Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  “Are you excited?” I ask as I meet her on the sidewalk, locking my Jeep, and blowing hot breath into my cold hand.

  “You bet your ass I am,” she says, winking. “Did you see the lamb shank on that Triple D episode?” She rolls her eyes in orgasmic fashion. “Get in my fucking belly,” she adds in a horrible Fat Bastard impersonation, and then she laughs.

  “Hell yeah, I remember that. You better plan on sharin’,” I say, giving her a little hip bump.

  “I’m only sharing mine if you share yours.” She pokes her tongue out as I open the front door for her.

  “Thank you, sir,” she says as she passes through.

  “No, thank you.” I smile, following in after her.

  As we’re led to a table, I pull her chair out for her and wait for her to sit, and then I grab a seat in the one across from her.

  “So, we’ve seen each other three times now. Spent the night together twice. And …” My voice trails as a mischievous smile spreads across my face.

  “And?” she asks sharply, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “And I feel like I know nothin’ about you.”

  “Well, why haven’t you asked?”

  I laugh. “Night one, you were wasted. Night two, I was wasted. Night three, we were, um, preoccupied.” I grin and she swats me across the arm with the back of her hand.

  “Why don’t you ask away then, Geraldo?”

  “Were you even alive when Geraldo was on the air?”

  “I didn’t have to be to know who he is,” she retorts, a smirk fighting to break free. “Were you alive when J. Edgar Hoover was cross-dressing?”

  “No, but—”

  “No, but you know that he did s…”

  “I mean, no one really has proof of that.”

  She scoffs, still fighting the smile. “For Chrissakes, Bishop. Lincoln delivering the Emancipation Proclamation then. Or MLK’s ‘I Have a Dream’ speech. Were you alive for those?”

  I shake my head, playing along.

  “But you know about them, don’t you?”

  I nod.

  She shrugs. “So …”

  “This conversation really got away from us.” I smile as the waitress approaches.

  Em mouths, “I’m gonna get you,” as the waitress asks if we’d like anything to drink. I order my usual double Jameson on the rocks and she orders a straight Coke, I’m assuming because she doesn’t want to test her fake ID outside of Crescent Falls, where standards more lax. It reminds me of how much older I am than her and just about everyone else in this town.

  After we order some crab cakes to start, the waitress departs, and Ember’s brows draw together.

  “What?” I tilt my head.

  “You’re quickly getting on my bad side,” she says matter-of-factly.

  “Why do I get the feelin’ that ain’t a hard thing to accomplish?”

  She swats at me again but misses this time, and I cheer victoriously.

  “Not so fast, Grasshopper. For the student shall never overtake the master.” My eyelids close to slits and I throw a few karate chops through the air.

  She laughs, shaking her head. “You are such a nerd.”

  “And you’re out on a date with a nerd. What’s that make you?”

  She snort-laughs, covering her face with both hands. “Either really generous, or goddamn stupid.”

  I shake my head. “Rude fucker!”

  “Hey, you started it,” she argues, poking her tongue out at me.

  “When did I start it?”

  “When you took me out on a date and expected me to behave myself.”

  “Hey!” I point a finger at her, holding it there as I tilt my head and arch an eyebrow. “I never asked you to behave yourself. I just expected you to reserve the aggression for unsuspectin’ bystanders.”

  “Oh, we could totally do that.”

  “You have specific plans?” I ask, wrapping my fingers around the whiskey glass and jostling the ice as she sips on her Coke.

  “Well, there’s a shit ton of suburbia shithole houses here with unsuspecting kids snuggled comfortably in bed,” she says.

  I rear my head back, my forehead wrinkling in confusion. “And you’re wantin’ to kidnap these kids or…?” I arch an eyebrow and she bursts out laughing. Some of our fellow patrons glance over at us.

  “No, you idiot. But we could always scratch a stick against their windows, wake them up, and then maybe, like, pretend to be zombies or something.”

  “I was thinkin’ kill a few beers at Lookout Point and hit some golf balls. Or, like, maybe bust up a few mailboxes. I ain’t tryin’ to get on some sex predator list.”

  “Pussy,” she mutters, taking a sip of her drink, but smiling wide against the rim.

  I shake my head slowly, handling my own glass. “You’re pushin’ it tonight, woman. I’m not afraid to bend you over my knee in front of everybody.”

  She quirks an eyebrow. “Shoot, I thought you’d never ask.”

  I chuckle, nodding my head in approval. “Now that sounds like a better plan than creeping around some kid’s bedroom window.”

  Shrugging, she says, “It’s not that bad of an idea. I mean, mentally scarring some kids for life, that shit would be funny.” Her lips turn up in a wicked grin.

  “Jesus, woman. Why do I get the feelin’ you lit your Barbie’s heads on fire?”

  She scoffs. “Barbies? I had action figures growing up, mister. And yes, I would make them slaughter each other, and some, occasionally, at some point or another may have faced the wrath of a flamethrower aka my Bic and a can of kerosene.”

  A laugh escapes my lips. “We would’ve been real good friends back in the day. I was a little fuckin’ pyro too.”

  “Well, yeah, that would’ve been nice had you not grown up in the roaring twenties.” She pokes her tongue out at me.

  “I have a toothbrush older than you,” I quip.

  “And you’re on a date with me, you little perv.”

  “Hey, I’m the older man with the younger woman. I think that makes me smart in society’s book. You’re the younger woman with the older man. That makes you kind of gross. I’m a senior citizen, for Chrissakes.”

  Her hands meet her mouth to catch her laughter as the waitress approaches with her pad and pen. Ember spots this and does a little happy dance.

  After the waitress takes our food order and departs to grab us a fresh round, Ember leans her elbows on the table and sets her chin against her palms. She looks so cute this way, adorable even, and I find it impressive that this woman can be so many things all rolled into one—girl next door adorable, hotter than the Texas sun, and sexy as all fuck.

  “You’re staring, old man.”

  I grin. “You’re gorgeous, young lady.”

  She drops her hands to her sides and smiles. “Why thank you.

  “So now that I get some alone time with you, tell me about what makes you you. I wanna know it all.”

  “That’s such a broad topic,” she responds, chuckling.

  “How about this… What was growin’ up like?”

  “Well, my mom is my best friend in the world. I learned everything I know from her. She took care of me and my brother when my dad died, and never, not once, did she ever feel sorry for herself. She pushed on for us. To give us the life Dad would’ve wanted for us.”

  “God, I’m so sorry. When did that happen?”

  “When I was twelve. Car wreck. He was coming down a road where he had the right of way and a drunk driver ran a stop sign on a cross street going sixty and hit him. Killed him instantly, or so the EMT says. Mom never did let me see him. She wanted my memories of him to stay untarnished.”

  I think back to my first deployment, three months in. I had only been in the Army a little over a year at that point. I was scared shitless. We were coming in from a mission one day, hot, tired, disorientated, and right when we turned onto the road leading to the base, an improvised explosive device detonated underneath the Humvee in front of
mine. Up until then, I didn’t know what complete destruction was.

  I think about dismounting my own Humvee to check on them and walking up on my squad buddies Specialist Adam Landon, Private First Class Greyson Matthews, and Sergeant Tony Morrison, left in pieces inside the tattered Humvee. Blood and flesh coated the interior, along with torn bits of uniform and the most awful smell I’d ever experienced. There was also the screaming. I’ll never forget the screaming. Private Jackson Perez lay in the backseat, alive, but his life was fleeting. Both legs were severed at the hip. There was too much blood and flesh to see whether he’d lost more than that. He didn’t have to. The color in his face drained quickly as his eyes rolled around in his skull.

  And, eventually, the screaming stopped.

  I wonder if I’d rather not have those memories; if I could remember Landon, Matthews, Morrison, and Perez as I knew them around the smoke pit, bullshitting about women, and home, and freedom.

  “Do you wish you had seen him?” I ask, trying to busy my mind, but regretting the question immediately.

  She takes a moment to think before she shrugs. “I don’t know. I was livid with my mom at the time. Absolutely fucking livid. But as I got older, I started to understand. When I read the autopsy report in high school, it made all the sense in the world.”

  “Fuck, that’s terrible.”

  “But like I said, my mom stepped up. She took on the role of mother and father for my sister and me, and she kicked fucking ass. She’s my hero.”

  “What’s her name?” I ask.

  “Leaona.”

  “And what does she do?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

  “Try me out.”

  “She writes romance and erotica books.”

  “You’re shittin’ me,” I say, a bit of disbelief in my tone.

  “I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “For real, she writes, like, Fabio books?”

  She laughs out loud, shaking her head. “Well, it’s come a long way since those days, but yeah.”

  “And your sister? What about her?”

  “Cassia…” She hesitates, her eyes meeting the ceiling as she thinks it over. “I love that girl, but she’s a spoiled little shit. She’s the youngest at eighteen, so she got everything her little heart desired. She’s awesome, just a bit of a wild child right now. I worry about her graduating and starting college. She may finish needing a new liver.” She laughs.

  “I surely can’t judge. I’ve been known as a bit of a wild child myself.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  I nod, smirking. “I like to meet expectations.”

  “So, what about you? Any siblings?” she asks.

  The waitress brings our new drinks, temporarily interrupting our conversation. I thank her, turning my attention back toward Ember as the waitress turns and walks away.

  Taking a sip first, I lick the stray whiskey from my lips and say, “Only child here. Always wished I had a big brother though. But I’ve managed to make some really great friends over the years. It’s just a shame because they’re all over the place these days.”

  “Yeah, I can relate. Everybody from New York ends up going somewhere else for college. It’s just too damn expensive staying in state. So, people end up all over the northeast. I also don’t really get along with most girls. I think they find me intimidating.”

  “I can see why.”

  “Hey, I’m a sweet girl when people aren’t fucking idiots.”

  “I can see that too, and I’m sure your friends can as well, but you do carry that bad bitch vibe. I think a lot of other women are intimidated by project unabashed confidence. I can relate. Most people assume I’m an asshole because I speak my mind.”

  Nodding, she says, “That’s why the majority of my friends are guys; they’re easier. And that’s why Zane and Brady are the only ones I really know around Crescent Falls from back home. Well, them and my best friend, Holly.”

  “Is she a Kappa too?”

  She nods. “We came here together. She’s my lobster, and pretty much my guardian. If it wasn’t for her, I may not have made it out of our freshman year alive. I stress quite a bit. She’s always been the motherly, nurturing type. Even when we were kids. Really good at calming me down if I get overwhelmed.”

  “It’s good to have friends like that. I’ve always found myself in that role with my past friendships. In high school, I befriended all the kids who got picked on. It hurt me so much to see them treated like shit without the ability, desire, or, I guess, fortitude to fight back. A few of them I tried to give fighting tips to. I told them the truest words that I’ve ever learned, which are, when you stand up to a bully, that motherfucker will back down. They pick on the weaker ones cause they know they won’t fight back.”

  “So you’re a fighter, huh?”

  “Eh, I wouldn’t say that.” I work to keep the grin off my face as the blatant lie slips through my teeth. “But I’ve been in my fair share. I think every man needs to be in at least one fight. And he certainly needs to take a punch, so he knows his chin ain’t made of glass.”

  “I’ve been in a fight before. Once.”

  “I don’t doubt that one fuckin’ bit. Tell me the story.”

  “It was my senior year. I was with the same guy all throughout high school until he cheated on me that first semester. I dumped him, and he moved on to that bitch. So anyway, fast forward to the second semester and he’s still dating her but hitting me up again. So, what do I do?”

  “Revenge fuck?”

  She shrugs. “I mean, she knew he was mine when she decided to open her legs for him.”

  “So, that’s what you fought over?”

  “Kind of. I sent her a picture of him sleeping naked in my bed with the words ‘got ya, bitch’ written on it. She lost her shit. Started spreading rumors around the school about me—prostitute, diseased, stinky pussy—whatever, that shit doesn’t bother me. Never has. But then she started talking shit about my dad. Everyone from where I grew up knew my dad. He was the mayor for a long time before he got sick of dealing with the bureaucracy of it all, but they always wanted him back and they all still loved him. So shit spread around quick. She told people my dad had cheated on my mom and molested me. When it got around to me… I lost my shit. The minute Holly told me at lunch, I marched over to where she was sitting, snatch her tray, her food spilling all over her, and I smacked the sneer off her face with it.”

  “With the tray?!”

  “Yup. And then I threw the thing and just went crazy on her. Started throwing wild fists. I probably landed a quarter of them, but it was worth it.” She laughs. “The vice principal had to pull me off her.”

  “Damn!” My eyes go wide. “You are a bad bitch.”

  She shrugs, a playful cockiness in her mannerisms. “You don’t talk about my family and get away with it. Especially not my dad.”

  “Nothin’ but respect for that. And I wholeheartedly agree. Some fights are worth fightin’. So, did you get suspended for it?”

  “Expelled, actually. They wanted to charge me, but my mom spoke with her mom, talked to her about the issues I was having after my dad’s death, and luckily, her mom agreed not to press charges if I went through this anger management bullshit. I had to finish out my degree in this summer school program and earned a boxing fracture on both hands. That was fun!” She lets out a laugh. “You should’ve seen me trying to tie my shoes with casts on both hands.”

  “Not to mention other things.” I laugh.

  “Lots of things.” She rolls her eyes.

  “No lie, I had this buddy at Walter Reed—that’s the hospital in D.C. soldiers get sent to after gettin’ injured. So this guy was on foot patrol and got hit by a buried improvised explosive device. It took off one of his arms clean, and the other was left danglin’. It ended up gettin’ cut off too by the time he made it to D.C. So, this guy, awesome fuckin’ dude, he would get piss
drunk with me and just talk endlessly, about everything. I loved it because it required little of me. The days I was feelin’ like a pile of shit, we’d go out, grab some beers at the bar, and he’d just tell stories.”

  “Wait, I hate to interrupt, and I hope this doesn’t come off as inappropriate, but how did he drink the beer with no arms?”

  “A straw.” I chuckle, eyeing her with a ‘duh’ look on my face. “He always had to use a straw.”

  She hits her forehead with her palm. “Holy shit, I’m an idiot. Sorry, please, continue.”

  “Well, after a few months of this, I got comfortable enough to start askin’ questions. Of course, you don’t wanna be disrespectful. The man lost both his arms at twenty-three, for Chrissakes, but obviously, curiosity is a motherfucker.” I pause as the waitress brings over our plates.

  She sets them down and asks, “Can I get y’all anything else?”

  “Just another round, please. Thank you.” The waitress nods before departing, and I turn my attention back to Ember. “So, anyways, I had two questions that had been naggin’ at me from the moment I met him, and I finally felt comfortable enough to ask him.” She takes a bite of her food, her eyes on me, when I ask, “You don’t have a weak stomach, do you? This might not be the best thing to share while we’re eatin’.”

  She waves me off, chewing her food, before she says, “No way. Iron gut. Continue.”

  “Well, I always wanted to ask him how he jerked off and how he wiped his ass.”

  She nods, a slight look of shame on her face. “I was wondering that too.”

  “Well, first off, he laughed in my fuckin’ face about the jerk off question. He goes, ‘Bro, I got no fuckin’ hands, what the shit am I supposed to jerk it with.’ He was awesome about it though. Told me our occupational therapist, Harvey, got him a pocket pussy. It’s really the only way. He puts it on the bed and then goes to town.”

  “When you say puts it on the bed …”

  “He uses his feet.”

  “That’s amazing.”