Just My Luck (The Kings)

Watching Sloane embrace my father while his hand grazed the top of her ass drove my fury to an all-time high. I’d lived with him waffling between absent and overbearing my entire life, but the minute his hand was on her, I settled into enraged. I didn’t care that the rest of our small town saw him as a benevolent benefactor or savvy businessman.

He touched her, and I didn’t fucking like it.

I tightened my crossed arms and focused on the road from the passenger seat of Sloane’s car.

“Are you okay?” Sloane asked from the driver’s seat.

I shifted and willed myself to relax despite the bubbles of anger rising from my gut. “Fine.”

“Is it . . . am I a bad driver?” She gestured between her and the steering wheel.

Yes.

My molars ground together. “No.”

It wasn’t her shitty driving that was making me uncomfortable. How was I supposed to explain the complexities of the King family dynamic and that the mere brush of his fingertips across the top of her ass sent me reeling? I wanted to snap his fingers and tear apart his office—but I’m not stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds me. No one crossed Russell King and survived it.

Maybe not even my mother.

The thought darkened my mood further, and I stayed quiet the rest of the ride back to my house. Sloane gave me space to brood, and by the time she pulled down my tree-lined driveway, I had finally relaxed.

She parked, and I exhaled before turning toward Sloane. “I’m sorry I’m . . . in a mood.”

Sloane smiled softly. “You’re allowed to have emotions, Abel.” My chest pinched and she unbuckled.

That was precisely the problem—I was having far too many emotions where she was concerned. Ridiculous emotions like possessiveness and contentment. When I couldn’t find the words to respond, Sloane offered a soft smile and disappeared into the house.

I found myself twitchy with pent-up energy and had no idea what to do with myself.

Do I follow her inside? Head to the brewery and give her space?

In less than a week living with Sloane, I’d lost all sense of autonomy and felt like one of those ridiculous dolls with peg legs just aimlessly teetering around.

My phone buzzed and I slipped it from my pocket.

SYLVIE

Bug did a thing . . . don’t be mad.

I didn’t need to know what this thing was to know it was definitely going to piss me off.

Well, what is it?

Three dots popped up and disappeared, then popped up again. I was pretty certain my sister was attempting to find the right words to soften the blow of whatever scheme my aunt had cooked up. Before Sylvie could reply, my phone rang.

I closed my eyes in frustration as I answered. “Hey, Bug. What’s up?”

“Abel. How are you, dear?” I knew her too well to know she dropped her hard-ass exterior only when she needed something.

“Fine. You?” My tone was unnecessarily clipped.

Bug clicked her tongue. “Now, is that any way for a brand-new husband to be?”

I really didn’t know how a new husband should feel, so I stayed silent.

“You should be celebrating. Which is why . . .” She paused, letting her words linger in the air. “I have a surprise for you and Sloane.”

I let out a deep, annoyed sigh. “We don’t need any surprises, Aunt Bug.”

“Oh, nonsense. First you date the woman in secret and then run off to the courthouse. I suspect if you hadn’t needed a witness, I still wouldn’t know about your marriage.”

Well, she isn’t wrong.

I let out a disgruntled, half-hearted laugh.

“Exactly,” she continued. “So . . . your check-in at the Wild Iris Bed-and-Breakfast is at five p.m.”

My tongue went thick. “The what?”

“It’s nothing, really. A cute little B&B in Star Harbor. I could only swing one night with such short notice, but at least it’s something.”

“Something?” I was racking my brain, trying to figure out why my aunt had booked us a stay at a bed-and-breakfast.

“Every woman deserves a honeymoon, Abel,” she said with a wistful sigh tacked on at the end.

I audibly gulped. Honeymoon?

It was absurd.

I shook my head. “We can’t just leave. Sloane has kids.”

Her haughty laugh rang through the telephone. “You don’t think I thought of that? It’s taken care of. Bax will be entertaining his great-grandkids for the night.”

I kicked the dirt with the toe of my boot. “Well, we have work.”

I could practically hear her eyes roll through the phone. “You’re the boss. Give yourselves the night off.”

A night alone in some random hotel room with Sloane? No fucking way.

I scrambled to come up with another plausible excuse, but my aunt cut in. “Sylvie already broke the news to Sloane, and I heard your wife is looking forward to it. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her already, would you?”

Sloane knew about this? And she was excited? Well, fuck me.

I exhaled. Why did it seem that my default was always to be an asshole?

Defeated, I lowered myself onto the front stoop and pressed my fingers into my eyes. “Sure. It sounds great. Thank you for doing this for us.”

“Excellent. Now, try to enjoy yourself, Abel. It’s about time you made some happy memories.”© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

I hung up without even saying goodbye.

Happy memories? Sure, like that’ll happen.

The only memories that would be made tonight were how painfully uncomfortable I made Sloane while we were forced to share a hotel room.

Behind me the front door opened.

I looked out onto the front lawn, avoiding her eyes. “Looks like we’ve got plans tonight.”

Sloane’s soft laugh floated over my shoulder. “Yeah, looks like it. I just got off the phone with your sister. She and Bug sure work fast.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded.

Sloane lowered herself next to me, her arms resting on the tops of her knees. “I called my granddad to confirm, and it’s already been decided. He’s planning to take them to a movie in the park and then have a sleepover here. He’s taking them to camp in the morning and everything. The kids will be thrilled.”

At least someone is.

I tipped my face toward her. “Do you really want to do this?”

Sloane picked at her nails. “We need to be believable, right?” Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and she scrunched her nose. “It would seem kind of weird if a newlywed couple refused a romantic night away, don’t you think?”

Newlywed or not—any man in his right mind would be a fool to refuse a night away with Sloane.

I nodded.

Sloane slapped her thighs and stood. “Great. I’ll go pack a bag.”

I was in hell.

My dear, sweet, scheming aunt forgot to mention that the Wild Iris Bed-and-Breakfast was a boutique B&B specializing in romantic getaways for couples with themed accommodations.

I frowned at the king-size bed in the middle of the room. “Is that leopard-print bedding?”

Sloane’s wide eyes surveyed the room. “It appears to be . . .” She lifted something that strangely resembled a wooden club. “Caveman themed?”

She moved to the side table and picked up a brochure. “Wild Iris Bed-and-Breakfast,” she read. Her eyes flicked up as she tried not to smile. “Adventure suites. The caveman is a much-loved prehistoric figure, and your room is a whimsical glimpse into his existence. The Caveman Suite has a king bed and will accommodate two primates.”

I stomped toward her and pulled the paper from her fingertips. “You have got to be kidding me.” My eyes scanned the brochure, and sure as shit, I was in hell. “I’m sorry,” I stumbled. “I had no idea. I can’t believe this . . .”

Sloane moved around the room, her hands brushing across the stony cave-like walls. I watched as her fingertips danced under the flowing waterfall in the corner of the room. She circled toward me, but stopped at a small piece of animal hide and lifted it.

Her eyes went wide and glimmered with humor. “I think this is your loincloth, husband.”

Heat flared in my cheeks, and I swiped the furry fabric from her hands. “This is not funny.”

A barking laugh burst from her small frame. “This is hilarious. Loosen up a little. Me Jane. You Tarzan.” Sloane thumped her chest in rhythm with my clunking heartbeat.

My eyes landed on the lone bed in the middle of the room.

My hand had reached up to tug at the collar of my shirt when Sloane laughed. I pinned her with a heated look.

“Are you clutching your pearls?” She laughed again, and heat sizzled down my back.

“Of course not.” I looked down at my hand, which was paused at my collar, and dropped it to my side.

Sloane walked over to the edge of the bed and hopped into it, stretching her legs before smiling up at me. “It’s just a bed, Abel.”

The fuck it is.

Sloane adjusted, hiking herself up to her elbows. “Look, it’s really rare I get a break from making every single decision in our lives and worrying that I made the wrong one. Most days I feel like a spinning top.” She exhaled and flopped flat on her back to stare at the primitive art decorating the ceiling. “I didn’t realize how much I needed a little break until we showed up here. It feels good to laugh without worrying. Can we please just . . . exist here for a little while?”

It was the please that snagged my attention. All she was asking for was a break—a night where she didn’t have to think or prepare or be strong for everyone else.

It was the simplest thing, and I had the power to give it to her.

I looked around, and my attention paused on the cave painting with stick figures in very questionable positions.

A small chuckle broke free.

“There he is.” Sloane goaded as she smiled up at me. “Come on.” She sat up and grinned. “Let’s see what other trouble we can find at the Wild Iris.”

That was the thing—I knew trouble, and I was staring right at her.