Chapter 19

Bishop

“Are you okay or did I kill you?” I ask Brooke as I walk out of the master bath, turning out the light behind me. She hasn’t moved from the position I left her in, which was flat on her stomach, arms spread wide, and face turned so her cheek was one of the pillows. Her legs are splayed slightly apart but are totally relaxed.

“You killed me,” she mumbles, but her lips are moving, so that can’t be true.

Grinning, I climb up on the end of the bed, crawling over her well-used body. I lower myself onto her, holding most my weight off with my arms planted down into the mattress.

My lips brush over her cheek before I murmur, “You looked beautiful, Brooke. All tied up. Butt plug in your ass. My cock in your pussy.”

She groans and shifts slightly, raising her head to try to look at me. I help her out by coming to her side and facing her. I put my arm around her waist and pull her into me close. Her body is heavier than normal, which tells me she is beyond relaxed right now.

I will give thanks to the three margaritas that made her adventurous enough to let me tie her up and play with her ass tonight. I’d brought along my overnight duffel with a change of clothes and some toys I’d picked up today. In addition to the plug, there was a cloth gag I had planned for Brooke to wear because I didn’t want Nanette listening in on us. Fortunately, Nanette left to go out shortly after dinner. She had an Uber pick her up and God knows where she went.

With Nanette gone, I was more than happy to hear Brooke’s cries. I gobbled up every fucking one and tried to wring out even more.

Brooke shivers in my arms.

“Cold?” I ask her.

She shakes her head and snuggles into my closer. “That shiver was because of your dirty talk. It does things to me.”

Chuckling, I bring her closer and stroke her lower back. She was fucking perfect tonight. Scared yet trusting. Innocent yet bold.

Best fucking orgasm I can remember ever having, and I had a moment of lucidity as I was shooting off that this girl was the one. That I shouldn’t hide behind vague notions that we’re still carrying on a farce, because this is the real fucking deal.

But when I came back down to earth, I decided to go back to the man who wasn’t sure what the hell he wanted, and until I figured it out, I was content to let this play out the way it was without me having to overcommit.

“Is my butt going to hurt tomorrow?” Brooke asks, the words slightly muffled by the way her face is pushed into the crook of my neck.

She can’t see my smile, but I’m sure she can hear it. “No, baby. I used a really small plug on you. You’ll be fine.”

There’s a short hesitation before she admits, “I really liked it. Especially when you were fucking me with it in.”

“I really liked it too,” I murmur to her, drawing my palm in wide, soothing circles over her back. I’m not sure if she’d ever take my cock back there, but it really didn’t matter. She gave me more than enough as it is.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“For what?” I can feel my eyes starting to get heavy.

“For being a good friend,” she says, and that startles me so much my eyes pop open and my head jerks back.

She lifts her head and my eyes lock with hers. “For being a friend?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “At lunch today, and when you got here for dinner tonight. You listened to me bitch and moan about Nanette. And I don’t want to be that type of person who does that, but thank you for giving me safe space to vent. I really needed it.”

Jesus fuck.

I did that?

I gave her something intangible yet so important she was here thanking me for it in the sweetest of ways. And I had no clue I’d even done it, and that’s because it was no chore at all. I could listen to Brooke talk all day as far as I was concerned. She could recite the dictionary and I’d listen.

And that right there shocks me. I’m not sure there are many people in my life I can truly say that about. That I care about them enough and respect them even more to give them serious, devoted, and focused time.

I manage to relax and lay my head on the pillow. “You’re welcome,” I say. “You can tell me anything, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, her eyes warm and the barest of smiles on her face.

We just stare at each other a moment, then her hand comes up to touch the right side of my forehead, near the hairline. Her finger traces a scar that takes up a few centimeters of skin before disappearing into my hair. It’s faint from a distance, but up close it’s noticeable. It’s just one of many scars I have as a hockey player.

“How did you get this one?” she asks.

This is not the first time I’ve answered that question. She’s let her hands roam my body before gently tracing the puckered skin of each one of my scars and asking that question over and over again.

• Right knee: meniscus surgery. Took a bad fall playing pond hockey.

• Right thigh: gash from jumping a fence. Cut through the wrong neighbor’s yard one night trying to make curfew, and then had to escape a Rottie.

• Upper lip: hockey puck. Didn’t duck fast enough.

• Left knuckles: a really good fight. The other guy got it worse.

• Bottom of my chin: chin met a really hard upper cut. I got it worse than the other guy.

But despite all the other scars she’s asked about, this is the first time she’s asked about the one on my forehead. It’s the most obvious—besides the one on my chin—since I wear my hair brushed back off my face. “Sledding down Granger Hill when I was eight,” I tell her. “I wasn’t the best at steering and I had a bit of a run-in with a tree.”

Brooke winces as she twists her hand slightly to bring her thumb over it and brushes it softly. “You could have been killed.”

“That’s exactly what my mom said while they were stitching me up.”

Brooke gives me a stern look. It’s the same look my mom also gave me.

Speaking of which…

“My mom is coming in next week for a visit,” I tell her.

Brooke smiles, tucking her hands under her cheek. “That’s awesome. How long is she staying?”

“She’s going to fly in Wednesday for the home game we have that night and stay through to watch the next home game on Saturday. She’ll fly back home on Sunday morning.”

“What are you going to tell her?” Brooke asks. She’s aware that so far I’ve not told my mom a thing about Brooke because it wasn’t necessary.

Not necessary, but doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to tell my mom. I want to very much, but to do that, I have to tell her about the lies first.

“I need to tell her the truth,” I say.

“Of course,” she readily agrees. “I’d never want you to lie to her.”

My eyes roam over Brooke’s face. I see her open expression, the tiny bit of concern she has for me, and some remaining guilt that she put me in this position. I roll so my face gets closer to hers. “I’m really glad you’re going to meet my mom. You’ll love her.”

Brooke’s eyes widen as she comprehends one important truth in this moment. This is the first, absolutely real acknowledgment by either of us that what we have isn’t all exactly a lie.

“I can’t wait to meet her either,” she murmurs. “It will be nice that it’s not under false pretenses.”

“My mom will stay at a hotel,” I tell her. “She always does, as it gives her a quiet place to work during the day. She won’t be leaving work totally behind. But I figure maybe we can all do something together. Like maybe the botanical gardens one day. Are you game?”

“Of course,” she says, then immediately backtracks. “If I can get the time off work. We can’t do it Saturday, as you have a game.”

I nod, hating that I can’t just have Brooke when I want. The days between games are precious. While there’s usually a light practice and a workout, I’m pretty much free afterward, and I love the flexibility of that life. It sucks that I want Brooke with me this week to take my mom to the gardens, but she’s shackled by an eight-to-five job.

“And then there’s Nanette,” Brooke continues, her voice turning glum. “If I can get the time off, should we invite her?”

I don’t want to, but we probably should. It’s the polite thing to do.

Before I can say that, though, Brooke’s phone starts ringing and she cringes.

“Speak of the devil,” she mutters as she looks at me almost helplessly.

I didn’t need her to tell me that. Given her ringtone for Nanette is “Smack My Bitch Up” by The Prodigy, I knew exactly who was calling.

“Don’t answer,” I tell her.

“I have to,” she mutters with frustration as she rolls to grab the phone. “Just in case it’s something urgent or something’s wrong.”

Fair point. I wouldn’t answer, though.

When Brooke rolls back my way with her phone, she sets it between us and puts in on speaker when she answers. “Hello.”

“Br-o-o-o-o-ke,” Nanette yells into the phone with a slurred voice.

“Hey…what’s up?” It’s a good thing Nanette appears to be drunk on the other line, otherwise she’d totally hear the tightness in Brooke’s tone.

“Hello…are you there? Can you hear me?” Nanette is yelling into the phone in an effort to hear herself above the din of whatever bar she’s in.

It forces Brooke to yell back. “Yes. What do you need?”

“Come out and party with me,” Nanette pleads into the phone. “I’m having so much fun.”

“No,” Brooke snaps, not even bothering to hide her annoyance. “It’s late and I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Oh come on,” she replies, undeterred and oblivious she’s pissing Brooke off. “It will be like the old days.”

Brooke shoots me a look that says, Old days, my ass.

“I’m not coming, Nanette. I’m in bed and ready to go to sleep.”

There’s silence on the other end, although we can still hear music and the chatter of lots of people in the background. Then Nanette sighs before snapping at Brooke, “Fine. But you have to come get me. I don’t have any money to get home.”

“What?” Brooke’s look to me is as dumbfounded as I feel right this moment. “What about your credit card? You used it to take an Uber tonight.”

“Well, I didn’t have much on it,” she says in a pissy voice. “And I thought the guys would be out tonight. They said they would, but they never showed, and I figured they’d be buying my drinks tonight and give me a ride home.”

The guys? I mouth to her.

Brooke sort of shrugs but mouths back slowly and clearly enough I can read her lips. Erik and Legend. Another shrug tells me she’s not sure.

“Just come get me,” Nanette demands impatiently. “I’m at the Sneaky Saguaro.”

She then hangs up and the line goes dead.

Brooke looks at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I can’t believe she just did that.”

“What a bitch,” I commiserate.

Brooke groans and starts to roll away from me. I grab her quickly and pin her down. “I’ll go get her. You put on your sleep clothes and get to sleep.”

I can tell she appreciates my gesture, but she shakes her head. “She’s my problem, Bishop.”

“Since you’re my girlfriend and soon-to-be fake fiancée, she’s my problem too,” I tell her with a grin and then a hard kiss. “Go. To. Sleep.”

“But—” she attempts to argue.

“No buts,” I tell her, give her one more kiss and roll to the opposite side of the bed. I start putting on my clothes that I pick up one-by-one from the floor. They flew off kind of fast tonight. “I’ll grab her, give her an ass chewing because as your boyfriend I can do that without any repercussions coming back on you, and you can get some rest.”

Brooke looks suddenly overwhelmed and exhausted as she lets her head flop back onto the pillow. I know that fucking I just gave her is responsible for a good chunk of that, plus a little bit of alcohol, but Nanette’s responsible as well for that expression on her face.

And I’m damn sure going to give her a piece of my mind for it.