Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  I flip the belt toward Ember down the line, and she catches it, a wide smile stretching across her face. She folds the belt in half and whips it lightly against her other hand as she quirks an eyebrow.

  Unbuttoning my jeans, I continue down the line toward her.

  I thrust my hips with each step, the nerves completely numb now, and the excitement her smile brings me leading the way. She laughs wildly, batting me away playfully and whipping the belt toward my ass, and it encourages me to fuck with her more. I grab each of her wrists, pinning them to the wall above her head. The belt crashes to the floor as I thrust along to the music. She looks, at first, surprised, and then intrigued. I do one full body air grin with her hands still above her head and fits of laughter overtake her, the fading music overtaken by her deliriously adorable laugh. It’s contagious and gets a bellyful from me as well. I let her arms go and take her hand when the music completely dies and the DJ takes to the mic.

  “Thanks for bein’ a good sport,” I say into her ear as I wrap her up in my arms.

  She smiles as I let her go, and says, “Thanks for the show.”

  Trevor approaches and sets his hand on my shoulder as he laughs. “Hell of an effort, man,” he says. “Now, put your clothes back on and get over there with your pledge bros. It’s Carter’s turn.” He then makes his way toward the back door as I collect my clothes and bring them with me to the guys near the bar.

  “Nice work, old man,” Jeremy jokes as I slip my jeans and shirt back on.

  “I’m sad I missed you fuckers,” I respond as the announcer takes over the mic again.

  “Everybody put your hands together for your last pledge of the night … Carterrr!”

  As the announcer starts up “Work It” by Missy Elliot, Carter reluctantly walks toward the dance floor alongside Trevor.

  “God, I hope they’re recording this shit. I gotta see yours, Mac,” I say as Trevor finishes his pep talk with Carter before he’s fed to the wolves.

  Jeremy bursts out laughing, simultaneously patting Mac on the back. “It was … the best thing … I ever fuckin’ saw,” Jeremy says between laughs.

  “Fuck you,” Mac says, crossing his arms and pouting. “I don’t fucking dance.”

  “Shhh.” I put a finger to my lips and motion toward the dance floor with my other hand. “I gotta see this shit.”

  After Carter’s shameful attempt at stripping for the girls, with moves I hadn’t seen since middle school, the three of us laugh our asses off and bust his balls from across the room. Trevor approaches Carter from behind, patting him on the back, saying something to him with a dissapointed shake of his head. Trevor then motions us over. As we approach, Damian comes up beside him with a mic in his hand and passes it over.

  Trevor grabs the mic, taps it a few times, and then says, “Alright, pledges, congratulations on passing Big Sis night. Big round of applause, please.” As he puts his hand up to present us, the brothers and their dates clap and whistle loudly. Trevor waits for the noise to die down and then continues, “You are now to make sure your Big Sis, A, doesn’t spend a dime tonight and, B, parties her ass off. No exceptions.” Trevor motions to the four ladies we danced for and adds, “Ladies, meet your Little Brothers. Big Brothers, introduce them.” Trevor motions toward the chairs lined up in front of the dance floor as our new Big Sisters empty them. “If any ladies want a front row seat for a dance from Damian, now’s your chance.”

  As if he had thrown seed for pigeons at the park, a cluster of women race for the chairs, falling over each other as they fight over them. Four of them finally power their asses onto the chairs and the others walk away disappointed.

  It’s then that Trevor backs the group of us—pledges, Big Brothers, and Big Sisters—toward the bar, handing the mic back off to the DJ.

  “Ladieeees,” the DJ calls out as Ember wiggles her way between the group of Big Brothers and Sisters who are cluttered between us as introductions are being made with the other pledges. I’ve yet to see Sarge. “It’s time to get you a little piece of Damiannnnnn,” the DJ yells, spinning Usher’s “Yeah” as the ladies respond with a chorus of high-pitched squeals.

  Ember approaches me, a dangerous little smile on her face, as Damian strides to the center of the dance floor, his jacket, button-down, and tie now scattered across the ground, only a wife beater and suspenders still covering his chiseled torso. All the ladies scream for him, but not Ember. She still looks at me, digging blindly in her purse then pulling out a folded-up piece of notebook paper. She hands it over.

  “What’s this?” I ask, half-yelling as I combat the heavy beats.

  “From Sarge,” she says, still holding it out for me.

  I take it and unfold it, reading over Sarge’s doctor scrawl.

  Bishop,

  Surprise! Sorry I couldn’t be there. It’s Jonah’s birthday on Sunday, and we’re celebrating in Pittsburgh over the weekend. I got us this really nice dinner cruise and promised not to bring up any conspiracy theories (you have no idea how big of a present that really is haha).

  I hope you have fun! I’ve heard around the house that you’re into this Ember girl and I know you don’t get much time outside of pledging, so enjoy this time with her. A hundred in drinks on me. Enjoy!

  Big Bro

  PS . . . You aren’t allowed to bone your Big Sister.

  PSS . . . But, I mean, shit happens.

  I look back at Ember, smiling as I fold the note back up and pocket it.

  “Where’s this hundred dollars?” I ask, squinting, and she pats her purse.

  She motions toward the bar. “Drink?”

  “Please. That was fuckin’ intense.”

  “Oh, I can only imagine. You did good though!”

  “You say that as if you’re surprised.” I grin, leaning against the bar and trying to look as James Dean-esque as I can.

  “I mean, you’re white. Odds are not in your favor.”

  I crack up so hard it catches me off guard, and I put a hand to my mouth. “You ain’t kiddin’,” I say, dropping my hand and impulsively searching for the barkeep. I really need a drink. With the amount of people packed into such a small area, my heart has been racing since I entered. I know I’m not in any danger, I don’t see myself in a warzone or anything like that, but it’s like a part of my subconscious isn’t quite in the know.

  Ember turns, sets her palms to the edge of the bar and leans forward in a way that makes me think she’s trying to show off her tits, or test me. My unavoidable glances are subtle, accordingly.

  “I consider myself quite the bad bitch,” she says, shaking her head. “But you will never catch me doing something like that. I’d die of a panic attack before I ever made it on the dance floor.” She laughs as she pulls a twenty from her purse—presumably Sarge’s money—and sets it on the bar top. She then orders two Fireballs from the bartender.

  “Well, I don’t think you can die from a panic attack. So, there’s that.”

  “Yeah, but I can only assume that I would get completely and utterly shit-canned beforehand. The panic attack would lead to me fainting. The alcohol would lead to me vomiting, and then I’m choking on my own vomit. Ipso facto, the panic attack would’ve killed me.”

  “Maybe… or you could say the alcohol killed you. Or the vomit.”

  “You could.” She shrugs. “One of those chicken and egg scenarios, I guess?”

  “I guess.” I chuckle, and then take a glance around the room. “I’m sure somebody here would’ve saved you though. After you fainted and choked on your own vomit.”

  She looks at me with complete seriousness, and she asks, “But would I really want them to? I mean, I just choked on my own vomit, in front of a hundred people, after a panic attack. My reputation’s just, seriously, that fucker’s gone.”

  “You know, maybe you could just move… or something. I don’t know. Death seems like an extreme step.”

  “Pussy,” she mutters, and then finally breaks into a fit a laughter. “You�
��re ridiculous.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Not as much as you, buddy.”

  “This a tit for tat game or something?” I ask.

  “This is gonna be a long night, isn’t it?” She smiles as the bartender trades the twenty in her hand for the two shots in his own.

  She lifts her shot glass and clinks it against mine, her eyes study me.

  “I think that’s part of the rules,” I respond, smiling before I throw back the shot as she does the same. We set the glasses back down on the bar top with a loud clink and I let out a manly grunt to combat the throat burn. Her face remains steady.

  She quirks an eyebrow. “As I was saying… pussy.”

  “Hey now. I’ve beaten dudes’ asses for less.”

  “Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

  “You sure you can handle it?” I ask, wiping a forearm across my lips.

  “Don’t test my abilities,” She responds, and then her hand abruptly dives into her purse. She digs around a bit and the pulls out that pink flask of hers. She spins the top off and offers it up. “Woodford?”

  I nod, grabbing the flask, though my stomach turns at the thought. Taking a swig, I fight the disgust from my face and hand the flask back to her. She takes a shot of her own, and then she studies me as she screws the lid back on.

  “Ember, aren’t you upset you’re missing the show?” I ask, motioning toward Damian who is now down to a g-string and has his ass in one of the girl’s faces. Brady and Trevor have joined him in semi-nudity on the dance floor, grinding for the giddy girls in chairs before them.

  Ember glances over, but her eyes quickly flit back to me. She shrugs. Not my cup of tea,” she says, taking another swig from the flask.

  “What’s your cup of tea then?” I ask, and her eyes run the length of my body.

  “I’m looking at it,” she responds with a grin.

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “What is it about me that attracts you? Because I know it’s not my looks. The scar and fake eye take away that possibility.”

  She sets a hand to my face, her eyes lingering on mine as she says, “I find you stunning, scars and all. And in my honest opinion, it makes it sexier knowing that happened fighting for our country. And besides that, I love who you are as a person. You’re down to earth. And real. More so than any guy I’ve met here. Or ever.”

  I nod, not even fighting the smile that stretches across my face. “I could say the same about you.”

  “Well, I beat you to it,” she says, that sexy little grin tugging at her lips. “So, I win.”

  “Why do I get the feelin’ you always win?”

  “You do seem to be a reasonably smart man,” she responds, smiling,

  “I like to think so. But I, too, am used to winnin’. So, we may encounter some problems down the road.”

  She hesitates, lifting the flask to her lips, but not taking a drink. Instead, she asks, “Are you willing to find out?” with a tilt of her head.

  I nod as she takes a small swig and passes the flask back over. I take a drink, swallow against the burn, and say, “I’m one-hundred percent willin’ to find out. I’m even willin’ to be wrong on occasion … a few occasions.”

  “Only a few, huh?” She eyes me, a smile building on her face as she nods, digging back into her purse. She trades the flask for another twenty and smacks it on the bar top.

  “Two more, Andre!” she calls out over her shoulder.

  “Do you know everybody in this town? And why are we even drinkin’ from the flask if we’ve got Sarge’s money?”

  Her face twists in judgement. “Do you know how expensive Woodford is here? Fuck no,” she says, poking her tongue out. “And I told you, I’ve been coming here since I was sixteen, remember? I kinda do know everybody.” She takes a step forward and runs a hand down my lapel. “So, how drunk do you plan on getting tonight?”

  “That’s a good question. Do we have plans for later?”

  “Hmm… I had a few things in mind. They’ll require you not to get wasted and cry rape again though. Or get preoccupied with some invisible nacho platter.” She laughs.

  I grimace at the r-word. “Was I really sayin’ that shit?” I ask as Andre delivers our shots.

  “You absolutely were. And I wasn’t even planning on giving you the goods.”

  “So, what’s changed?”

  She grabs the shot glasses and passes one off to me. As she holds hers up, she says, “I like you, Bishop. And I hope you like me too.”

  “You know I do.”

  “To getting to know each other better then,” she says, and clinks her shot glass against mine, before killing it.

  “To the best Big Sis a guy could ask for,” I add, downing my own shot and returning it to the bar top. “No shit.”

  “What do you say we take this flask back to your place? Maybe you could make me dinner and we could watch a movie.” Her eyebrows wriggle.

  “You ain’t in the party mood tonight?”

  “I’m always in the party mood. I’m just not in the people-ing mood tonight.”

  “Well, I think it sounds like a great idea then. I’ve got no food at the apartment though, so how about we order a pizza?”

  “Make it pepperoni and mushrooms and you got yourself a deal.” She puts a hand out, waiting for me to shake it.

  “Mushrooms, eh? A woman after my own heart.” I shake her hand, but just before she lets go, I pull her in and kiss her. She acts surprised at first, but then leans into to me, grabbing my waist. I’ve missed the feel of her satin-soft lips, the taste of the whiskey and hint of spearmint on her breath, the touch of her body against mine. I crave it all, and kiss her with a fervor and passion I don’t recall feeling much of in my life before this. Not outside of combat that is.

  It’s electric.

  As we part, she smiles, her eyes opening to slits, and she mutters, “Well, that was something.”

  “Yes, it was. I fuckin’ love your lips.”

  “They certainly love yours right back.”

  “I’ve always put a lot of weight on kissin’. A good kisser is hard to find, you know? And worth its weight in gold.”

  “You got that right.” She slides a hand from my waist to the nape of my neck, her other hand settling on my chest as she kisses me again. She has to stand on her tiptoes to reach me, and I find it ridiculously endearing.

  “Let’s get the fuck outta here,” I whisper as I pull away from her, our breath intermingling.

  “Now you’re speaking my language.” She grabs me by the sleeve and pulls me toward the door. As I follow behind her, I look around the room for my guys, but they’re scattered all over the place. When I give up and trail my eyes back forward, I catch Brady starring daggers at me from across the room. I crack a smile as Ember reaches the front door and throws it open.

  “Quit dragging your heels,” she says with a laugh, slapping a hand against my chest.

  “I was lookin’ for the guys so I could let ‘em know I was leavin’, but—”

  “Eh, they’re grownups. They’ll be fine.” She throws a hand up, snapping for a cab coming down Main Street.

  We make out the entire cab ride to my apartment, and it probably would’ve been awkward if the shots hadn’t started making my inhibitions waver. As we stumble out, I throw the cab driver a ten and shut the door behind us. Leading her inside, it’s hard not to ache for her when I eye her supple ass. It’s hard not to notice the thin line of her thong beneath the fabric of her tight black dress. I can feel a tingle of pleasure at the base of my balls, an ache rooted in my loins.

  Once inside the apartment, I smack her ass and motion toward my room. “I’ll meet you in there. Gonna grab some beers.”

  “Yes sir,” she says, saluting, before turning on her heel and sauntering toward my room.

  I shake my head, watching her as she goes, and knowing that tonight, I will be inside her, experiencing her, feeding this insatiable
appetite for her body.

  Grabbing two beers from the fridge, I make my way to my room, noticing she’s made herself quite at home. She’s kicked her heels off and she’s sprawled out on the small twin-size bed, the remote in her hand and Saved by the Bell on the TV.

  “I love Nick at Night,” she says, taking the beer from me and scooching over so I can lay with her.

  “What the hell do you know about Bayside High?”

  She gasps, offended.“How dare you! I grew up on this stuff. Nick at Night has always been my shit. Family Matters, Saved by the Bell, Fresh Prince … all of it.”

  “Okay, okay. You have to admit not many twenty-year-olds can say the same thing though.”

  She pretends to poof her hair out. “I am quite unique, if you haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “I’m beginning to. So, quiz time, can you sing the intro to Fresh Prince?”

  Abruptly, she sits up and starts rattling it off, flailing her hands about as if she’s an MC. “… Shooting some b-ball outside of the school, when a couple of guys who were up to no good, started making trouble in my neighborhood,” I sing along with her.

  When we finish, she busts out in laughter, attempting to steady her beer bottle, but some splashes out anyway. She calms herself, wiping the beer on her dress away with her hand as she says, “Don’t doubt me, punk.”

  Sitting up, cross-legged as she is, I tilt my beer. “Noted. You are just full of all kinds of surprises, huh?”

  She clinks her bottle against mine and then we both take a drink.

  “What’s your all-time favorite show? And if it has the name Kardashian in it, I am bootin’ you from this tiny ass bed.”

  She shakes her head and sticks her tongue out in a pretend gag. “No freaking way. I hate the Kardashians. I’m into stuff like Parks and Rec and The Walking Dead. Loved Sons of Anarchy, too. And of course, the classics. Friends, It’s Always Sunny, Arrested Development, The Office.”