Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  She slowly pulls back, letting my sensitive cock run along her tongue before she lets him drop. She runs one finger along her bottom lip, and then she sucks the cum off her finger.

  I feel as if I could grow hard all over again just at the sight, though I know he’d be very unhappy with me. He’d let me know it by the prickly jolts of pain that resonate from the tip of my dick immediately after orgasm. For this woman though? Bring on the fucking pain.

  Catching my breath, I fall to the mattress, my dick slowly ticking downward, and my heart pounding. “Holy fuck,” I say, shaking my head.

  “What?” She smiles, resting a hand against my sweaty stomach.

  “That was probably the best fuckin’ nut of my life.”

  “Shut up,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’re so gross.”

  “I’m not gross. I’m a guy.”

  “Same difference, I guess.” She laughs.

  “Goddamn, I need a cigarette.”

  She nods. “I think I need one too.”

  Lying next to each other in bed, watching Full House with stomachs full of pizza, her head rests on my chest and my arm is wrapped around her. She traces her finger in figure eights against my bare skin. I find myself filled with a budding energy, an undeniable connection to her, an overwhelming joy when I’m with her. I feel more alive than I have in a while.

  “You’re somethin’, you know?” I say abruptly, and she tilts her head up toward me, smiling.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Definitely.”

  “You’re something, too.”

  “I just didn’t expect to meet someone like you here,” I tell her.

  “Someone like me?”

  “I mean, you’re young. Most of the young kids here meet my expectations of today’s youth. I didn’t anticipate meetin’ a twenty-year-old with so much depth.”

  She laughs. “You’re such an old man.”

  “I know, I know.” I smile, shrugging.

  “It’s okay. I’m an old soul.”

  “I can tell.”

  “And you just used the word nut, so your brain is obviously stuck in the early twenties anyway.”

  Laughing, I shrug and reply, “Touché.”

  “You surprised me as well, you know. “You surprised me as well, you know?”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t think you understand how many people were talking about you.”

  “I really don’t. I just don’t get it.”

  “You’re the new guy, the one with a killer story. There’s like this mysticism that surrounds you here.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s so ridiculous.”

  “Maybe, but still, it’s there. And so, when I met you, I was so fucking nervous. I think I half-expected you to be an asshole.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Me?”

  “I didn’t know. Army man. Hurt in combat. Older. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

  “I don’t much like livin’ up to stereotypes.” I grin, rubbing a hand across her naked back.

  “You definitely don’t. You are so centered. And down to earth. It’s crazy.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I can be a dick sometimes.”

  “If it’s necessary, maybe. But I don’t see you being a dick for no reason.”

  “I try not to be,” I say. “I try to maintain perspective. Put myself in other people’s shoes.”

  “Well, I like it.” She smiles.

  I run my fingers through her hair, admiring her natural beauty and the starry gaze in her eyes.

  “Well, I like you,” I respond, feeling corny but not really giving a fuck.

  “I like you too, Bishop.” Her focus shifts back to the TV. We lie there, her and I, until we drift to sleep wrapped up in each other’s arms; Nick at Nite serves as our lullaby.

  “SO, WHERE’D YOU DISAPPEAR TO last night?” Mac asks as I approach him, Carter, and Jeremy in front of the diner, the morning sun making the bit of snow of the ground blinding.

  Pocketing my keys, I shrug. “I looked for you fuckers, but Ember wasn’t feelin’ it. What can I say?”

  As I hold the door open for them, Jeremy quips, “Well, ya missed out. It was a fuckin’ riot last night, man. We painted the town red.”

  I follow in behind them toward the host, who seats us in what’s become our usual spot.

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t regret a thing.” I grin as I take a seat at the table.

  “Mac pretty much fucked his girl at the bar,” Carter says, rolling his eyes.

  “Shit yeah, he did.” Jeremy laughs.

  Hey,” Mac says, faking offense. “There was no penetration.”

  Jeremy puts a finger up. “No penis penetration, that is,” he says, and we all burst out laughing.

  “You fingered her at the bar, dude?” I ask, and he shrugs.

  “A little bit,” he responds, laughing. “Dude, my girl is a filthy little whore. I can’t help it.”

  “Same girl?”

  He nods. “You bet your ass. That’s my woman, man. I told you. I’m serious as a heart attack, I’m going to make that woman my wife one day.”

  “Does anybody think this girl has been tearing Mac’s ass up in the bedroom, strap-on style?” Carter asks, chuckling.

  “Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” I say, shaking my head. “I thought that was just assumed.”

  “Fuck you guys,” Mac replies, flipping us off. “And another fuck you for not warning me what was coming last night.” He holds the middle finger up a few moments longer just for Carter.

  “Hey, they told me not to. I could get kicked out if they find out I did.” Carter shrugs. “Besides, you didn’t do as bad as I did. Fuck, I knew what was coming and still sucked.”

  “What were you supposed to do, practice in front of the mirror?” I ask, chuckling.

  “No, but I could’ve drank more,” he responds.

  Mac scoffs, putting his hands up. “You fucking drank? I thought we weren’t supposed to.”

  Carter shrugs. “I wasn’t about to strip without some liquor in me.”

  “You’re such a dick!” Mac shakes his head as the waitress approaches with pad and pen in hand. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell us?”

  “I told you, I’m not allowed to,” Carter says.

  The waitress takes our orders, Mac grumbling away under his breath.

  As she departs, Jeremy tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at me. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you seemed to be a little liquored up yourself out there on the dance floor, Bishop,” he says, passing me a knowing glance, his eyes trailing to Carter.

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” I lie, shrugging and taking a sip of my coffee.

  “You motherfuckers.” Mac shakes his head, his brows pinched together.

  “Hey, I didn’t have enough to go around,” Carter says.

  “You could’ve given us something.” Mac pouts now, crossing his arms.

  I laugh. “Stop your whinin’, Mac. It’s over with.” I look to Carter and then back to the others. “So I haven’t been given any information from Damian, other than the social coming up on Thursday.”

  Mac puts his hands up and cheers. “Our first fucking social,” he says. “Finally!”

  “Y’all got dates already?” I ask, and Mac nods right away.

  “You know who the hell I’m bringing,” he says. “I’m gonna have my Mexican princess on my arm.”

  I motion toward Carter. “What about you?”

  He shrugs, curling his lips. “Eh, I’m just going with a friend from back home. I haven’t had the luck Mac has lately.”

  “We gotta remedy that,” I respond, my focus shifting toward Jeremy, who seems distracted. “What about you, bro?”

  Jeremy shrugs, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Haven’t really thought about it,” he says.

  “What about that blond you sang to at karaoke on the first night? You got her number, right?” Mac asks.

  “Yeah.” Jeremy shrugs again
. “I might ask her.”

  “Wait.” Mac puts a hand up. “Jeremy, have you gotten your dick wet at all since we started pledging?”

  Jeremy shoots him a glare. “I get my own. I just don’t go ’round broadcastin’ it like you do, ya ginger fuck.”

  “I’m just saying. You’re the prettiest one out of all of us. Shit, compared to us three, you’re fucking adonis. You should be slaying the pussy,” Mac argues.

  “How do you know I ain’t?” Jeremy asks, cocking his head. “Your an idiot, Mac,” Jeremy responds, shaking his head. “Until your sleepin’ next to me every night, you can’t say shit.”

  “That sounds like an invitation.” Carter laughs, and the rest of us join in.

  “He couldn’t handle this shit,” Mac says, rubbing his hands slowly from his chest to his stomach.

  Jeremy looks at Mac, arching an eyebrow with a grin plastered on. “Mac, I could be Elton John-gay, I’m talkin’ rainbows comin’ out my fuckin’ asshole, and I still wouldn’t stick my dick in you. Shit, I’d probably break your anorexic ass.”

  “I’m not anorexic!” Mac groans, motioning toward the plate of food in front of him. “It’s not cool for you guys to always give me shit about that. It’s not my fault.”

  I rub fists in my eyes dramatically. “Oh, boo fuckin’ hoo, Mac. You better grow a sack quick. Y’all can give me shit about my eye. If I do recall, y’all already have a time or two.” I motion toward Carter. “For Chrissake, Carter’s frat nickname is Scarface.”

  Carter shakes his head, his lips curling into a frown. “Zane. Fucking asshole,” he mutters.

  “See?” I point to Carter’s face. “This is my first time hearin’ about his feelings on the subject.”

  “Well… my nickname is Red!” Mac argues. “I’m not even really a ginger.”

  I shoot my eyes toward his head and laugh. “What the fuck do you call that color, then?”

  “Strawberry blond,” he responds, and the rest of us burst out laughing.

  “Strawberry fuckin’ ginger, man.” I shake my head. “There ain’t nothin’ blond about that mop on your head.”

  “I hate you fucks,” Mac grumbles.

  “You love us. Now finish your food. I gotta get to class,” I say, motioning toward his plate.

  “Well, if you fucks would ever stop talking,” Mac responds, grinning, shoveling the last of his eggs into his mouth.

  “SO, A REAL OFFICIAL DATE, huh?” Ember asks, leaning against the Kappa Phi mailbox, the sorority letters lit behind her. She’s wearing a puffy North Face jacket, faux fur lining the hood that’s pulled over her head. She flashes a brilliant smile.

  “Yes ma’am. If you ever get in the damn Jeep.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “And here I thought an Army gentleman was taking me out.”

  I chuckle. “If you only knew how ungentlemanly the Army Infantry really is, my dear,” I respond, hopping out and hoofing it to her side but careful to look for any ice patches. I open the door for her and present a hand.

  She gives a little curtsy and hops in, a smirk on her lips. It’s quite endearing how she has to hike herself up into the lifted Jeep, like she’s doing a fucking pull-up.

  Closing the door behind her, I make my way back to the driver side and hop back in.

  “You comfortable, Madam?” I ask, smirking.

  She looks around, seemingly taking in the interior of the vehicle as I pull away from the DG house. She gives an approving nod. “This is a sweet ass car! A lot better than mine.”

  “It’s not a car. It’s a Jeep,” I correct her, and she rolls her eyes. I continue, “What do you drive?”

  “A black El Camino.”

  I shoot my eyes over to her. “The souped up El Camino that’s always parked in the lot across from the quad?”

  “That’s her! Elvira. She’s my bitch.”

  “Well, fuck, I wouldn’t call my Jeep better than that beauty. I’d take that ride any day. I love El Caminos. They’re classics.”

  “I’ve always loved them too, but then again, around my house you didn’t have an option. My dad was always a huge fan, he had one when he was younger, and he bought Elvira when she looked like completes shit. Interior faded and worn through. The engine was a complete mess. The summer between my freshman and sophomore year of high school, while all my friends were poolside or going to the mall, I helped my dad fix her up. Isn’t wasn’t done with any understanding or agreement beforehand that I’d get her when we were through, or anything like that. I just wanted to spend some quality time with my dad. He surprised me on the last day of summer with the keys. He put a big red bow on it and everything. It was adorable. And so I got to drive her every day from my sophomore year on. My first year here he wouldn’t let me take her with me, and now, this year, I guess he’s lightened up a little because he finally let me bring her with me this year.” She hesitates for a moment and then adds, “Where are we going, by the way?”

  As I take the highway on-ramp, I reply, “I wanted to get away from the college town vibe, so I booked us a table at this spot out in Slippery Rock. It’s called—”

  “Gallagher’s?!” she cuts me off, waving her hands excitedly.

  “Yeah, have you been there?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve been wanting to sooooo bad! I saw it on one of my favorite shows a few months ago.”

  “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives?!” I’m shocked to learn someone other than me watches one of my favorite shows. “I’m seriously in love with that show, and I saw that episode the other night. It’s why I booked us there. Felt like kismet.” I smile as she buzzes with excitement, adorably so. “You are too fuckin’ cute.”

  “And you’re too fucking sweet. Mr. Romantic over here. I’m sorry for talking shit earlier. I really was just messing with you, you know. I don’t do the whole car door opening thing. I just wanted to see if you would.” She grins.

  “Good, because I was about to tell you there’s no way I’m hoppin’ my happy ass out when we get there and racin’ to your side to get the door for you. I hate those guys.” I laugh. “I consider myself a gentleman through and through. I’m a country boy with country values after all, but I put that shit up there with holdin’ a lady’s purse. It just ain’t right to do to a man.”

  She laughs, patting her metal studded clutch. “I guess you won’t be carrying the ‘Bad Bitch’ for me anytime soon, then?”

  I shake my head firmly. “No ma’am. You got two perfectly healthy arms more than capable of totin’ that thing around. You get in some freak accident and break both your arms, or get bacterial meningitis and lose ’em, well, then you hand that thing right over.”

  She grins. “You are so fucked up.”

  “Wait. Ms. Badass herself is callin’ me fucked up?”

  “You are, talking about missing arms and shit.”

  “I’m just bein’ informative. And you missed the moral to the story.”

  “I must’ve.” She smirks.

  “I’m just lettin’ you know there are circumstances where I’ll hold your purse for you. That should be a good thing.”

  She shakes her head. “Glad to know if I ever lose my arms, I have you to carry my purse for me.” She hesitates, looking as if she’s stifling a laugh. “Will you pull the trigger too? Seeing as I wouldn’t be able to blow my own brains out.” She bursts out in laughter.

  “Damn, woman. Who’s fucked up now? Talkin’ about shootin’ yourself if you had no arms. I know a few guys with no arms, you know.”

  She shrugs. “And they’re probably the bravest motherfuckers in the world. I’m not so sure I’m in that category. I’m not sure what I’d do if I couldn’t finger myself.”

  A laugh bursts from my lips and my eyes go wide. I look over at her with a grin. “Did you really just fuckin’ say that? Only you could turn a conversation about double arm amputees sexual.”

  She shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “We all have our own weird kinks. Mine is leather bondage and amp
utee porn.”

  I just shake my head.

  She continues, “Besides, I don’t want you carrying my purse. The whole reason we pay so much for purses is so that we can show them off.” She cradles her purse tighter to her side as if she’s hugging it.

  “Where do you get the money for all this nice shit anyhow? I’m not quite in the fashion world, but I know enough to know you’ve got some high-end items.”

  “You being judgmental, punk?” She points a finger at me.

  I put a hand up, smiling. “No. Not at all. I’m just curious.”

  “Well, it’s not Daddy’s money, if that’s what you’re thinking. Which is absolutely what you’re thinking.” She scrutinizes me with her eyes as she puts a finger near my cheek. I try to focus on the road, but it’s so close to my face, it’s hard to ignore. “I can see it in your face,” she adds.

  “Not at all. I wouldn’t judge you if that was how you got such nice things. I call that a good family. Wish I had that shit growin’ up.”

  “Well, this is one-hundred percent me. Except the car, I guess, but I put as much blood, sweat, and tears into her as Dad did. It was our project. Anyway, I actually do these YouTube videos—makeup tutorials, product testing, shit like that—and they’ve kind of blown up over the past year.”

  “You make money off those things?”

  “If you have enough viewers, yeah. Ad dollars.”

  “That’s fuckin’ awesome. Go you!”

  “Yeah, I had no idea when I started, but it’s been nice having that extra cash flow the past few months. Not having to rely on my parents and all. Obviously, I’ve been spoiling myself a little.” She pats her bag.

  “As we all should sometimes. I’ve done the same. I did with this Jeep. Sometimes you gotta just go out and drop a couple Gs on somethin’ you don’t really need.”

  “Or oftentimes,” she adds.

  I navigate the Jeep onto an off-ramp and take a right toward downtown Slippery Rock.

  “Again, no judgment. I treat myself all the time,” I assure her.

  Hitting the dim lights of the scarcely occupied town square, I pull into a parking spot off the road as a wave of energy builds in my chest. Not a nervousness, but an excitement. A connection between two people hardly found in this life. A buzz of anticipation for the possibility of so much more.