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Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel Book 1) by BT Urruela (31)

 

MY PHONE RINGS, ANNOYINGLY WAKING me from my slumber. Rubbing my eyes first, I check the time on Carleigh’s alarm clock: Two o’clock in the morning.

I grab the phone, spotting Sarge’s name, and press answer.

“Hey, Sarge. What’s goin’ on, man?”

There’s silence over the line.

“Sarge?”

I hear a sniffle and some rustling in the background. “Yeah,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong, man?”

There are more sniffles across the line. He clears his throat. “I just, it’s … I don’t know how to say it.” He breaks down crying.

“I’ll come over, bro. Whatever it is, we’ll work through it. Okay?”

He hesitates before muttering, “Okay.”

I hang up and race to put on clothing. Carleigh stirs in her sleep next to me. I lean in toward her, kissing her forehead, and she wakes with a smile.

“Are you okay?” she asks in a raspy tone, her eyes just little slits.

“Yeah, something’s goin’ on with a friend. I’ve gotta go see how he’s doin’.”

She sits up, leaning on an elbow. “Who is it?”

“Sarge. My Big Brother in the fraternity. He’s a military guy too. Former Army Ranger. Didn’t tell me what’s up, but he’s not one to call for just anything.”

“Oh okay. Drive safe, please.”

“I will.” I smile, kissing her lips and then her forehead again. “I’ll text you when I get there. Keep my spot warm?”

She’s on her side now, the blanket falling and exposing her beautiful breasts. Patting the spot next to her, she says, “It’s all yours. We both are.”

She winks, and my dick throbs in my pants at her words. I yearn to stay, to fuck her silly and then hold her all night, but I need to be there for Sarge, whatever it is he has going on, just as he’s been there for me.

“Talk to you soon, gorgeous,” I say, blowing her a kiss before I make my way out the door, down the steps, and out of her apartment, walking with a purpose and desire to make sure my buddy is okay, all while a raging fucking hard-on still pushes angrily against the denim.

After a short drive, I reach Sarge’s apartment, and park the Jeep. Hopping out, I hurriedly walk to his front door and knock.

There’s no answer.

I knock again.

Nothing.

Trying the door handle, I see it’s unlocked, and I cautiously open the door.

“Hey Sarge, you in here, bro?” I call out into the darkness.

Nothing.

Taking a few steps inside, I call out again, “Sarge, buddy, it’s Bishop. I don’t wanna get shot today, man. You in here?”

“Back here,” his gravelly, tired voice responds.

I walk down the hall, toward an open bedroom door at the end. Peeking my head inside, I see Sarge seated on the edge of his bed, shirt off, and an empty bottle of vodka beside him. Another is smashed to bits on the carpeted floor, along with a few broken picture frames. Looking closer, I see all the pictures feature Sarge with the same man. I’m assuming it’s Jonah.

Fuck, what happened, bro?” I tiptoe past the scattered glass shards, making my way to the bed. Moving the vodka bottle over, I take a seat beside him and place a hand at the nape of his neck. He takes heavy, congested breaths, his eyes puffy and red, his cheeks glistening.

“There have been signs for a while now. That maybe he wasn’t happy,” Sarge responds, sniffling and wiping an arm across his face. “I guess I’ve noticed them and just didn’t want to believe it.”

“Did he break up with you?”

“Worse.”

“Cheated on you?” I ask.

He nods. “Has been for some time now.”

“Fuck, Sarge. I’m sorry, man. I know you two have been together a long time now.”

“Five years. Five years wasted. And he was fucking around on me for two of them. God, how could I be so stupid?” He scoffs, dropping his head into his hands. A new wave of tears takes hold.

I give his neck a good squeeze. “Fuck him, man. If he’s gonna fuck around on you, he’s not worth your time or your tears.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He doesn’t want me anymore. He said he fell in love with this Chaz guy.”

“Fuckin’ Chaz. Who the fuck names their kid Chaz?”

“I think it’s short for Chester.”

“Well, fuck me, that’s even worse. Chester? When your name’s so bad that the best alternative you can come up with is Chaz, well, you might as well just off yourself. After killin’ your parents, of course, for givin’ you such a stupid fuckin’ name in the first place.”

Sarge laughs, shaking his head. He snorts back through his congested nose and says, “It is a stupid fucking name.”

“You wanna put bologna on his car?”

“What are you, twelve?” Sarge asks, a judgmental arch in his brow. He hesitates before adding, “You have to use cooked spaghetti. It works better.”

We both laugh loudly.

His eyes scan the nearly destroyed room and he shakes his head. “Fuck, I really lost it. I’m sorry I called you, Bish. I just didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“Dude, don’t even mention it. Anytime. Anything. Anywhere. You holler. Now …” I stand, surveying the room. “Let’s get this place cleaned up and plot out some good revenge.” My lips curl into an evil grin.

With the room reasonably clean now, and our plan in place, Sarge and I sit at the computer, working up the first part of the plan.

“So, do we wanna go all out here? What should I put?” I ask, looking over at him.

He grins, responding, “Let’s make a few. We’ll link one to his cell number and the rest to his emails. Click the personal ads, right there.” Sarge points to the screen where Craigslist.org sits. I click the personal ads and a list comes up. He points to one that says, ‘Casual Encounters.’ “Yeah, click that one. And click on the Male for Male section, then ‘New Post.’”

I do as he says, and a post template pops up.

Sarge smiles. “Okay, put twenty-three-year-old twink looking for daddy to use and abuse my asshole. I like fisting and wet sports. Particularly interested in some Kentucky Klondike Bar action.”

I stop typing and look over at him with furrowed brows. “What the fuck is that?”

He laughs out loud. “Freezing a shit and fucking someone with it.”

I pretend to gag. “Is that a real thing?”

He shrugs. “It’s a real term. Fuck knows if anyone actually does it. I wouldn’t doubt it though. Had to come from somewhere.”

“Holy shit. He’s gonna get some real superstars hittin’ him up. This is gonna be epic.”

“Fuck yeah. That one’s good. Post it and let’s do another one.”

I press the post button and then open a new one, awaiting directions.

“Alright, for this one put, DL Army guy, thirty-two, looking for CBT, FF, and scat play.”

After typing what he’s just said, I look at him, grinning. “It’s like another fuckin’ language. Translate, please. For those of us who ain’t in the know.”

“Fist fucking, cock and ball torture, and shit play.”

I crack up laughing. “I like the DL Army guy addition. Should be quite popular.”

“Oh, he’ll have every queen from here to Pittsburgh contacting his ass.” He motions to the screen. “Let’s do another one and make his address a gloryhole meetup spot.”

“Oh my God, fuck yeah!”

He hesitates, a look of shame crossing his face. “Wait, are we really doing this?” Sarge asks, his hands on his hips. “It seems so immature.”

I pause for a moment, looking toward the screen and then back to him. “Maybe just keep it up for an hour?” I ask, shrugging.

He grins. “Might as well make it two.”

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