by A. E. Via
He was mindful not to make a mess in Edison’s nice guest bathroom as he scrubbed the dirt from his body. The walls were a sea-foam green and decorated with dark gray and silver framed photos of the beach. He stepped out of the hot shower onto the plush bathmat and quickly dried himself off. The smells of dinner had made their way down the hall, and his stomach was caving in on itself he was so hungry. He hadn’t eaten since the couple of thin sandwiches he’d had for lunch. Bishop used his towel to wipe away any damp spots then placed his used towels in the hamper. He added deodorant, but no cologne as he planned to sit beside Edison this time, instead of across from him.
Edison was placing another pitcher of his amazing sweet tea on the table when he turned the corner. Bishop surveyed the delicious spread that Edison had prepared in just a couple of hours. There was a leafy green salad loaded with fresh vegetables, a basket of perfectly toasted garlic bread, and a wide dish of pasta, topped with gooey cheese and bright bubbling red sauce. It was overwhelming and so greatly appreciated.
“Hey,” Edison said when Bishop continued towards the table, his gaze bouncing from Edison then back to the dinner that’d been set before him as if he was a king.
“This is really great, Eddie. Thank you,” Bishop croaked. One of the hardest challenges for him while doing time had been consuming the food. For years he’d longed for a meal like the one Edison had spread before him. One that was made with care and came from a special place. He sat next to Edison this time, close enough that their knees bumped, liking the surprised but intriguing smile Edison gave him.
Chapter Thirty
Edison
Dinner was delicious if he did say so himself. And Bishop’s compliments had been plentiful, and the sounds he’d made as he’d sucked tomato sauce off his fingertips had bordered on the obscene. More than once, Edison had to squeeze his thighs together to apply some pressure to his balls. He’d struggled all through eating to keep his eyes off Bishop’s chest which was outlined wonderfully in the thin T-shirt he’d changed into.
Bishop rubbed his flat stomach as he finished his third glass of iced tea while Edison piled the dinner dishes in the sink. It was almost nine o’clock, later than he was used to finishing dinner, but he was beyond glad for the company.
“So, what would you be doing, Eddie, if I wasn’t here right now?” Bishop asked matter-of-factly.
Edison shook his head. He didn’t want to tell the truth because it sounded pitiful, but he wasn’t going to lie to Bishop. Edison laughed lightly, “Honestly, reading. I’d be in the living room entranced in this new book I got yesterday. I’d probably have finished dinner an hour or so ago, alone. I would’ve eaten right there where I was sitting, like I do every night except I usually have my laptop out, surfing the net or—”
“On Facebook, or the Gram,” Bishop finished.
“No.” Edison shook his head, looking at Bishop as if he was insane. “The twenty-five or thirty friends I did have on Facebook, I’d never even met before, and the few friend requests I sent out went unanswered, so…” Edison shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I’m not a fan of social media.”
“Me either.” Bishop sat taller, appearing pleased with Edison’s answer. “All people wanna do now is type out long texts on their phones and chat on a computer instead of actually having a conversation. It’s frustrating.”
“I’m starting to get that about you. And I like it. At first, I thought you were a man of very few words, but I was surprised to see you don’t like texting, chatting, or any of the conventional ways our generation chooses to communicate now. You’d rather speak to me, as if you like hearing my voice.”
“‘As if’,” Bishop repeated. He stood and came around the table, meeting Edison on his way out of the kitchen. He’d turned off the bright overheads, leaving only the warm glow from the stove light and the dining room. Bishop didn’t stop until he was close, and Edison flushed when Bishop cupped both his cheeks in his large hands. “I do like your voice.”
Edison tried to duck his head, but Bishop held him firmly. “Thank you,” he whispered, meeting those expressive eyes. When Edison really looked at Bishop, he could see the sincerity.
As if he couldn’t help himself, Bishop slowly leaned in and pressed his lips against his, holding there for a couple of seconds before he slanted his head. Bishop’s mouth was like the best dish he’d ever tasted. He could get full from it so he was glad that Bishop was being so generous.
He groaned when Bishop delved deeper, or maybe they’d both made that sound, he didn’t know for sure, all he knew was he wanted more. Bishop’s mouth was just wide and demanding enough to make him feel taken.
“So you’d be reading right now, huh?” Bishop’s whisper sounded like an idling diesel engine.
Edison blinked and licked his tingling lips. He laughed lightly. “Um, yeah.”
Bishop never changed positions as he stroked Edison’s cheeks with his rough thumbs while he rested their foreheads together. His mouth moved as if he was trying to say something but couldn’t find the words. Edison ran his hands up and down Bishop’s strong back in support. Whatever it was he needed to say would be—
“Read to me,” Bishop croaked.
Edison glanced up in surprise. Did he hear right? “What?”
Bishop’s eyes widened and his hands tightened on his jaw. “I… Because I really dig your voice. It relaxes me. And if reading is what you’d usually be doing… then let’s do that.”
Edison’s smile quickly spread across his face. Read together. It was a dream come true. “Seriously?”
Bishop nodded, keeping their bodies close, his grip almost painful.
Edison squeezed Bishop’s arms when he saw how serious he was. “All right. Come on, let me show you something.” Edison ran his hand down Bishop’s forearms until he reached his hand. He linked their fingers together and led him towards his workout room.
Bishop’s mouth dropped when he opened the door and flicked on the light. He stepped aside and let Bishop enter before him. “Holy shit.”
“Some people prefer walls of mirrors in their exercise area, but I prefer bookshelves. It’s less reality in your face, ya know.”
Bishop walked along the rows of black shelves, dragging his finger across the spines of several John Grisham novels. Edison had almost every book of his. He realized how obsessive this all looked, especially in the digital age. Veteran readers had turned their paperbacks into firewood and made e-readers their new obsession. While Edison had broken down and got a Kindle for convenience, he still liked to go to the bookstore and find a good hardback, so he could get lost in the feel and scent of the pages.
“Have you read all of these?”
Edison shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, trying to see the room from Bishop’s point of view. “Yeah, I have. After I read it, I add it to the shelf. Some people collect troll dolls… I collect my favorite novels. And I have quite a bit of audio, too. If you ever want to borrow some.”
“I think this is sexy as hell,” Bishop said. He gave Edison a seductive look and nodded for him to come closer. “Pick one. Whichever one you were going to read tonight.”
Edison went to the half-full shelf and grabbed the Kingsley McDennis hardback still inside the Barnes & Noble shopping bag. “Kingsley is one of my favorite mystery writers. He’s one of the best at making the action kind of leap off the page.” Edison’s voice had gotten higher with his excitement.
Edison took Bishop’s other hand and led them back to his living room. He left the main lights off and turned on the small lamp on one of his end tables. Bishop had already settled into a comfortable position on the sectional. With his back against the L-shape of the chaise, he opened his arms in invitation for Edison to join him. He was surprised how easily he fit against Bishop. Edison thought he was a big guy but Bishop’s brawn, and the way he could effortlessly heft his body made him feel small and weightless.
“There,” Bishop murmured against th
e side of Edison’s head, adjusting him until Edison was nestled deep under his arm. “That’s perfect.”
Edison shivered and tugged the quilt Aunt Carlotta had made for him for his eighteenth birthday off the back of the couch and draped it over his legs in an effort to hide his erection that seemed constant when Bishop was around. “I’m not too heavy leaning on you?” Edison asked quietly.
“No, baby,” was all Bishop said.
Edison opened the hard cover—they were so quiet he could hear the spine crackling as he spread it wider. He flipped past the first few pages of contents, copyrights, and dedications until he saw chapter one. Edison could feel Bishop’s heart pounding, matching his own erratic heartbeat. He wasn’t nervous, reading was something he could show off with. He was just anxious not to run off another man because of his boring lifestyle. However, he wasn’t getting that vibe from Bishop, and Edison vibrated with excitement.
He read ahead the first few sentences, then started at the beginning. He kept his tone low and smooth, hoping Bishop liked it. After a couple of pages Edison found his rhythm and began to get immersed in the narration. He was quite comfortable with reading aloud and did it often when he was alone. In school, his pop had made him read his homework, the newspaper, a magazine or whatever to him while he’d cleaned up at closing time. That’d been his study period.
By the time he reached chapter three, Bishop’s forearm was cradling his head, putting him in a good position to run his fingertips through his hair. It was so hypnotic that Edison found himself leaning into the touch. His voice got huskier as he went on and Bishop appeared to like it.
They’d just laughed at a funny line and were settling back down when Bishop checked his watch.
“It’s getting late.”
Damn, he loved the sound of Bishop’s voice in the late evening. It was just ten-thirty but he supposed Bishop was right. He did have to get up a lot earlier than he did. And eleven was about the time his book began to make him doze.
“Yeah.” Edison sat up, leaving the warmth of Bishop’s chest, and stood to stretch. He’d enjoyed every second and hoped they could do this again soon.
“What are your plans tomorrow?” Bishop asked.
Edison caught Bishop trying to discreetly adjust himself in his jeans but Edison would have to have been blind to miss that bulge. He averted his eyes and went to his kitchen to get a quick drink of water before he blurted something embarrassing to Bishop like, ‘stay and ravage me all night’.
“I’ll be here. I don’t do much during the week,” Edison answered.
Bishop took his duffle bag and began to walk towards the door. They were both quiet as if one was waiting on the other to make a move. Before Edison could reach for the knob, Bishop grabbed him around his waist and spun him around until his back was shoved against the door. Edison almost humiliated himself because the way Bishop handled him so easily brought him too close to coming in his pants. Edison’s jaw was gripped, and he’d barely had time to open his eyes and see the feral expression in Bishop’s dark orbs before he took his mouth in a searing kiss. Edison did nothing but open to the pleasure, and tried not to fall to Bishop’s feet from his weak knees.
“Let me come back tomorrow,” Bishop said after coming up for a hot breath that he panted against Edison’s throat. “We can do the same thing… or nothing.”
Edison nodded, unable to speak.
“Okay.” Bishop eventually released him, and Edison opened the door. They watched each other for a long time as Bishop made his way to his truck. Edison wanted to yell at him to come back, that he was tired of being alone, but he pressed his kiss-tender lips together and waved when Bishop backed out of his driveway.
He’d be back tomorrow. He could read more to him soon. Edison felt as if he was floating on a natural high to his bedroom, and hummed through his nightly routine before drifting into a peaceful sleep.
Chapter Thirty-One
Bishop
Edison did just as Bishop asked for the next two weeks. He’d only stayed home two of those days and on Sundays. Other than that, he was at Edison’s. He’d work on his yard for a while, while Edison would cook. A few times he’d grilled, and he’d been out there to keep Bishop company while he dug edges for the complicated pathway leading to the shed. He loved the opportunity to flaunt his knowledge of landscaping. Edison always seemed genuinely interested, as if he wasn’t just humoring Bishop when he talked about planting pansies instead of mums.
While they ate at Edison’s dinner table they would talk about his work or his uncle—who reminded him so much of his dad that it could be difficult for him to be around him too long. They also talked about some of Bishop’s life growing up but he tended to drive the conversation quickly back to Edison. He didn’t like sharing stories of his despicable upbringing and who he’d been back then. He wanted Edison to concentrate on this Bishop.
Then his favorite part would come. Edison would make them a drink, turn off most of the lights in the house and nestle under him while he read to him… each night. Even though the mystery books were allowing them to get lost in another world and become enthralled in the lives of two made-up people, it was somehow bringing them closer together. And Edison did it with so much passion and enthusiasm that Bishop knew he loved it as well. Sometimes, he’d hear little hiccups in Edison’s voice when he’d run his nose across his temple and into his hair that always smelled slightly of raspberries. He could sit there and listen for hours. But, he couldn’t keep Edison locked away in the house to himself, and he didn’t want him thinking Bishop wanted to keep their relationship a secret. Because neither of those were true. And tonight, he was going to prove it.
“Hey.” Bishop kicked Trent in his boot where he sat propped against a tree getting ready to enjoy the shade while on their lunch break.
“Hey your-fucking-self. What’s up, man?” Trent asked, shielding his eyes. It was another scorcher today and the heat index had climbed to ninety-five, and it wasn’t even one o’clock.
“I asked Mike for a longer lunch. Come on, I need your help with something.” Bishop nodded for Trent to follow him, and he’d only made it halfway across the lawn when Trent caught up to him.
“Where are we going?”
Bishop didn’t answer right away as they took a left on Columbus Street, heading towards the middle of Town Center. “Right there.” Bishop pointed when the nice restaurant came into view.
“Where? To that fountain?” Trent grinned. “You need to make a wish.”
Bishop sucked his teeth. “No, dumbass. The restaurant behind there. That’s Bravo, right?”
Trent frowned up at the grand, two story building, “Yeah. You wanna eat lunch in there? You must be buying.”
“I’m buying a drink… maybe an appetizer.”
He could see Trent’s confusion and decided to go ahead and come clean. “This is one of Edison’s favorite restaurants. He loves Italian and he’s talked about this place a few times. And I want to bring him here tonight for dinner. On a date.”
“Okay.” Trent shrugged then elbowed him in his shoulder. “What you wanna practice on me?”
“Well, sorta,” Bishop mumbled as they made their way inside.
“I’m just not that kinda wingman, dude.”
“I need some help with the menu, smartass,” Bishop hissed, just before they approached the hostess stand.
“Good afternoon,” the young hostess said in a cheerful tone, “Two today?”
“Yeah, but can we sit at the bar?” Bishop pointed to their immediate left at the walled-off area, not wanting to be seated at the fancy tables in the large, wide-open dining room. Not until he had to. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel like he belonged in nice places like this, he wasn’t insecure in that aspect. He just never got the point of paying so much for the same dishes that were offered on an eleven ninety-nine buffet. But nothing was too good for Edison.
The hostess handed them two menus. “Sure, help yourselves.”
&nbs
p; Trent stared at Bishop. “You’re serious?”
“Yes,” Bishop said. “Don’t I look serious?”
“You don’t have to do this for Edison. I don’t think he’d care if you took him to Olive Garden. Or hey, what about Captain George’s Seafood buffet. That’s pretty high-end.”
“No.” Bishop shook his head, then glared at the long, single-page menu full of dishes he couldn’t read. He shouldn’t have to limit his dining experiences to only buffets either. “I know he wouldn’t care but… but, I want to surprise him, T.”
Trent’s expression softened as he held out his fist for a pound. Bishop tapped their knuckles together lightly, a relieved smile edging the corners of his lips.
“Is the dinner menu different from the lunch menu?” Trent asked the hostesses.
“Yes. Would you like to see the dinner one as well?” She was already reaching under her podium when Trent answered. Bishop wanted to grab his friend and hug him—he hadn’t even thought of that.
The bartender was an older guy with a handsome face and a killer smile. He had his sleeves rolled up just past his forearms, and Bishop could see the dark tribal tattoos when he braced himself on the bar. “You guys in here taking a break from that heat, huh?” he said, taking in their dusty jeans and Stockley lawn shirts.
“Shit yeah.” Bishop nodded, setting his wide hat on the stool beside him. When he glanced back at Trent to ask what kind of beer he wanted, he was confused to see him picking at the smooth wood surface of the bar as if he didn’t want to make eye contact with their bartender. “I’ll have a Guinness and… Yo. What you wanna drink, T?”
“Anything is good,” Trent murmured, still looking at his rough hands.
The bartender laughed a throaty sound, “All right. One beer for you and one glass of mineral oil for your stiff friend over here.”
Bishop laughed suddenly when Trent jerked his head up, scowling at the bartender who never dropped his big grin. “So, he does have a face.”