by A. E. Via
“I really like this place. Barnes & Noble, I mean. Not Starbucks. It’s really amazing and I could probably sit in here all night. So do… do you come here often?” Edison seemed to grimace at his cliché line and the awkwardness of the delivery, then tried to recover by smiling. “Not like… that. I mean to read… like on a Friday night?”
“Smooth,” Edison’s friend crooned before releasing a hushed round of giggles.
Bishop felt his frown had dug firmly back into place. His forehead felt warm and his left temple pulsed as his impatience crested.
Edison seemed to bristle at his friend’s comment, but didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Instead he pointed at Bishop’s CDs. “For a while I was on a straight audio kick, but it wasn’t long before I went back to hardcopies and my Kindle.”
Bishop nodded, wishing he had more to say but he didn’t. He literally had nothing to add because he wasn’t entirely sure what Edison was talking about. He watched him nibble on his bottom lip, his skin pinking slightly around his jaw. “They’re nice to listen to when I cook.”
“Which is all the time,” the prick muttered behind his fist then looked off in another direction as if someone else had said it.
“Skylar. Can you…?” Edison huffed and turned towards the taller man. “Just give me your magazine, I’ll pay for it.”
Bishop could only imagine the glower he was wearing. He wanted to call this guy out so badly, but he knew better. It wasn’t his place. And this store certainly wasn’t the place. Bishop was far from his world. Though his and Mike’s trailer in Norfolk was only twenty minutes away from Virginia Beach by Interstate 264, it might as well have been twenty days away. Hampton Roads was a big, rich community, but unfortunately he lived in the poorest parts.
“Oh no, that’s quite all right, Edison. I think I’ll stay and watch this.” Skylar laughed again, and Bishop thought it sounded like a witch’s cackle.
“Watch what?” Edison did that nervous smile then started to fiddle with his tie when he glanced back at his friend who Bishop thought was the worst wingman ever.
What the hell kind of friend is this? But the better question was why did Edison put up with shit like that? Is he insecure? Trent would never have tried to humiliate him like this. It hadn’t taken Bishop long to read this guy, either. Skylar was a serious hater. He didn’t know what it was he was hating Edison for, but it was obviously something. Bishop may not have been able to read books, but he’d always been one of the best at reading people between their phony lines.
“Oh nothing,” the guy teased.
Edison rubbed at his throat. His top button was already undone and his tie was pulled down enough to make him appear comfortable, but Bishop could see how much he wasn’t. “Anyway, I just wanted to say that you guys are really doing amazing work on the building. The firm’s had citations for the lack of upkeep.”
Bishop nodded.
“So. Yeah. I wanted to ask if your company services any private residences. Homes?” Edison fidgeted again. “I’ve been meaning to get my backyard together for years. And I haven’t been able to vet any lawn companies because I’m always at work.”
Edison’s friend made a scoffing sound but didn’t say more when Edison glared at him.
“We’re not taking new clients. But I can give you the name of a company that’s taking our overflow,” Bishop said stiffly.
“Oh, burn.” Skylar chuckled. “Shot down like a short-range missile.”
“S-sure.” Edison looked as if he was trying his best to ignore the endless taunting going on behind his back and said in a hushed murmur, “That’d be great.”
“This is sad… it really is. I just can’t watch anymore.”
“What exactly are you watching, Skylar?” Edison tried to sound stern, but it didn’t seem to work.
“Watching you try to flirt.” Skylar chuckled again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this. I thought you were dead down there. I almost want to get my phone out and record it for the office.”
Bishop felt sorry for Edison as his face brightened, and his once peachy, smooth cheeks were littered with angry, red splotches. Edison avoided Bishop’s eyes and instead stared at the non-moving line and then the sparse cashiers as if he was trying to silently convey to them to hurry-the-fuck-up.
Chapter Eleven
Edison
“What! Skylar, no I wasn’t.” Edison peeked at Bishop then hurried to turn his head again when he caught a glimpse of that hard frown. Bishop’s forehead was so high and creased with obvious outrage.
“Yeah, you were.” Skylar laughed. “So, if you get your ass kicked in the parking lot then you’re on your own.”
“I… I wasn’t flirting or…. I swear.” Edison could feel his heart racing a mile a minute. Had Skylar lost his danggone mind? Why would he just blurt out something like that for all to hear. But even worse was that Bishop most likely wasn’t gay. Edison wasn’t getting that vibe at all and he hadn’t been flirting; however, the line ‘do you come here often’ had just kind of slipped out when he’d met Bishop’s mysterious eyes. He’d gotten tongue-tied, that was all.
Edison had never been so humiliated in his life. Humiliated and freaking trapped. He couldn’t throw his books down and run out of the line like a wounded kid without looking like one. But what was worse was Bishop was standing there looming over him as if he was indeed going to quash any gay thoughts Edison had about him right out of his mind—with his big fist. Edison could feel the sweat starting to bead at his brow and under his arms. He’d only wanted to commend Bishop on the extensive work they’d done in just one day, not offend him and maybe even cost the firm their contract. Edison was already regretting stopping in this store. His crockpot timer had gone off hours ago, he should’ve just gone home like always.
“So, you like to cook, huh?” Bishop spoke, his tone low and raspy.
Edison darted his eyes up then muttered a quick, “Yes.”
“But he likes to eat even more.” Skylar laughed again.
“Yo man! I didn’t fucking ask you,” Bishop said sternly, glaring over Edison’s head at Skylar. “And why you giggling so damn much, you see something funny?”
Bishop’s retort was so forceful and quick that Edison startled, his eyes widening. He’d never heard anyone put Skylar in his place like that. Everyone kissed his ass. Skylar looked stunned. Like, if he’d had a string of pearls, he would’ve torn them off from clutching them so hard. After a couple seconds of gaping, or maybe waiting on Bishop to realize the error of his ways and apologize, Skylar found his voice.
“Actually, I see something so damn funny it cracks me up daily,” Skylar bit out, then cut his eyes to Edison.
Bishop didn’t speak. Instead, he moved up the few spaces in line and turned his back.
Great.
“Edison, I’m heading over to the Yard House,” Skylar said, as if nothing had just transpired. As if he hadn’t just crossed a line with Edison that he wasn’t going to ever forget. As if they were friends when they weren’t. Edison wasn’t oblivious to why Skylar gritted his teeth and sat with him sometimes—he was putting on a show, as if he was such good friends with his superior outside of the office, when he was the opposite. Skylar had somehow perfected the art of being a jerk.
“I’m not going to that loud, crowded place. I’m going home. Good night, Skylar.” Edison wanted to scream ‘get the f out of here’ but he never screamed. Or rarely, anyway. And he certainly didn’t use profanity.
“I wasn’t asking you to come. Besides, you sound like my grandma.” Skylar slammed this month’s GQ magazine flat against Edison’s chest, “This line is taking too damn long. Buy this for me and I’ll give it back later.”
Edison caught the magazine before it could fall to the floor. When Skylar left, Edison felt as if he could breathe again. It was a shame that he held his breath around him anyway. It wasn’t a second later before Edison tossed the magazine onto the table beside him.
“Good for you,” B
ishop said. He gave Edison a look he didn’t quite catch—maybe an expression of understanding—then went up to the cash register to make his purchase.
Edison didn’t think Bishop had been paying attention to them anymore. He’d cowered like a spineless puppy in front of his co-worker, so he thought Bishop was disgusted at his weakness. Or maybe Bishop was just being nice and humoring him, before he punched him in the gut in the parking lot. Edison was next and he didn’t bother feeling some type of way when Bishop finished his transaction and left without another glance in his direction.
Nice. Typical.
Edison unlocked his car door with the fob and got inside, tossing his books onto the passenger seat. He cranked his AC up again and sat there a second, wishing he did have some place to go that was more fun than his kitchen. But the loud courtyard in Town Center or the bustling bars were not appealing to him. Skylar was right. He acted like a dang grandma sometimes. Chastising his employees for wearing skimpy clothes, droning on about etiquette and good work habits, or admonishing them for partying at all hours… on a weekday, gasp.
His stomach tried to show its attitude at only having a protein box and a cold, vanilla latte at the café, as if wondering what happened to the beef shanks it had been promised. He’d eat one or two of them with a salad tomorrow. Edison didn’t call himself being on a diet, but over the past couple of years he’d been mindful now of how he prepared his food and how much he ate at once, with a few slip-ups here and there. Still, he wasn’t disappointed with his current weight, some people were born big-boned—it was genetics. But he did want to be healthy. His father had died of a heart attack at sixty-one years old and he swore he didn’t want to end up that way too. So, he was trying to make life changes, not temporary diet changes. Those never worked for him.
Maybe I’ll go by Unc’s house and hang out there—
Edison hated the sharp yelp that escaped his throat at the sound of hard knuckles knocking against his driver-side window. Fudge! He caught his breath then glanced outside, only able to see dark clothes covering a massive body that obstructed most of his view of the outside world. Edison swallowed thickly—it was Bishop. Had he come back to teach him a lesson? Suddenly, the AC felt like it’d been switched over to heat. Well there was no damn way he was getting out of his car. His pop didn’t raise no fool and this wasn’t about to be an episode of Parking Lot Wars. Looking around but trying not to appear too frantic, Edison forgot how to lower the window. He stared at the controls on his door, then pressed the wrong button, sending his rear window down. He took a deep breath and got it right on the third try.
Edison tugged at his tie and tried to sound casual as if he wasn’t sweating through his clothes. “H-hey, Bishop. How’s it going?”
“Good.”
Edison chanced a glance upwards but even bending forward a bit, he still had a straight view of Bishop’s crotch… so close to his window. Edison turned his head quickly, facing forward and concentrating on not making eye contact with that sizable bulge again.
“You okay?” Bishop asked.
Edison didn’t know why his chest overreacted with every small statement Bishop made. The man didn’t say many words, but what he did say was so much. And his voice, it was like nothing he’d ever heard, not even in his dreams. The sound deep, and raspy… almost guttural. The way Bishop sort of frowned when he spoke, even when asking how someone was doing, made it sound too intimidating to answer. As if behind Bishop’s words were deep-rooted emotions that the other person couldn’t handle.
“Edison.” Bishop stooped lower, his ruggedly-fine face coming closer into view.
He met Bishop’s eyes and held them the best he could. They were just so darn dark and deep. Edison was moving in his seat, yes, and he was rubbing his wet palms down his thighs, but he didn’t look away. He wanted Bishop to say his name again, with that air of command laced with concern. He cleared his throat and gathered himself together since Bishop obviously wasn’t there to maul him. “Yeah, sure I’m good. I was just trying to decide where to go hang out, ya know.” Edison shook his head. Stupid.
“I thought you were going home,” Bishop said easily, that hot voice biting Edison in his groin. Edison shrugged then dropped Bishop’s strong glare. He didn’t need him to feel sorry for him.
“I was waiting around to give you the contact information of the landscaping crew doing our overflow. His name is Shane and he’s really good. I wouldn’t give you his card otherwise.”
Edison felt something poke him in his shoulder through his thin dress shirt. He’d been concentrating so hard on not getting caught ogling Bishop’s private parts that he didn’t realize he’d produced a business card out of thin air. “Oh, sure. I appreciate that.” He mumbled. He’d been labeled as overflow. That meant excess that needed to be passed off. Edison dropped his head to start his ignition when he felt calloused fingers grip him under his chin, cupping most of his jaw and lifting until he was looking up at Bishop’s handsome face.
“Hold your head up, Edison,” Bishop said in a hushed rumble that Edison supposed was his version of a whisper.
His pulse slammed into overdrive and the adrenaline sent a spike of lust straight to his cock. But, he wasn’t sure if a small whimper escaped or not. Bishop’s midnight eyes fell to his lips while he stared, mesmerized. Bishop squinted, his forehead creasing as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore. Whatever it was, Edison prayed it didn’t end, and the small contact lasted another five seconds.
Bishop withdrew his hand slowly, the roughness of his hardworking palm dragging pleasurably over Edison’s chin. He tried to sit still and not vibrate with pent-up lust but he failed. Oh gosh.
“With your head up, I can see you better,” Bishop rumbled, watching Edison as he backed away.
Chapter Twelve
Bishop
Bishop sat at the dining table at almost one in the morning still listening to his new audio book and sketching in his design pad. After running into Edison in that parking lot and seeing his reaction to him, to his touch… Bishop hadn’t been able to sleep. Even after jerking off twice in the shower. Yes, he’d done it. How could he not? That response was everything he’d wanted, everything he’d thought of every night for five damn years.
Edison.
Bishop had waited in his truck after he’d left the store to see if he’d come out and go home, or go back to the café, or for fuck’s sake, go after that Sky-guy. Practically growling at the design he was making, he kept adding pansies along the border of a flower bed, his hand movements getting jerky the more he thought of the fucked-up things he’d said to Edison. Damn, it’d been a while since Bishop had wanted to pummel someone. That was Trent’s department. Edison hadn’t done a terrible job of holding his own but there was something that dude had over him, and Bishop was almost tempted to find out. Almost. It could be territory he didn’t want to dive into. He could see what Edison wanted, he looked starved for it, but Bishop wasn’t interested in that anymore. No one-night stands. He really couldn’t go there with someone as sweet and innocent as Edison.
Bishop got up and stretched as far as he could, his fingertips almost grazing the ceiling. He should get to bed. He was exhausted. He’d been hauling bags of soil most of the day, all while training the four new guys they’d hired. He cracked his neck from side to side then rotated his shoulders. Shit, he was sore. He’d have done anything for a massage. Immediately, he wondered what Edison’s hands would feel like pressing firmly against his aching muscles. So eager to please him and make him feel good. Hands that were probably soft and unscathed by manual labor.
Bishop chuckled to himself. This is crazy. It was obvious Edison had the wrong idea about him. He thought Bishop was someone he wasn’t. He wasn’t the owner of Stockley Lawn Service, and that wasn’t his eleven-man crew working the grounds of the Town Center Office Suites. And he damn sure hadn’t put together that complicated bid that had won out over hundreds of other businesses. Edison thought he was a genius.
And the second he found out that Bishop was the complete opposite, then that’d be the end of that.
Accepting reality, Bishop laid on his bed and draped his arm over his face. He knew he was being dramatic, but it was all right since there was no one else there to witness it. Man, he wanted to touch that soft cheek again and again. How did Edison manage to shave that close? And Bishop liked that while the man had a clean face, it wasn’t a baby one. Edison’s features were strong, and his warm brown and gold eyes seemed wise beyond their years. Oh yeah. He intrigued the hell out of Bishop. Groaning in torturous agony, he reached inside his boxer briefs with the same hand that’d grazed Edison’s skin, and wrapped it around his pulsing dick, his toes curling instantly.
Fuck.
His hand would have to do. Edison was off limits, for his own sanity.
~
Bishop jolted into a defensive position at the sound of the hard knocks against the flimsy wood of his bedroom door. It only took him a second to realize he was no longer in jail and that sound wasn’t a guard about to force his way inside. Bishop clutched the side of his head. Dammit. “What Mi-Dad?” Bishop barked. Great, now it sounded like he was saying my-dad all the time. He flopped back onto the thin mattress wondering what the hell time it was.
“Why are you still in bed? You sick?” Mike asked, tapping on the door again.
Bishop frowned. Seriously? “No. I’m sleeping, or I was. What are you doing home?”
Mike walked into his room already dressed in a pair of jeans and a sleeveless black shirt. “Erin got called in to work so we had to cancel going to the beach. Wanted to see what you were up to today, though I already do.”
“I’m getting up,” Bishop said rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “You need me to do something around here?”
“No. I thought we could grab some lunch at the Metro Diner then try that bowling you said you were so good at.” Mike stood in his doorway waiting.