Page 14 of The C*ck Down the Block

Chris swung the door open before I had the chance to knock, a wide grin on his face.

I held up my welcome offering of a six-pack of microbrew beer, and another of root beer for the non-drinkers. Chris wasn’t a big drinker even in the off season, but not at all once training started, and the two youngest Kingmans weren’t old enough to drink yet. And if anyone were rule followers, it was the Kingman clan.

That had me even more nervous about tonight. Not that I was a cheaterpants or anything. I didn’t care about winning games. But I was about to ask Chris to break some rules for me. “Behind every successful quarterback is a beer-loving bestie.”

Yes, yes, I did blurt out awkward things when I was nervous. I didn’t even like beer that much.

He gave me a weird look and took the bottles from me. “Come on in. We’re picking teams.”

Even though I knew my way around the Kingman house about as well as I did my own, he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me into the house. That felt... funny in places it shouldn’t.

We moved toward the organized chaos of the living room, through the hallway lined with photos, past one particular photo that always caught my eye, the Kingman family, all together. A tall Bridger Kingman with strikingly handsome features that his sons had definitely inherited. A glowing, happy April Kingman with a radiant smile, holding a baby Jules, and eight boys surrounding them with a range from toddler to preteen. Chris was twelve when this was taken and already with that quarterback gleam in his eyes. It was a moment frozen in time, a testament to the family’s tight-knit bond. And it always tugged at my heart.

Mr. Kingman gave me a friendly nod, and several of the boys shouted my name in welcome. If ever there was a big loud family I’d wanted to belong to, it was the Kingmans. I may not be related by blood, but this very tight-knit clan had always made me feel like I was just another one of the kids.

“Two-man teams, people. We’re playing Footballopoly. Let’s go, let’s go,” Chris called, clapping his hands to gather attention. He winked at me, and I thought I saw a teasing spark in his gaze.

He plopped down right in the middle of one of the big couches, taking up half the room on the cushions, and left just enough space for me beside him. He patted the seat next to him. “You’re mine, Beatrix.”

Beatrix? He never called me that. Not unless it was something serious. And I almost always got stuck playing either with Mr. Kingman or Jules. Chris and his brothers were all too invested in winning to play with someone who didn’t actually care whether they won or not.

“Jules, you’re my wing woman tonight, kiddo.” Everett grabbed his sister and yanked her clean across the room to sit adjacent to me and Chris.

The rest of the boys gave each other glances that looked about as strange as I felt about whatever was going on here. Declan grabbed Isak, the youngest of the brothers. “If you get the girls as your lucky charms, we get the lucky pillow.”

A relic from Mr. Kingman’s professional football days, it was hand embroidered by his wife with the words, “In this house, we bleed green.”

Declan, Hayes, and both the twins all dove for the pillow, but Deck, with his best linebacker moves, blocked them all and came up with the prize, holding it over his head. He tossed it to Isak, who jumped about a foot in the air to grab it over the heads of Flynn and Gryffen faster than any human being should be able to move. “Fuck, yeah. Lucky pillow. We’ve got the home field advantage now.”

The twins rolled their eyes and then simultaneously sat down opposite each other, so Hayes and Mr. Kingman were left picking either Flynn or Gryffen. Everyone settled into their seats while Everett and Jules spread the board game out, sprawling between us on the big square coffee table in the center of the room.

This was the only room in the house that didn’t have a television, even though you’d think it would be the main room for watching the games. It had been Mrs. Kingman who insisted there be one room in the house that was football free, and even after more than fifteen years, they’d kept it that way. She might be gone, but they continued to honor her in a lot of ways, every day.

Although there was a whole movie theater with a bajillion inch screen, popcorn machine, drinks fridge, and fancy reclining theater seats in the basement that was the only place to be outside of the stadium on game day.

Everett was muttering something to Jules while they set up the board, and she tried really hard to pretend she wasn’t flashing looks over at me. Hmm. Game play shenanigans being planned right there in front of us. The cheeky buggers.

Chris leaned in and whispered in my ear. “What’s our strategy for winning, chickadee?”

His pitch was playful and low and... sensual, and the air conditioner must have kicked on because I got goosebumps.

“Strategy?” I squeaked. “You mean besides blind luck mixed with some intuition?”

“Hmm. Then let’s get lucky tonight,” he said like he was some sexy version of a romcom movie star, then reached for the dice, gave them a toss, and started the game.

I sat there like a melting lump of goo while the rest of the Kingmans’ chatter swelled into a loud, familiar soundtrack. What the heck was going on here?

Was he flirting with me?

Chris?

Chris Kingman?

Flirting?

With me?

No. No, no, nope. Couldn’t be. This was my brain going wackadoodle, making up whole-ass romantic scenarios so I wouldn’t feel weird about what I had to ask him to do for me later. Yeah. That sounded right. Chris could get any girl in the world, and he’d never been interested in me. He was my friend. And a good one at that.

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