by A. E. Via
The thin sheets had wrapped around Bishop’s legs in the middle of the night and he fought to untangle and work himself free. “I said I used to be pretty good. I doubt I am anymore.”
“Oh.” Mike didn’t try to hide his disappointment.
“What time is it?” Bishop asked.
“Almost one.”
“Damn.”
“Late night?”
“You could say that. I finished another sketch,” Bishop said, sitting on the side of the bed. He leaned over and pulled up his jogging pants then slid his feet into his Nike flip-flops.
“Can’t wait to see it.” Mike started to close his door when Bishop headed to his bathroom.
“So, lunch and bowling with my old man today.” Bishop didn’t roll his eyes or make it sound patronizing.
“Sounds good, B.”
Bishop cleaned up quickly and almost put on a pair of jeans and his black T-shirt but changed his mind and went with a worn green button-up. Him and his dad looked enough alike without them freaking dressing like twins.
The bowling alley wasn’t as busy as he thought it would be for a Saturday afternoon, so they’d come at the perfect time to fit in a couple of quiet games. Mike sat at the computer terminal and figured out how to enter their initials and start a game. After picking balls that worked for them, Bishop stepped up to the lane first, trying to remember how he used to add a little spin on his throw. He pulled his arm back and drove it forward, releasing the ball. It hit the smooth wood with a hard clunk, thundered down the lane and slammed into the backing after knocking over three pins. Shit. That was a lot of noise for three measly pins.
“Are you supposed to have that much heat on the ball? You look like you’re pitching for the A’s.” Mike laughed.
Bishop walked back to their side and waited for his ball to circulate through. “Not that much.” He smirked. “Don’t realize my own strength sometime.”
“Whatever.” Mike nodded towards the fresh pins. “Just show me some techniques or pointers, please, but this time without you showing off your brute strength. I’m not impressed.”
Bishop cocked his lip and spun the ball around a couple of times in his hands, enjoying the ridiculous back-and-forth he was having… with his dad. “Get us a couple pitchers of beer when the waitress comes around and some nachos or something.”
“You got paid this week, you get the beer and nachos,” Mike retorted, but flagged down one of the bar servers.
“Yeah, but my boss is cheap.” Bishop stepped up to the lane, feeling his dad’s piercing eyes on him. Suddenly, he wanted to impress him. Even if this was only a game, he wanted to show Mike he had been talented at other things back then besides leading a gang.
Bishop brought the ball up to his chest, staring down the lane. He’d never figured out the technical aspects of this particular sport, but he had gotten good at keeping the ball out of the gutter. Which was the point, if he recalled correctly. Bishop drew his arm back and released the ball with less power, but it still barreled down the lane and knocked over the rest of the pins, giving him the spare. He threw his hands up in victory. His dad’s wide smile shouldn’t have made him feel as good as it did, not when he was thirty-two damn years old.
“Nice,” Mike commented. “Okay, now show me.”
Bishop went about giving his dad the best advice he could on where to stand, when to let go of the ball and how to keep it straight. Mike had mostly gutters in the first game, but by the end of the second they were well into it and getting competitive.
“You lost the bet so you’re buying dinner,” Mike said as they climbed back in the truck. “You didn’t get that last strike.”
“I remember,” Bishop droned. He fastened his seatbelt and checked what fast food was around them. “Wanna do pizza? Chinese?”
“Cool. We’ll take home Chinese.”
Bishop couldn’t believe the day he’d had. He’d felt like shit last night after realizing he could never have anything with Edison, or even a man as amazing as Edison. Then his dad had shown up. Shown up for him like never before. Bishop had been resigned to a day in bed, listening to the same audiobooks and contemplating how he could change his circumstances. Now Bishop was feeling okay because this was a relationship he deserved and one he could build on.
“Deadliest Catch and Chinese.” Bishop chuckled.
“Oh, hell yeah,” Mike agreed eagerly. “Tomorrow we’re catching a fucking tuna, B.”
Chapter Thirteen
Edison
“Edison, these are delicious. I keep telling Carlotta that she should go to your place and take some cooking lessons from you. Oh, man. Falling off the bone.” Edison’s uncle, Gino continued to gush and stuff his face with Edison’s leftover beef shanks. “Any more mashed potatoes?”
He tried not to blush as he reopened his Tupperware bowl and scooped some more of the butter and chive whipped potatoes onto his uncle’s half empty plate.
“Look at that belly! You eat good enough,” his aunt yelled from the kitchen where she was washing the last of the dinner dishes.
His uncle invited him over every Sunday for dinner since Edison’s father passed, but he didn’t always intrude on their family time. He and Carlotta both had full time jobs, and Uncle Gino volunteered at the senior center on Saturdays, so Sundays were the only time they had to spend together. But whenever he did come, he tried to be as useful and generous as he could. This time he’d brought three dishes and a dessert to add to Carlotta’s stuffed shells and ham.
“I love your cooking, Carlotta—don’t pay him any attention.” Edison smiled. It did feel good being around his pop’s brother for a while. He’d gone stir-crazy all day Saturday, thinking about Bishop and the way he’d caressed him. Okay, touched him. No, it’d definitely been a stroke. Now he wasn’t sure what he was going to do or say when he saw him on his way into work tomorrow.
He didn’t know if he should just give him a casual wave and continue on his way, or go over and make a point of saying good morning with his head held high so Bishop could see his face. Edison had replayed that line over and over in his head Friday night while he’d laid in bed wanting.
“Edison.” His uncle snapped his finger in his face.
“Yes,” he blurted, then cleared his throat.
“I see you’re still keeping yourself clean, kid.” His uncle beamed, trying to lighten the mood. He stared at him with dark brown eyes, first checking out his face, then his hair, then his clothes. “Looking sharp, Edison. Not a nick-mark in sight.”
Edison frowned, feeling almost insulted. A nick! Not since I was sixteen!
“Hey, hey, easy.” His uncle laughed, nudging his shoulder. “I’m just messing with ya, kiddo. I know you got your pop’s hands… steadiest in the south.”
Edison didn’t speak due to the lump clogging his throat. Hell. It’d been two years, he thought he’d be good by now. Not over it… but okay. Maybe he wasn’t yet, because he’d lost his best friend, not just his father. Edison rubbed his smooth jaw, letting the sensation relax him. He’d sharpened his straight blade the night before, so it’d be nice and fresh for his morning shave. It was sad what his few joys were in life.
“I’m gonna head on home now, I have to get up early for work.” Edison stood and started taking his remaining dishes into the kitchen where Carlotta was just about finished. He came up behind her while her hands were still in the sink and kissed the back of her head. She was shorter than him by several inches, which was kind of difficult since he was under six feet himself. “Have a good evening, Carlotta. And thanks for everything.”
“Oh, you too, Edison,” she said, her Italian accent more pronounced than his uncle’s, since she had been born and raised in Pienza until she was seventeen before coming to the United States to live with her grandparents. “And don’t take so long to come back, we miss you. You’re family, sweetheart, you belong with us at the dinner table.”
“I won’t. Promise.” Edison went to rinse his bowls,
but she took them from him. Giving him one of her patented glares, “I’ll do them. You can get them when you come back.”
Edison knew better than to argue with her, and he also got her completely non-subtle hint. His pop wouldn’t want him to isolate himself the way he had.
~
Edison checked his reflection in his visor mirror. He couldn’t believe he was preening, but he wanted to make sure he looked good. He’d taken an extra thirty minutes getting ready this morning in anticipation of getting some more attention from a certain landscaping boss. He maneuvered his Chevy Impala into one of the open spots in the front.
Stockley Lawn service was already hard at work, as if they had been for a while. Edison noticed pallets of colorful flowers were now lined up along the building waiting to be tucked into the earth. They were beautiful and Edison couldn’t wait for the finished results. He felt lame for having so few pleasures in life, but he didn’t dwell on that thought for long.
He got out of his car and quickly straightened his bone silk tie before sliding into his Kenneth Cole sand-colored suit jacket. It was his favorite and the one he got the most compliments on. Edison slid his messenger bag onto his shoulder, and a warm, morning smile into place before walking towards the paved walkway. Most of the men were digging trenches along the flower bed as if they were expanding it or changing the shape. Edison noticed two men along the right edge walking backward, trimming the exterior with a weed whacker. He hurried over to the other side of the sidewalk like the woman several feet ahead of him had done, making sure none of the debris flew at him.
“Hey Edison! Wait up.”
No way in heck. What the world was Skylar doing there at that time? Edison gritted his teeth when he remembered what he’d done to him in front of Bishop Friday night. He didn’t slow down, not wanting to be seen with him. Matter of fact, he was done trying to get Skylar and his clique to not see him as only their boss, but as the cool guy who should be invited to their poker nights, pool barbecues, and happy hours.
“Hey, hey.” Skylar jogged up to him. “I said hold up. Did you get my magazine?”
Edison didn’t know whether to stand there and gape or to knock Skylar in the back of his gelled head and scream at him to get a clue. He decided to do neither. “I didn’t get it. If you want a magazine then buy it yourself.”
“Oh damn. I guess someone had a boring weekend as usual,” Skylar said dryly. “Or did someone piss in your five bowls of Frosted Flakes this morning?”
Edison stopped short and spun on Skylar. “That, right there.” Edison pointed at Skylar’s open mouth. “I don’t want to hear another disrespectful comment about me or anyone else in the office. Do you understand?”
Edison’s tough demeanor fell to his feet when Skylar laughed right in his face. “You’re so fucking sensitive. Okay, sorry. No more cereal jokes.”
“No more fat jokes. Sex jokes, female jokes, homophobic jokes. Nothing,” Edison growled, feeling his face heat. “It’s rude and makes an uncomfortable work environment.”
“Rude? God, you’re such a square.” Skylar turned and kept walking, leaving Edison standing there.
Skylar was almost to the steps when a groundsman wearing heavily stained cargo pants and at least two shirts, with another wrapped around his head like they do in the desert, moved past him with a gas weed eater taking up both of his hands.
Skylar didn’t even bother trying to get away from the flying debris as bits of grass and dirt hit his expensive slacks. The groundsman kept going with his head down, focused on his task and oblivious to Skylar barking at him to stop. Edison quickened his steps when he saw the guy finally remove a set of earbuds from his ears when Skylar got in his face.
Oh no.
“Hey! You need to pay attention to what you’re doing. Look at this!” Skylar pointed at the dust on his pant legs.
“Or you need to watch where you’re going,” the guy retorted. He had on dark shades and he stood at the same height as Skylar, but while Skylar had lean, made-in-the-gym-by-a-trainer muscle, this guy’s looked all natural.
“Excuse me? You work for us.” Skylar’s voice rose loud enough to gain the attention of the trio of men standing beside a long trailer that was still being unloaded. Skylar glanced down at his dusty shoes then demanded, “Let me speak to your boss. Now.”
The guy pfft’d at Skylar then shook his head. “Your balls haven’t dropped enough to speak to my boss.”
He almost tripped as the bark of laughter left his mouth before he could stop it. Skylar looked as if he was about to have a conniption. Edison was almost to the pair when he noticed the man who’d chosen to walk over was Bishop. Even in all the get-up to protect him from the sun’s harsh rays, he knew that big, fit body from all the other men. Edison stood tall as Bishop cleared the lawn with determined strides as his worker got louder.
“You saw me cutting right here. It was your fault.”
“Trent, what’s going on?” Bishop asked the moment he walked up, his gaze bouncing around them, then lingering on Edison for a few seconds longer.
Edison didn’t pick up any warm vibes from Bishop, but then again it wasn’t the time to try to exchange pleasantries when both of them had coworkers who were getting close to fighting words. Oh man. Even behind that comical, wide-brimmed hat and the red bandana tied around his neck like he was from an old west movie, Bishop still looked absolutely delicious. Like the bacon and egg sandwich he’d made for breakfast this morning, damn delicious. Edison licked his lips nervously and Bishop’s dark eyes flew to his mouth.
Edison saw the moment Skylar recognized Bishop. “You… you’re his boss?”
“I am,” Bishop said stiffly.
“Then you need to tell your workers to be mindful of the pedestrian traffic. You can’t assault people with your equipment,” Skylar argued, while pointing out the other men using shovels to dig the flower bed.
“Assault?” Trent scoffed.
“Whoa,” Edison interjected. He’d heard enough. And there was no way that he was going to let Skylar throw around loaded words like that. He’d seen everything and there had surely been no assault, which meant this was all a huge waste of Bishop’s time. “That’s enough, Skylar. You need to watch where you’re going. You got the memo just like everyone else about the lawn maintenance being done over the next two months.”
“I’ll be submitting an invoice to replace the suit you ruined, which I’m sure will be taken out of your compensation,” Skylar threatened Bishop.
“And I’ll reject that invoice,” Edison said. “I won’t even bother sending it to accounting. Skylar, either stay clear of the lawn servicing or… or start wearing shorts.”
The groundsman, Trent, didn’t bother trying to cover his laugh. Edison noticed a slight twitch of Bishop’s lips but he didn’t otherwise smile or comment.
Skylar pulled one side of mouth into a mean snarl, one Edison had never seen before. He wasn’t frightened by it, more like surprised he’d caused this kind of reaction. “Well, you’re the boss, Edison. Since I can’t get this replaced, I’m sure you’ll excuse me from this morning’s staff meeting while I go home and change, and get this to my cleaners.”
Edison shrugged as if he couldn’t care less. He didn’t. “Do whatever you feel you need to do.”
Skylar stormed in the direction of his Lexus coupe, walking as stiff as if somebody had shoved a garden hose up his behind. Edison just knew this would be the highlight of his day. When he was sure Skylar was out of earshot, he turned to Bishop and his coworker, suddenly feeling the need to apologize. Gosh, what they must think of men like them. Men who worked in executive positions and used their title as an excuse to treat others badly. Edison wasn’t like that at all, and he feared he’d wouldn’t get the chance to show Bishop.
“Bishop, I’m really sorry about that. Don’t worry about Skylar’s useless threat. Nothing will be deducted from your contract, I assure you. All invoices from my staff have to come across my desk for approv
al, so if I see one from him, it’s going in the trash.”
“You two know each other,” Bishop’s coworker asked as he raised his shades and waited for one of them to answer.
When Edison saw that Bishop was doing that intense staring thing, he spoke up to keep the silence from getting weird. “Sort of. We’ve kind of run into each other a couple times.” Edison said, holding that gaze… barely.
“Really?” Trent said, sounding extra surprised.
“Yes, really,” Bishop growled.
Edison swallowed when Trent promptly shut up. He didn’t know what to say when all eyes were on him. He felt kind of silly standing there in his suit while several of the other men were still watching. “I’m gonna get inside and get to work. I’ve held you all up enough.”
“Thanks for your help,” Bishop said, ignoring the curious expression his friend was giving them both.
“No problem.” Edison reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thin, leather card holder. “If anyone gives you any more problems just let me know. We really do appreciate how nice it’s looking out here.” Okay, now he was sounding like he was speaking to the help. He needed to go.
Bishop slowly took his card from his hand and tucked it into his back pocket without even peeking at it. “Will do.”
“Okay then.” Edison turned to leave when he heard Bishop clear his throat.
“You look really handsome today, Edison.”
Those few simple words eased over Edison’s mind like a comforting caress, then slid down his spine. He wanted to record Bishop saying that statement in that sexy voice and replay it for his psyche all day—anytime someone tried to make him feel less than. Because an amazingly, fine specimen of a man like Bishop thought he was handsome.
“Thank you.” Edison was glad his voice didn’t quiver, and his knees didn’t shake while he put one foot before the other. In no time, his arms fell in rhythm with a newfound confidence in his stride. With his head held high, Edison went inside the Town Center Suites, feeling Bishop’s fierce eyes on his back.