Bishop

by A. E. Via

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered. He would cook for Bishop anytime.

  “What are you doing? It’s quiet.”

  “I’m in bed… reading,” Edison scoffed. “Kind of pathetic for a twenty-six-year-old on a Saturday night, huh?”

  “Hey. I’m thirty-two and I’ve been in bed for over an hour, waiting on the right time to call this sweet guy that I’m crazy about.”

  “Bishop.” Edison laughed shyly, unsure how to respond.

  “I’ve been lying here thinking how much I wanted to have dinner with you tonight, how much I want to take you out to dinner. I can’t cook, so I’m not even going to embarrass myself there.”

  Edison laughed, settling more comfortably into his soft sheets. He swept his hand over the empty mattress beside him, anxious for the day that Bishop would be lying there with him and he hoped that day would come sooner rather than later. Bishop kept talking, his rough voice luring Edison into a warm sense of comfort and slow-burning stimulation.

  “Tomorrow I’m going fishing with my dad, we tried last Sunday but it stormed. But, Monday after work, I wanted to come over so I can finish clearing out the weeds against the house where the flowerbed will be. The sooner I get some chemical applications down for weed control, the better. I’m already starting pretty late in the season. It’ll only take a couple hours to finish that.”

  “Okay. I may have to work late on Monday. I have a meeting with a client at four, but you can let yourself in, I never lock the gate.”

  “I’ll do that,” Bishop agreed.

  There was a long pause while he listened to Bishop’s deep breaths and the periodic hitches in his voice. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Just listening to you, Eddie.”

  Edison shook when he ran his hand over his bare chest as Bishop’s words raised goosebumps over his body. “I like it when you call me that,” he said, his own voice sounding off. “I don’t let anyone else call me that.”

  “Good.”

  Edison hadn’t pleasured himself in a long time but he was positive he was going to tonight. There was no way he would be able to sleep. His dick was throbbing, and crowded awkwardly in his boxers. He wanted to let it out, but he knew he’d whimper the moment his hot flesh hit the cool air, so he just barely refrained. But, god, it hurt so bad.

  “I’m gonna let you go because… I just… mmmm. Yeah. I’m gonna go.” Bishop’s voice sounded strained, and just as husky as his own. “I’ll talk to you soon, handsome.”

  Bishop hung up quickly, not giving him a chance to respond but he believed he understood why. Edison tossed his cell onto the bed and the next second he had his shorts shoved down to his knees and his hand fisting his shaft. It was too embarrassing for him to think about how fast it happened as his back bowed off the bed and his come splattered his chest. Bishop’s name lingered on his parted lips, his head reeling at what he’d just done and how hard he’d come.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Bishop

  “This was crazy.” Bishop chuckled on their way down the long pier. They passed the fish-cleaning station, and both he and his dad stopped to watch a man scale a roughly twelve-inch fish that kept making a disturbing croaking noise.

  “Why couldn’t we get us one of those?” Mike grumbled.

  “Well at least we got some crabs.” Bishop shrugged and kept walking. “I like shellfish better than fish with a bunch of bones to pick around to get to the meat.”

  “Man, I can’t believe we had to throw back the only three fish we caught.”

  Bishop frowned. “Yeah, right. I didn’t know anything about protected fish. What was the name of it again?”

  “A flounder. Yeah, I don’t remember hearing about those on Bass Fishers,” Mike said as he tossed their cooler, then the poles into the back of the truck. Bishop hefted the crab bucket and set it securely in the backseat. “Mine was pretty big too but the guy said they have to be what…?”

  “Like twenty-one inches or more.” Bishop climbed into the front seat. He was sweaty and hot but as the evening settled in and the sun set, he’d been able to enjoy the peacefulness of the water.

  “That’s shit,” Mike bitched. “What happed to ‘there’s plenty of fish in the sea’?”

  Bishop smirked. “You’re taking that saying a bit too literal.”

  His dad shoved him in the shoulder. “Today was still fun, yeah? Even though I almost punched that guy in the face earlier.”

  “He was only joking.” Bishop laughed lightly. “I told you those hooks we had were too big. What’d he say to you, again?”

  “What the hell you trying to catch out here, buddy… Jaws?” His dad mocked the guy who’d been standing on the other side of the pier, as he’d yelled loud enough to make a few other veteran fishermen turn and laugh along with him.

  “Man, neither one of us knew how to put the weight on the lines and then we had the wrong bait. I don’t know about you, but I felt like a big ass when that old lady had to keep coming to help me untangle my line… like twenty times.”

  “I think she liked you.” Mike grinned.

  “You’re fuckin sick, man. That woman was like sixty.” Bishop stared out of the window as they got farther away from the water. He really had enjoyed himself. Especially after they’d figured out the mechanics of fishing on a pier and abandoned what they’d learned on Netflix’s Battle Fishing.

  There’d been a few moments when it had been quiet, and no one was getting very many bites as the tide went out. It’d been calming, relaxing, and he’d found himself opening up to Mike more than he’d thought. He’d told him about his cellmate Wood and how he’d helped him get through those trying years in prison by being a real friend. He also told him about plans for the business and some new landscape designs he’d thought of. His dad talked about Bishop taking on more of a managing role in the company after he finished with schooling. Mike had so much confidence in him that it made Bishop want to meet all the expectations his only family had of him. He also told Bishop that he and his girlfriend were getting serious and had talked about getting a small place together.

  Mike asked him a few questions about Edison that he wasn’t ready to answer—like if they were an actual couple. And if he was going to be completely honest with him. But, neither were questions he had an answer to.

  When they pulled up to their trailer, Mike told him to get the poles out of the back of the truck and into the shed while he got the crabs on the stove. His thoughts went to Edison, wondering what he was doing and if he was alone. He didn’t like texting and he didn’t want to call him because he knew he could listen to Edison’s smooth voice for hours, and that wouldn’t’ve been fair to Mike.

  He was opening the back screen when he heard his dad yell for his help. Bishop bolted through the door, his eyes wide as he scanned the small kitchen and dining area expecting to see an intruder. He almost lost his mind when he saw Mike’s big ass standing on one of the dining room chairs with a pair of grilling tongs in his hand as one of the blue crabs they caught skittered sideways across their linoleum floor.

  “The little bastard jumped out the fucking pot! Get it, Bishop! Don’t just stand there!” his dad yelled.

  Bishop was laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Mike so petrified, especially when he was a hundred times bigger than the object scaring him. The crab’s little claws were raised high as if in a fighting position. Bishop walked over and put his boot on top of the crab’s butt, just enough to keep it from running farther down the hall. The claws nipped at the thick sole of his boots, but they were useless. Bishop’s laughter was contagious as his dad stared at him, his own smile forming as he got down off the chair. “Fuck you.” Mike flipped him off.

  “Damn, I should’ve recorded that for Trent.” Bishop laughed even louder.

  “I haven’t heard you laugh like that in years, lil homie,” his dad said as Bishop took the tongs from him and got their runaway friend back into th
e pot with his pals. “Fishing was interesting, but bowling was fun as hell… maybe we should try more of that. And maybe an amusement park, or like miniature golf or some shit.”

  Bishop’s laughter tamped down to a soft chuckle as he sat at the table waiting for his dad to finish dinner. He hadn’t laughed like that for longer than he could remember. He’d had nothing to laugh or smile about. Now he believed he did. Mike tossed him a beer, then sat in the other chair. They talked about twenty minutes as Mike picked through the mail from the past few days.

  “Hey. You got a letter,” his dad said, and handed him a thin envelope addressed to him from Inmate #589645, Herschel Wood at the... what…what’s this? Bishop didn’t recognize the name of the prison he and Wood had been at for five years.

  “Dad.” Bishop frowned as he tore open the letter. He gave the envelope to Mike. “Where is this from?”

  Bishop stared at the very few words Wood had written to him. He wouldn’t want Bishop to have to ask anyone to read it and he knew better than to make it too complicated. After several seconds Bishop smiled at Wood’s clean, block-style handwriting. It was simple and to the point, just like his old cell mate.

  Be home soon, B.

  Bishop folded the single piece of yellow-lined paper and put it into his back pocket.

  “He sent this from Eastern Shore Regional Jail.” His dad read the return address on the envelope to him. “That’s in Eastville, Virginia.”

  “Jail? He’s been moved,” Bishop said to himself. “That means he’s getting paroled.”

  “Did he say that?” Mike asked as he lined the table with newspaper then dumped the steaming orange crabs in the center of the table, with a large bowl of melted butter.

  “No. But if he’s gone from federal prison to a minimum security jail that’s close to his hometown—like they did me—then he’s about to get out.” Bishop could feel excitement stirring in his stomach.

  Mike broke off a claw and dipped it into the butter. “That’s good news.”

  Bishop stared at his dad. “That’s damn good news. If anyone doesn’t belong in a place like that, it’s Wood. He’s a good man.”

  “Does he have family?” Mike asked.

  “He’s been locked up for seventeen years.” Bishop shook his head slowly. “He has no one.”

  “Maybe he needs you to have his back when he gets out, like he had yours when you went in.” Mike’s expression was serious.

  “How can I help him when I’m just barely helping myself?”

  “You got a good job, a roof over your head, and a couple people who love you and want to see you succeed. That’s a lot… especially to someone who doesn’t have it.”

  Bishop kept eating as his dad spoke in a way he’d never done when he’d been growing up. He was so glad to have this Mike now, when he needed him the most. “Maybe he can bunk on the couch for a few weeks until he gets a job.”

  “Hey. If that guy’s the one that kept your nose clean while you were in, then he’s all right in my book.” Mike clamped Bishop on his shoulder with his crab-scented hand. “I didn’t teach you this, B, but I am now because someone taught it to me. It’s called paying it forward.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Edison

  Edison adjusted his necktie in the mirror as he prepared for another Monday. He was actually glad to be going to work, to have something to do, because Sunday had been full of long, boring hours of cleaning and errands. It’d taken a lot of willpower not to call Bishop. He knew he was trying to have some bonding time with his dad, and Edison didn’t want to infringe on that. He’d have given anything for just one more day with his pop. They used to fish on his uncle’s boat when they could carve out the time. Those days had been some of the best of his life and he missed his best friend every day.

  Edison checked his watch then hurried out of his bedroom with his suit jacket tossed over his arm. He’d made more blueberry muffins in the hope of running into Bishop and Trent before he had to be at his staff meeting. It wasn’t that big of a deal, he simply wanted to show his gratitude for their hard work on Saturday. Muffins on a Monday always started his week off nicely.

  He pulled into a parking space and like usual, Stockley Lawn Service was already there and bustling with activity. Edison surveyed the wide lawn, looking for one well-built crew member in particular, and it wasn’t long before he spotted his wide shoulders next to Trent and two other men as he pointed at a row of bushes along the steps.

  Edison was smiling like a loon as he threw his messenger bag over his shoulder and grabbed the small Tupperware container with the muffins. He’d just about cleared the parking lot when he saw Skylar’s flashy Lexus swerve into a space right beside him. Edison frowned at him through the tinted windows but never broke his stride.

  “Good morning,” Skylar called out. Edison heard rushed footsteps behind him but Skylar’s overpowering cologne reached him before he did.

  “Morning,” Edison mumbled.

  “How was your weekend?”

  “Fine.”

  “Oookay. That sounds more like not fine, but sure.”

  Edison didn’t say anything more. He wasn’t interested in engaging Skylar with small talk which usually resulted in him being rude and insulting. And Edison had had enough of that.

  “How was my weekend, you ask? Well my weekend was fuckin hawt. Oh man.” Skylar tapped him multiple times in his shoulder with his forearm. “I’m talking three big-breasted babes all to myself. And I made each one squeal for hours… it was great.”

  “Yeah, sounds like a blast,” Edison droned.

  Skylar frowned at him. “What did you say you did again that was more fun?”

  “I didn’t,” Edison said, not taking his eyes off Bishop who was now watching him with that fierce expression. The one that made him wonder if Bishop was going to rush him. It was hard to acknowledge anything else around him when he was caught in Bishop’s clutches. He smiled pleasantly and held up the plastic ware in his hand, nodding for Bishop to come to him. “I’ll see you inside, Skylar. And don’t be late for the meeting.”

  Skylar didn’t keep walking. “What are you doing? Still giving out compliments to the garden boys every day?”

  “I’ll see you inside.” Edison gritted his teeth, Bishop was almost to him and he didn’t want him encountering his disrespectful co-worker anymore.

  “Good morning, Edison,” Bishop said, staring directly at him and completely ignoring Skylar.

  “Hey.” Edison licked his lips and saw when Bishop’s dark gaze had dropped to his mouth. He groaned inside, not wanting Skylar to see his body’s reactions to this man. It looked as if Bishop hadn’t gotten his hands dirty yet, his face still dry and un-smudged. Edison wanted to lean in and inhale his woodsy scent and lick his strong throat right there in front of everyone. But instead he took a deep breath, he had to keep the conversation friendly. “Did you catch a lot of fish yesterday?”

  Bishop’s grin was sexy, “No fish. Caught enough crabs for a decent dinner though.”

  “That’s cool.” Edison wanted to say more but he held his tongue. He turned to Skylar, hoping he’d catch the hint and leave him alone but he wasn’t budging. “I um… brought you and Trent something.”

  Bishop kept his eyes on him as he took the container from Edison’s hand, his fingers slowly skimming over his as he did. Bishop popped open the lid and peeked inside, a slow, knowing smile appearing on his stern face. “My favorite.”

  Edison knew he was blushing. Perhaps he could blame it on being in a full suit in the early morning sun. “Make sure you give Trent one,” Edison said, biting his bottom lip and trying his best to keep from smiling ear to ear.

  “I’ll think about it.” Bishop finally dragged his hot gaze away from him, his intense glare aimed directly at Skylar. “I don’t like sharing.”

  Skylar adjusted his stance, his furious expression shifting from Bishop then back to Edison. He had no clue why Skylar was even still standing there, but
he’d be damned if he was going to cut off the few seconds he had with Bishop before he had to start work.

  Bishop’s voice dropped a couple of octaves, “Thank you for the muffins. So, I’ll see you later tonight?”

  “Yes,” Edison breathed, practically melting at Bishop’s tone. He wanted to remind him to bring a change of clothes so he could stay and have dinner with him, but if he did there was no doubt that Skylar would have that information all over the office by lunchtime.

  “Good.” Bishop stepped closer and shifted so that most of his back was to Skylar. He dragged a couple of fingers down Edison’s chest, along the smooth material of his tie, his big body shielding Edison from everyone. Bishop leaned in slowly as if he was giving Edison time to pull away, and kissed him gingerly on the cheek. Edison’s cock jerked and he knew he had to stop this shameless madness and get to the safety of his office. Bishop smirked as if he knew just what Edison was thinking. Bishop’s voice was like his favorite à la mode, “I like your tie, handsome.”

  Edison’s tongue felt too heavy for him to say thank you. When Bishop’s back was to him he turned and started up the stairs to the building doors, feeling a high he hoped would last all day.

  “Are you fucking that guy?!” Skylar barked from beside him on his way to the elevators.

  Edison jumped, gripping his chest. “Jesus, Skylar.” Edison glanced around the wide lobby, glad they were mostly alone. “First of all, lower your voice. And second… that’s none of your danggone business. Not to mention inappropriate to discuss in the workplace.”

  “You sure as hell didn’t look like you were worried about the rules a few seconds ago.”

  Edison chuckled, “Technically, that was outside of the workplace.”

  Skylar jabbed the up button and turned to face him, putting them only a few inches apart. Edison took a step backward, not liking Skylar’s body language, nor even understanding his behavior. He got on the elevator the moment the doors opened, and Skylar followed close behind in his all-black designer suit. This pompous prick really thought he was all that, and Edison was beginning to see that Skylar’s big act of boasting and brashness was just that… an act. And Edison was no longer giving him the audience he craved.