Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  “We do. Over dinner, maybe?”

  “Bishop!”

  “What? It’s just dinner, Carleigh.”

  She hesitates, taking a deep breath, before she says, “Bishop, I’m your doctor and you’re my patient, and my job is to get you better, not to engage in inappropriate communications. This even is too much. I could get in a lot of trouble.”

  “The last thing in the world I’d wanna do is get you in trouble. I wouldn’t tell a soul, whether we saw more of each other outside of the office or not.”

  “We just can’t, Bishop. It’s such a complicated situation. Yes, I have feelings for you, I think you’re an incredible human being, but we must maintain professional bearing. There is no other option.”

  “And in three weeks, when I’m no longer your patient?”

  “We can discuss things further then, okay? It’s doctor-patient until that point.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m serious!” she says in a firm tone that’s far more adorable than I’m sure she intended it to be.

  “Okay, Carleigh. Doctor-patient relations only for the next three weeks, and then I sweep you off your feet.”

  She chortles. “Yeah, okay, Romeo. We’ll see. Have a good night.”

  “Wait! Carleigh, before you go …”

  “What?”

  My lips curl into a grin. “What are you wearin’?”

  She scoffs, chuckling a little when she repeats, “Goodnight, Bishop,” and there’s a click over the line.

  I set my phone on the nightstand, a wide smile on my face as I think about three weeks from now, and the inevitability of our tryst.

  I DON’T OFTEN SPEND SATURDAY evenings at home. In my adult life, it’s only been done a handful of times, and each of those times was likely due to a bender the night before. I didn’t really feel like fucking with anything tonight, much to my pledge brothers’ disapproval. They tried to get me over to the house for the glow party social they’re having in the basement, but it’s all become the same old shit. I love hanging out with my guys, but I’m sick of that scene. Sicker of it with each day spent as an official brother.

  As George Michael works the banana stand across the room from me, I’m in bed, sitting up, with blankets warming my legs, a cold beer in my hand. It’s only my second of the night, and more for the taste of the hoppy IPA than any desire to get drunk.

  Taking a swig, my attention is grabbed by a text alert on my phone. I glance over, and when I see the name, and then the time, my heart flutters. I grab my phone and quickly unlock it, pulling up Carleigh’s text.

  What are you doing?

  As I’m typing, another text comes through. Oh my God. Text walking. What are you doing??

  I respond, Hahaha I’m in bed. The better question is, what are YOU doing??? My eyes remain locked on the phone, like I’m awaiting the most important text of my life.

  Is she really trying to hang out?

  Finally, another text comes through. Up for a drive? Bad night.

  In a hurry, I text back, Absolutely! Where you at?

  Lucky’s Comedy Club. Dark corners perfect for kissing…

  I change into nicer clothes like a runway model on acid, and then throw some putty in my hair before collecting up my cigarettes, wallet, and keys, and heading out the door.

  My excitement is palpable, so damn intense that I feel flush across my chest, my heart racing nearly as fast as my Jeep, cruising the narrow, ill-lit country roads. I shoot prayers up to the heavens for no cops to pull me over as I get ever closer to the outskirts of Pittsburgh where Carleigh awaits, her perfect lips like the hare at a dog track. I’m the greyhound, hungry and driven.

  With the city skyline lighting the distance, I take the exit and navigate my way through a rundown area of town, tattered convenience stores and open-air laundromats included. A short distance later, I spot the large lit-up Lucky’s sign, and pull the Jeep into the parking lot, scanning the dingy exterior with curious eyes.

  Interesting choice.

  After a quick hair check in the rearview, I hop out of the Jeep and head toward the front door. There are a few cars in the lot, but not as many as you’d expect for a place that serves alcohol on a Saturday night. Walking inside, I first notice how dark it is.

  She wasn’t kidding.

  A balding middle-aged man is on the stage, a mic in hand, the spotlight on him. He talks about how much he hates those little stick figure car stickers. I nod my head in approval as I scan the room. There are maybe ten people seated at little round tables near the stage, and a few more at the bar near the front of the place. A few couples take up couches against the far wall, except the very last one, where Carleigh sits alone, her eyes on me and a smile on her face. She’s got a drink in one hand as she passes me a little wave with the other.

  I wave back as I approach, smiling wider than I probably should.

  “Hey you,” I say as she goes to stand, but wobbles and sits back down to steady herself. She smiles, shaking her head as she stands completely now, leaning over the short table between us to hug me. She smells like a combination of Chanel and gin.

  As we part and she sits back down, I joke, “You know, for a substance abuse counselor, you sure know how to knock ’em back,” as I join her sitting.

  She rolls her eyes, responding, “Shut up. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “What happened?”

  “Want to get a drink first?” She points toward an approaching waitress. “Two drink minimum.”

  “For sure. Double Jameson on the rocks, please,” I order, and the waitress nods and smiles before turning on her heel. I look back toward Carleigh just as she lets out an exasperated sigh.

  “I just found out my husband got this other woman pregnant.” She scoffs. “At fifty-freakin-two.”

  “What?! I’m so sorry, Carleigh. How did you find out?”

  “His mother. We’re still very close. She called me today and told me she thought I should know.”

  “Are you guys gettin’ a divorce?”

  “We sure as hell are now. I’m meeting with my lawyer again tomorrow to start the paperwork. I wasn’t sure before that, because, you know, twenty-one years is a long time. I invested a lot into that marriage. I was the good wife. I did the dishes. I cooked. I cleaned. I gave him a blow job anytime he wanted.” She looks at me with sincerity in her features. “I’m not talking just birthday stuff. I’m talking whenever he wanted it. And then he just stopped wanting it.” She takes a drink and then shakes her head. “I don’t know when it happened, or how, or why, but slowly, over time, he started caring less and less, and stopped wanting me at the same frequency. And I tried everything. I mean, everything. I bought the cute little outfits, surprised him at work in his office at lunch in nothing but a trench coat. And do you know what he said? That jackass said, ‘How could you do something like this? This is my job!’ Like I had committed a damn crime or something.”

  I shake my head. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

  “Right?! And come to find out, he was fucking—ugh, having sex with one of his girls in there the whole time. One that I know of. Who knows how many there have really been? He’s probably had them all in there.”

  “Sounds like divorce has been a long time comin’.”

  “When you invest as much time and energy and love into a thing like I have with this marriage, it’s just not the easiest thing to walk away from it all. I loved him so much. Heck, I still do. I can’t lie to myself about that. But he has hurt me beyond how much I ever thought a person could.”

  “I’m really sorry you’re goin’ through this,” I say as the waitress brings my drink. I take it from her and thank her. I sip a little as Carleigh orders another.

  “I’m sorry to give you this crabfest. I just needed someone to talk to, and all my friends got too drunk to be of any help. They’re all these divorced cougars anyway, always out on the prowl.” She pfffts, shaking her head, though her eyes read envy. “I don’t think I could ev
er be like that.”

  “Don’t be sorry about a damn thing. I’m actually pretty certain I’ve requested your honesty a few times already. I’ve been dying to pick your brain.”

  “Well, pick away. There’s so much stuff going on up there, I could talk for days.”

  “Please, feel free to.” I take another drink as her expression changes from that of frustration and anger to a slight look of seduction.

  She bites her bottom lip before she says, “But we have some dark corner kissing to do too.”

  I shrug. “I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me tonight, gorgeous.”

  She smiles, stroking her long black braid before she kisses me deep and passionately, her hot tongue an on switch for a hard-on. My dick stiffens as her hand meets my thigh, and it ticks to full form when she takes my bottom lip between her teeth, biting just to the point where pleasure meets pain, and I fucking love it.

  As her lips leave mine, it takes me a moment to open my eyes. When I do, I see she still has hers closed, and she runs a slow tongue across her bottom lip. Her eyelids slowly creep open and she smiles.

  “I kind of missed that,” she says.

  “I definitely missed that.”

  A loud shriek through the PA system draws my attention to the stage. The MC chuckles, giving the mic a few good taps before thanking the balding comedian for his act.

  “Everybody now put your hands together for our favorite Saturday nighter, JD McGinnis, The Ragin’ Redneck!” the MC says, and my mouth drops open.

  “No fuckin’ way,” I mutter.

  “What?” Carleigh asks.

  Looking back toward her, surprise still written on my face, I reply, “That’s my fuckin’ fraternity advisor. He’s a fuckin’ lunatic. I didn’t know he did stand-up. Though I ain’t the least bit surprised.”

  I look back toward the stage as JD takes the mic from the MC and gives him a pat on the back. He’s wearing a pair of crocs with white socks, jean shorts, and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. There are two sides on the front of the shirt. On one side, there’s the female silhuette from a bathroom sign. Above it reads ‘My mom.’ Just beside it is the silhouette of a stripper riding a pole and above that it reads ‘Your mom.’

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “This oughta be interesting.”

  “How’s it goin’, folks?” JD says loudly into the mic.

  The docile crowd’s response is subpar.

  “Well, hell, who shit in y’all’s cornflakes this mornin’?” JD continues, pacing the stage back and forth slowly, purposefully. “Now, I don’t know what’s up y’all’s ass, but I had a fist in mine last night. No lie. And I ain’t talkin’ the Korean girl’s hands who does my pedicures either. I’m talkin’ Wilt Chamberlain’s girthy mitt. I know what y’all are wonderin’. I can see it in yer damn faces. I’d judge me too if I were you, but hell, ya just don’t know how good it feels ‘til ya try it. I actually got in trouble a few weeks ago with the gastroenterologist’s office. Yeah, bet ya didn’t think I knew what that word was, did ya?” He cracks a grin. “So, I guess them doctors don’t take too kindly to my repeated phone calls. And I kept tellin’ him, it don’t make no damn sense to me that they ain’t got recreational colonoscopy options. I’ve offered ’em plenty of money. Like, ‘ay, Doc. I want a camera up my ass. Let’s fuckin’ go!’” He shrugs. “But what do ya do?”

  “I miss that,” Carleigh says, grabbing my attention.

  As JD continues in the background, I turn toward Carleigh. Arching a curious eyebrow, I ask, “Miss what?”

  “Well, I mean, not the fisting and the colonoscopy stuff, but just, that kinda stuff in general.” She blushes and her eyes flit to the drink held unsteadily in her hand.

  “What stuff?”

  “Ugh!” She scoffs, shaking her head. “You don’t want to hear it. I’m just drunk.”

  “No, no, no! Tell me.”

  “Butt play, okay? I miss it. When my husband and I were first married, and the sex was still good, we did it all the time. It’s a different sensation. Not better, just different.” She shrugs. “I miss it,” she repeats. “And I’m just drunk and horny.”

  I gulp, fighting back the heat that’s now sweeping over my body, the desire intensified times a thousand, my dick now crammed against my denim uncomfortably.

  “What?” she asks, looking away bashfully.

  “That was just probably the sexiest thing you could’ve ever said,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely! You’re right about it. It’s not better. Certainly not worse. But different, and fuckin’ incredible.”

  She bites her bottom lip, her cleavage getting redder as she cracks a mischievous smile. Her eyes slowly trail back to the stage as the smile remains on her face.

  “Thanks for what’s goin’ on in my pants right now, by the way,” I say, chuckling as my eyes fall back on JD too.

  Suddenly, she grabs my cock, and turns back toward me. As my eyes roam slowly from her hand to meet her eyeline, my mouth gapes, and she says, “In due time.” Her hand returns to her drink and I want to whine for her to put it back, but I chuckle instead, shaking my head.

  “You are gonna be the death of me, woman.”

  “You have no clue, Bishop. No clue.” She hesitates before she adds, “Soon though.”

  It’s hard for me to concentrate on JD with Carleigh’s last words still lingering between my ears, thoughts of her unclothed, seeing that sexy thick body naked for the first time swirling about in my mind.

  “Ya know what I mean?” JD’s voice becomes clear again, but the thoughts of her remain. He continues, “There ain’t no shame in pissin’ yerself, is all I’m sayin’. I ain’t proud of it, no. But I’ve learned to accept it. Ya learn the importance of vinyl mattresses, folks, real damn fast. I’m tellin’ y’all.”

  I crack up laughing, thinking about that stupid mattress in my apartment back in Crescent Falls, and every barracks room I’ve ever had.

  “I served in the Army, ya know. And I was over in the desert durin’ the first Gulf War.” For the first time tonight (though it’s gotten better since JD took the stage) the audience comes alive, clapping loudly. “Thank y’all,” he continues. “I just drove trucks, but let me tell ya, when yer job is drivin’ fuckin’ trucks back and forth across the goddamn desert for long stretches at a time, a pissin’ problem is ’bout the last damn thing ya need. By the time I ended the trip from Kuwait to Baghdad, I had two passengers worth’a piss bottles beside me. Had to be upwards of a hundred. I don’t wanna say I threw a bottle or two toward some hajis and told ’em it was lemonade, but …” He shrugs. “I ain’t no liar. Now, I see yer judgin’ faces, but ya gotta understand this—urine’s gotten a bad rap over the years. It’s sterile. It’s environmentally conscious. And, well, I’ll tell y’all the truth—it tastes pretty damn good.”

  I shake my head, laughing at his absurd ass, when Carleigh’s hand returns to my dick, first catching me off guard, and then owning my full attention.

  Looking at her, I warn, “You keep doin’ that, and I’m gonna need to drag your ass to the bathroom. Or, at least, go take care of business myself.”

  Giving my crotch one last good grab, she removes her hand and replies, “One, no you won’t. If anyone is getting you off tonight, it’s going to be me.” She passes a seductive smirk, “Two, bathroom sex? If it weren’t this nasty place, I’d be dragging you there myself.” She smiles wide before she kisses me, cupping her hand against my face too. As our lips part, she says, “We need to get out of here soon, honestly, and while you can still drive.”

  “After him?” I point toward the stage, a wide smile on my face.

  “He better hurry,” she purrs, her hand returning to my cock and staying there this time as she faces JD once more.

  It’s not long after entering her apartment that she starts to kiss me, more than the pecks she dotted my neck with as I drove to her apartment. I make note, as the waves of pleasure rol
l over me, to ask her later why the fuck her husband got the house to begin with.

  Our walk into the apartment and toward her bedroom is uncoordinated as we cycle between making out and tearing off each other’s clothes one piece at a time. By the time we make it all the way to here room down the hall, we’re both naked. To my utter delight, she flips on a dim light on her dresser, exposing her incredible body. I’m taken back by it; not surprised by her desire-inducing curves so much as I’m surprised by their effect on me. As I had already figured out from the hours spent in her office, she is shaped to the exact standard of my perfect woman. When it comes to a woman’s body, though all of them are beautiful in their own right, I believe as they did during the 1600s—the Baroque period—where women had shape to them, curvaceous hips, a cock-raising ass, and gorgeous full tits.

  She stands there in the dim light, her arms crossed in front of her, a nervous look in her eyes. “What?” She bites her bottom lip. “I have a few holiday pounds left over.”

  I take a few steps forward, cupping her elbows with my hands and pulling each arm away, exposing her breasts. I look her over, admiring her perfect quarter-sized nipples and the thin landing strip that leads to that sexy slit, jet black like the long hair she has braided and resting beside her right breast, framing its excellence.

  “Carleigh, you have the sexiest body I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh, shut up!” She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but I step closer to her, my naked body against hers, and I slide a hand to her full ass cheek, clutching it tight.

  She gasps, closing her eyes for a moment.

  “I’m not even fuckin’ kiddin’,” I whisper, my lips to her ear. “I thought you were sexy clothed, but seein’ you naked is like an out-of-body experience.”

  She scoffs again, leaning back and batting a hand against my chest. “Now, how many women have you said that to?”

  “Zero.” I grin. “I ain’t your normal almost twenty-six-year-old. I don’t just fuck around. I like connecting with another. I like experiencing each other. I like passion and seduction.”