Page 13 of Fan Mail from a Hockey Star

Page List
Font Size:

Evie: I can't.

I growl, not thrilled with that answer.

Me: If you're worried about the media, I'll make sure they're not an issue, Evie.

Evie: You must not have cyberstalked me very hard, Kingston.

Me: What does that mean?

Evie: I have a show tomorrow.

"Dammit," I growl. I'm officially an asshole. Well, I mean, I've been an asshole, but now it's official. Her show is all over her social media. It's all over the radio, too. The only excuse I have for forgetting is that all my blood has been pooled in my cock for the last five days straight.

Me: Sold out, right?

Evie: Yeah.

Which means I'm going to have to work magic if I want tickets.

Me: Maybe I'll see you there.

Evie: Don't you dare, Kingston Monroe!

Me: I have no idea what you're talking about.

Am I a liar? Yes. I know exactly what she's talking about. Am I telling her that? Fuck no. Is her warning going to stop me? Also, fuck no.

I want to see her again. No, that's not true. Ineedto see her again…before I take a page from her dad's book and do something drastic like kidnap her gorgeous little ass.

Showing up at her concert has to be the better option, right?

The fact that I actually have to consider the broader ramifications of a half-cocked kidnapping plan for a moment probably isn't a good sign. It's not a good sign at all.

Jesus H. Christ and all his saints.

If she doesn't marry me soon, I'm going to snap.

Judging by how appealing that half-cocked kidnapping plan sounds right now…I think I may already be halfway there.

Evie: Do not show up at my concert, Kingston. I mean it!

Me: Sweet dreams, princess. I would tell you to break a leg tomorrow, but I happen to like yours exactly like they are. If you break one, I'll be pissed about it.

Evie: Kingston!

Me: Damn. I can practically hear you growling my name from all the way over here.

Me: I'm going to dream about you saying it like that while I'm inside you.

This time, she doesn't answer.

She still doesn't block me either.

We are so getting married.

"Ineed a favor."

"Jesus Christ, Kingston," Davis Miles groans into the phone. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"