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. “I’m fine,” I reassured my mom, then turned to Whip. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” His eyes roamed over my face, and heat licked up my spine. His hand was heavy on my back.

I shifted my shoulder, hoping he’d remove his hand, but it stayed planted. He leaned in and I sucked in a breath.

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