She cups me through my pants. “Too bad I can’t help with that.”

“Queenie, please.” I cover her hand with mine.

“Is it uncomfortable?”

I nod. My intention is to remove her hand and gently remind her that it isn’t a good time to be touching me like this, but she rubs over the ridge with her thumb, and it’s both soothing and stimulating.

“You’re sharing a room with Bishop, right?”

“I am.”

“You could shower and sneak back over here after, then I could take care of putting the cream on all the affected areas.”

We both jump at the sound of a fist pounding on the adjoining door. “Your minute is up!” Jake shouts from the other side.

Queenie rolls her eyes and opens her mouth. I know she’s going to give him sass, because she’s Queenie and she can’t help herself, so I clamp my hand over her mouth before she can say something that will cause us more problems. “I’m on my way out.”

Queenie narrows her eyes at me, clearly unimpressed, and bites my palm. I drop it. “We’re not fifteen years old. We’re adults.”

“I have a game tomorrow, and he’s your father. It doesn’t matter how much he likes me, or if he thinks I’m a Boy Scout; he also knows I was alone in here with you and that things he’d rather not know about were happening. I also promised him I would stay out of your room at night.”

“You what?”

“We can talk more about it tomorrow. I’m not really in a position to bargain.” I motion to my face. “Have you brushed your teeth since I left?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Did you drink any more of that milkshake?”

“No, I threw it out.”

“Good.” I wrap one arm around her waist and bend to kiss her. My plan is to keep it chaste, because my lips are still swollen and half my face is covered in welts, but she sucks my bottom lip and strokes inside with her tongue.

“You still taste like me,” she murmurs.

“I need to leave.” I disengage from the kiss, aware that if I don’t go, Jake may actually castrate me, or have me traded, or decide I’m not allowed to date Queenie.

She doesn’t put up a fight as I fumble for the door and extricate myself from her hold on me. “See you tomorrow, King,” she says loudly, likely for her dad’s benefit.

I blow out a breath once her door closes, leaving me in the hall, alone. I slide my wallet out of my back pocket, find my key card, and hold it over the sensor, waiting until I get the green light before I turn the handle and put yet another barrier between me and Queenie. My phone is already buzzing with messages, and I can guarantee they’re from her. There is no way I’m sneaking over there after I shower. That’s a surefire way to screw things right up. Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea to engage in any activities that might lead to friction below the waist. It could aggravate the hives.

Bishop is lying on the double bed closest to the bathroom, flipping channels. “Dude, where the fuck have you been? I was ready to send out a search party.” He glances up from the TV, and his eyes go wide. “And what the hell happened to your face?”

“I was with the medic. I had an allergic reaction.”

“Jesus. Are you okay? What the hell did you react to? You look like plastic surgery gone wrong.”

“Strawberries, and I’m okay. Just itchy and uncomfortable.”

“You’re so careful about that. How in the world did that even happen?”

“It’s a long story. I need to shower. I’ll be out in a bit.” I cross the room and lock myself in the bathroom. I hope if I take long enough, he’ll pass out and I won’t have to answer any questions.

I turn on the shower, pull my shirt over my head, and then fold it neatly, setting it on the vanity. I caught a glimpse of myself in the elevator and in the mirror in Bill’s room, but I haven’t seen my face up close. I’ve definitely seen better days, and my chest and nipples and stomach are covered in a series of very telling red welts.

I unzip my pants and cringe when I get a look at the damage down there. My penis is an angry red color and is mottled with hives. It’s definitely not pretty. I strip out of the rest of my clothes and get in the shower, adjusting the temperature so it’s not too hot and doesn’t make the situation worse. I’m extra careful and gentle as I wash my face, neck, chest, and junk with mild soap, and no facecloth because it’s too abrasive.

Once I’m sure I’ve removed all traces of Queenie’s saliva, I pat myself dry and realize in my haste to escape Bishop’s questions, I didn’t bring anything with me to change into. I consider, briefly, putting my dirty clothes back on, but it might exacerbate the allergy issue, so I decide against it. I slather the cream all over the affected areas and wait a few minutes for it to soak in before I leave the bathroom.