what I can tell, is a nonverbal communication for me to have a seat. I wander that direction while he disappears into the kitchen.
For the record, I absolutely love Kingston’s house. I’ve been here on many occasions because he is my brother’s best friend. Bianca has spent many hours in his pool, I’ve chilled in his hot tub, we’ve had drinks, played card games… I’ve always enjoyed my time here.
As for the actual house… It’s stunning. There’s dark wood and sturdy, masculine furniture everywhere. The almost-white walls are a stark contrast to the cherry hardwood that flows throughout the house. The kitchen is a stainless steel masterpiece, and I happen to know that Kingston spared no expense when he had it designed. The man lives in his kitchen when he’s not on the ice.
The place feels the same as the last time I was here. Only this time, I’m alone with Kingston. In other words, Spencer isn’t here tonight. And I’m not here because of my brother.
Not entirely, anyway. The favor doesn’t count.
I plop onto the couch and grab the remote, hitting the button to see what Kingston last watched. I’m nosy like that. I do it to Bianca all the time.
No surprise, SportsCenter is on.
“What’re you doing?”
I turn my attention to Kingston as he moves across the room, carrying two wineglasses and a bottle. He smiles and I pat the cushion beside me. He sets the glasses on the table, pours the wine, then holds one out for me.
Not sure what he is up to, I decide to get more comfortable, so I toe off my boots, then take the glass from him as I ease back into the overstuffed, comfy cushions. When he sits beside me and pulls me closer, I settle against his side, his arm around my shoulders. He kisses my temple, then turns his attention to the television.
I notice the sound is muted, and since I didn’t do that, it means he probably wasn’t listening to it to begin with.
“I wanted to talk,” Kingston says, his voice soft, firm.
I can tell by his tone that we aren’t about to have a conversation regarding our little agreement—the one where he agrees to teach me some things in the bedroom. “About?”
It seems like an hour ticks by while I sip my wine and wait for him to speak. It’s probably more like seconds, but the tension is thickening, and I’m tempted to down my wine in one gulp.
“That woman’s name is Wendy Jacobsen,” he begins.
It takes me a minute to realize he’s referring to the incident from last season. The girl who blatantly lied.
“I don’t know her. The only time I met her was at a bar. She asked for a picture, so I posed for one. Her friend took it. I didn’t take her back to my hotel room, I didn’t go back to hers. I’d never met her before and never talked to her after. She literally said five words to me and that was it. I have no idea where her accusations came from, nor do I know what her angle was or is. And I still don’t get why she recanted or said that shit in the first place.”
I tilt my head so I can look up at him. I can tell by his tone that this is really bothering him. He sounds completely baffled and maybe a little hurt that an unknown woman would say such things. I can’t say I blame him. “Why are you telling me this?”
Kingston drops his head back to the cushion and stares up at the ceiling. “Because I don’t want you to think that I’d ever put my hands on a woman like that. It bothers me that anyone would think that about me. I don’t know why she did it. She never tried to contact me. I have no fucking clue what she was even after.”
“Maybe she wanted her fifteen minutes of fame,” I suggest.
“That’s what Coach thinks, but it doesn’t make sense. Why not sleep with me?”
I laugh, smacking Kingston on the chest.
His head pops up and he smiles. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t get why she would ask for a picture, walk away, and start talking shit. If she would’ve followed through and tried to sleep with me… It makes no fucking sense.”
He’s right, it doesn’t. “You think someone put her up to it?”
Kingston’s gaze meets mine. “I’ve thought about that. Who the fuck would want to mess with