Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  After staggering my way up the street, I walk the block a few times before eventually locating the Kappa Phi house, their letters enormous and positioned on the front lawn in a way impossible to ignore. Impressively, I managed to a few times. Walking back and forth in front of the house, I search for Ember through the dark when I hear a pssst.

  Taking a few steps back, I look up toward the house and grunt, “Huh?”

  “Psssst, drunk ass, I’m up here!” a voice whisper-yells.

  I look up, spotting Ember standing on a deck just outside an open window on the second floor. She’s wearing a crimson satin nightgown, and with each gust of wind, I can see her hard nipples indent the fabric. I’m afraid of how sexy I find her right now… and how much my stomach churns and eyes throb the longer I look up.

  “You coming or what?” she asks, and I look around the front of the house again.

  I lift my palms to the sky. “How?”

  She points to the side of the house and says, “The balcony. Big wooden steps. Bright white. Kinda hard to miss.”

  “Like those letters?” I chuckle, pointing toward the white and crimson letters, three feet high, perched on the front lawn.

  “Huh?” she says.

  “Nothing.” I wave her off and head toward the stairs.

  She wasn’t kidding. They’re white as fuck.

  I make my way up the stairs slowly, gripping the railing as I guide my heavy feet up one slow step at a time. At the top, I feel like how Sir Hillary must have felt all those years ago at the summit of Everest. I put my arms up in celebratory victory for a moment when there’s another psssst in the darkness.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Ricky Bobby?” Ember whispers, and I open my eyes to find her standing toward the front of the balcony with hands on her hips.

  “Well, hello,” I say entirely too loud. I put a hand to my lips to catch the words already spoken.

  She puts a finger to her lips. “Shhhh! Oh my God, Gilbert Godfrey. Keep it down and follow the sounds that are coming out of my mouth.” She lets out a light chuckle but is quick to straighten her lips and flash that bossy expression of hers. I can’t say it’s not hot.

  As I approach her, I say, “You know, you’re really on point with your references tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she says, rolling her eyes and chuckling again.

  I put up an okay sign as she takes me by the shoulder and leads me to the open window.

  “I mean, grade A stuff,” I add.

  She makes me go through the window first, but as I told her before I stuck my leg inside, I feel like I’m going to break something. When I hear a loud crash from within the darkness of her room, it’s not a matter of if I’ll break something anymore, but what I might have already broken.

  Oh my God, what if I broke a family heirloom? Or china? Or, like, a nacho platter. A really nice nacho platter.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, looking back at her with a pained expression. “I swear I didn’t mean to break your nacho platter.”

  “Holy shit, Bishop, how much of that Old Crow did you drink tonight? Get your drunk ass inside!” she orders, shoving me. I stumble in through the window fully and then dive onto her bed. There’s a loud snap, but the bed maintains its position.

  But for how long …

  I slow roll across and then off the bed, catching myself on the floor with my hands and knees before standing up straight. What feels like the smoothest, stealthiest combat roll I’ve ever taken must’ve been the literal opposite if I’m to believe the expression on her face.

  She puts up a finger, directed first at my face, and then at the bed. “Get your butt in bed! Now. Get under the covers! And be quiet, you dork.”

  I look to the bed where she’s pointing and ask, “Can I take my pants off?”

  “Take off whatever you want. I’m going to brush my teeth. Just please, please keep it down. I can get in a lot of trouble for having a guy in my room.”

  “Oooooh, okay, okay … quiet as a church mouse.” I put a finger to my lips as I slowly creep toward her bed.

  She laughs quietly, shaking her head as she exits the room.

  While she’s away, I strip my jeans and shirt off, and then I put my shirt back on before I eventually settle on removing it again. Crawling under the covers, I realize I have no idea what side I’m supposed to be on. Is she a lefty or a righty? By the door or by the wall? Should I be looking sexy-like, on an elbow or something a la George Costanza? Wait, should I even have boxers on? I’m not going to hook up with her, but to just like feel the tip of my cock against her wouldn’t be crossing the line, right?

  She arrives just in time, as my mind needed a break from the drunken carnival ride. Climbing under the covers, she turns, switches off the light, and pulls the comforter to her chin. I wonder for a moment if she wants me to cuddle with her or not. She didn’t say anything to me. She just got in bed and rolled over.

  Maybe that means I should leave her alone.

  Then again, it could just be a test. Like, ‘Is this guy man enough to make the first move?’

  But now that I think of it, am I man enough to make the first move?

  What first move is there to even make? I don’t want to fuck. I just want to kiss a little bit.

  I mean, I do want to fuck … just not now.

  It’s just … I’m drunk.

  But, oh my God, what I’d do to her tight little ass.

  “Bishop!” Ember shoots up and looks back toward me with a curled lip. “Are you going to cuddle me or what?”

  “Oh shit, well, yeah,” I say as she turns back over on her side. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”

  As I pull her into me, her skin warm and soft against my own, she says, “What do you think it is you’re doing over here at this hour? And didn’t I mention cuddles on the note?” She aprubtly sits up again and turns toward me, her hand running from my collar bone to my nipple. “Wait, your nipples are pierced?”

  I feign a shocked expression and grab at my chest. “Oh, my God, do I?”

  She quirks an eyebrow for a brief moment before she laughs and smacks a hand against my chest. “Oh, shut up!”

  Her eyes fall back to my nipples and her smile fades. When her eyes meet mine again, she clears her throat and says, “Well, that’s hot,” before she turns and pushes her body back into mine.

  “I can’t have sex,” I say. “It’d be like rape because I’m so drunk. And I don’t want you making some list.”

  She turns just her head this time, smiling as she whispers, “Goodnight, you handsome drunk.”

  “Hey, Ember?” I blurt as she’s about to turn away from me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why didn’t you ever come see me the day after that last party?”

  She hesitates for a moment, taking a deep breath, and then she replies, “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. Thought you might’ve been drunk. Or maybe I made an ass of myself or something. I don’t know. I was pretty drunk myself. Wasted, if I’m being totally honest.”

  “How could I not remember you? Holey jeans, quarter moon earrings, Chuck Taylors on your feet … and a smile that could take a man’s breath away.”

  Just as cheesy as the first time you said it,” she says, sticking her tongue out at me.

  “Good night, gorgeous. You are … You’re one of a kind, you know. Young. Very young. But one of a kind. I just want you to know, I appreciate you. And you … you deserve to be appreciated.”

  “I appreciate you, too, Army man,” she responds, smiling, and kissing me, and then resting her head against the pillow. Nuzzling her body into me, she gives my arms—wrapped around her—a good squeeze. And with her warm body against mine, we both drift to sleep.

  “BISHOP. BISHOP. WAKE UP!”

  I wake up in a panic—for a moment, still captured in my nightmare, reeling from its vivid entrapment. It takes a few more moments for me to shake
the fog off.

  “Bishop!” Ember says, hurriedly putting on her clothes.

  “Sorry, what?” My head is dense, thoughts cloudy. It takes me some time to wake up in the morning, feeling like I’m coming out of a damn coma just about, and when I’m woken up in the wrong way—say, like Ember here, shrieking my name—well, it’s like a goddamn heart attack.

  “You have to get out of here. Like, now. Our house mom is going to be here any minute, and I’ll get in big trouble if she catches you here.”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.” I sit up, stretching. “My head is killin’ me.” I slowly lumber out of bed and begin dressing.

  “Um, Bishop,” she says, her voice calm for the first time this morning.

  “Yeah?”

  She looks nervous, a little pity in her features, and she points to the bed. “Your eye.”

  I glance over and see my prosthetic eye on the pillow, staring back at the both of us. A sharp feeling of self-consciousness digs out my insides. I can feel it at the bottom of my throat like hot coals, but I keep the look off my face.

  Facing her, I shrug. “Would you look at that. I must have been movin’ a lot last night.”

  I retrieve my eye from the bed and turn away from her as I put it back in the socket where it belongs.

  “You were. Kicking, arms flailing. Talking in your sleep. You were having a nightmare, I think. Does that happen a lot?” she asks.

  “The eye fallin’ out or the nightmares?” I chuckle.

  She shrugs. “Both.”

  “Yeah, the nightmares come often. I don’t usually sleep with the eye in, but when I do, it can fall out sometimes, yeah.”

  “Where do you usually keep it at night?”

  “Weren’t you just in a panic about me bein’ here?”

  She nods, smiling as the rising sun hits her from the bay window, painting her in rich oranges and yellows.

  “It goes in a disinfecting solution,” I say, taking a few steps toward her. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in and kissing her. The taste of her lips, their movement perfect with my own, makes me want to keep doing this all day. I reluctantly disconnect from her lips and smile. “I had a great time last night.”

  “Ditto.” She grins and pecks me, adding, “And next time you stay over, you can just bring your solution with you.”

  “Next time, huh?”

  She nods, this adorable little nod where her bottom lip slips between her teeth, and she bats her eyes just a bit.

  “I can’t wait.” I give her one last kiss for good measure, and then make my way out the bay window and onto the deck. There’s light movement around the front of the house—one girl smoking, a few with backpacks leaving for class—so I slink down the stairs to avoid detection. Once I’m on the street, heading back toward frat row, I glance back. Ember stands at the open window, watching me as I walk away. She waves, and I wave back and then I continue on. When I turn the corner, onto frat row, I’m overcome with a sense of disappointment because, at this moment, there’s nothing I’d rather do than sneak back over and cuddle her until noon. Who needs classes?

  I head back home long enough to get cleaned up and brush my teeth, and then I’m back on the road toward Cradle Café, a quaint little coffee shop where I’m meeting the guys before our day’s classes. It’s something I’ve been meaning to start, at least once a week, but it took some convincing to get them to agree to an earlier wake-up. I’m not too happy about it myself.

  I’m pleased to see all three of them standing out front, waiting on me, as I park my Jeep and hop out.

  Jeremy says, “You look like dog shit,” as I approach.

  Laughing, I shrug and slap hands with him, and then the others. “I don’t know about you boys, but I felt like fuckin’ death when I woke up.”

  As we pile into the crowded restaurant and Carter checks us in, I notice a new pep in Mac’s step and a faint look of contentment on his face. He’s got that unmistakable look that says, ‘I just got laid.’

  “So, how’d your night go, Mac?” I ask as the host seats us.

  “You know, a little of this, a little of that.” He smiles from ear to ear.

  “You got some ass, didn’t you, you little shit?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” Mac says, shaking his head. “But yeah, I totally got my dick wet and met the girl of my dreams. Same night, what up?” He raises the roof and I laugh.

  “That Spanish chick you were dancing with?”

  “She’s Mexican,” he responds. “And fuck yeah. Future baby momma, right there. I’m for real.”

  “I’m tellin’ y’all, my boy Red here was gettin’ down,” Jeremy says, laughing. “That girl was just twerkin’ on him, big ol’ booty all over his dick, and he’s back there like a kid on Christmas fuckin’ mornin’ with his hands on her butt cheeks.”

  The four of us share a boisterous, and most likely bothersome, laugh.

  “You should’ve seen that ass out of her dress,” Mac says, his eyebrows wriggling.

  Jeremy shrugs. “Shit, I ain’t mad at ya. I like my women with some curves too.”

  Mac takes a big sniff. “I can still smell her pussy juice in my beard.”

  “Jesus, dude, that’s foul. Did you not bathe today? And what beard are you talkin’ abouut?” I ask, giving him the stink eye as I analyze the pubes on his face. “Because I’ve seen teens grow better shit than that.”

  “No way.” Mac rubs his hands through his ginger face pubes. “This thing is beautiful. And hell no, I don’t want to wash her off me. You guys don’t understand. I met the love of my life last night. This is an important day. And I need to savor it.”

  I point to his face. “I don’t see how that correlates with you collecting her juice in your fuckin’ beard, man.”

  “You’re a dirty fuck, Mac,” Carter says, shaking his head. He then motions toward me. “What about you, Bishop? I noticed you and Ember disappeared around the same time.”

  “We didn’t fuck, I can tell you that. Shit, I didn’t want to, as jacked up as I was. My dick wouldn’t have worked.”

  “She’s so fuckin’ fine. Dear Lord, man,” Jeremy says, and Mac nods in agreement.

  “You have to watch yourself with her, though,” Carter says. “Her thing with Brady has been on and off for a while now. Not really dating or anything like that, but fuck buddies,”

  “He’s a big kid, you know? Nobody’s got a claim to her, or anybody else. The guy doesn’t really even like me anyway, so fuck it.” I shrug, my eyes shifting to the approaching waitress.

  She pours us coffee and takes our order. After giving her my own, I dump heaps of sugar into my cup, stir it, and then take the sweet nectar down in big gulps.

  “She is hot, though,” Carter admits. “Looks like Mila Kunis if she were a rocker chick.”

  “Fuck yeah, she does,” I agree, taking another big drink of the much-needed coffee.

  “So, what’s up with this next pledge event?” Mac asks. “Damien tell you anything yet?”

  “Nothin’ about the next challenge. I know tonight we’ve got the Chapter Advisor visit,” I respond.

  Jeremy points toward Carter with a judgmental look on his face. “He knows!”

  “You know I can’t say anything,” Carter reminds us. “And I don’t know every detail either. I just know stories my dad told me and I put two and two together.”

  “Alright, so, put two and two together for us and figure out what fuck-fuck game we’re playin’ next,” Jeremy says, chuckling.

  Carter hesitates and then says, “We know Big Bro and Big Sis nights are coming up. If I had to guess, one of them is probably gonna be next, but seriously, I have no certainty on anything.”

  “Do you know what we gotta do for them nights?” Jeremy asks.

  Carter shakes his head. “Nope.”

  The waitress returns and places our food down in front of us, topping our coffees off after, and the three of them are digging in already like vultures to a carcass.


  “Do millennials not know table manners?” I ask, shaking my head.

  Mac winks, his mouth full of food as he smacks his lips a few times.

  I scoff. “It’s a miracle you get laid, Red. It truly is.”

  “Do any of y’all know this advisor guy?” I ask as the four of us wait in the van parked outside a trailer, in a park on the outskirts of town. The evening sun hangs low, frosting the van’s windows as the temperature plummets. Trevor and Damian wait at the front door of the trailer, knocking periodically.

  “No idea,” Jeremy responds.

  Mac shakes his head and then breathes against the window, fingering ‘Suck me’ on the condensation left behind.

  A smile tugs at Carter’s lips.

  “What do you know?” I ask, arching an eyebrow and pointing a finger at him.

  “He’s a fucking lunatic,” Carter responds bluntly. “Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never met him, but everyone knows about him here. He’s kind of a legend.”

  “How old is he?” I ask.

  “Pushing fifty, I think. Maybe forty-something. Who knows? He’s been the Chapter Advisor for DIK-Rho for a long time now. I know that. Maybe fifteen, twenty years.”

  “And he’s crazy?” Mac asks.

  Carter nods stiffly. “Batshit crazy.”

  Trevor and Damian turn and make their way back, disappointment on their faces. Just as they’re about to reach the van, the trailer door swings open from behind them. Standing on the other side, a stocky man with a thick, disheveled mohawk holds a cigarette in one hand and a Busch in the other. He’s shirtless with a burgundy robe on, and the bags under his squinty eyes tell me he hasn’t been awake for long. That, or he’s just smoked some weed.

  Damian waves us out of the vehicle as Trevor makes his introduction.

  As we pile out, the man looks us over one by one, flicking his cigarette butt out toward the road and taking a long swig of his beer.

  “Line up, pledges,” Damian says, and we do as we’re told.

  The advisor takes a step out of his trailer, his eyes scanning our row back and forth, then he clears his throat. The cold begins to turn his bare stomach red, but he doesn’t seem to mind.