Bishop

by Sawyer Bennett

  This is when the energy is at its highest and we’re all fully focused on the game.

  This is what I live for.

  And yet, when I step out onto the ice, my eyes immediately go to where Brooke is sitting.

  Chapter 23

  Brooke

  The door on my mailbox is sticking again, and when I give it a hard pull the damn thing comes right off. I stare at it morosely for a moment before grabbing my mail with a resigned sigh.

  Classic Monday.

  Trudging back up the slope of my driveway, I head to the passenger side of my vehicle where I toss the mailbox door onto the floor in exchange for the large pizza on the seat. I picked it up on the way home from an exhausting day at work so I wouldn’t have to cook dinner.

  Oh, Monday. I used to love you.

  When I lived in New York, the start of the new week was actually something to be excited about. I know that’s because I loved my job and the motivation I derived from it. That was the benefit of working for a great boss and mentor. I could put in a ten-hour day and still come home completely energized.

  Here? Mondays are just kind of blah. The people are nice to work with, but the work isn’t all that challenging. Team services is absolutely not a two-person job. I end up doing most of the grunt work and my boss takes the credit for it, which is fine, but again, it’s just not that hard to arrange hotels, travel, and meals. I do think I would be more stimulated over in merchandising, but I have absolutely no clue if that’s even a real potential for me. Sebastian could just be blowing smoke up my ass about transferring there. He interviewed Nanette this afternoon and I haven’t heard a word from either her or him. Sebastian hasn’t even sent me any work to do, which is unusual.

  With my purse hooked over the inside of my elbow, I balance the large pizza and bump the car door closed with my hip. The hockey game is going to be starting in about twenty minutes and I want to have my pajamas on and my first slice of pizza on a plate on my lap before they drop the puck.

  Bishop and the team flew out this morning for a road game. I didn’t go for a few reasons. First and foremost, it was a short trip, out and back in one day to Houston. The hotel and catering confirmations could be handled via phone. I also wanted to be in the office today in case there was an actual job offer from Sebastian in the Merchandising Department, whether that offer was made to Nanette or me. And last, I didn’t go because I still had a guest in my house.

  I unlock my front door without managing to dump the pizza, and when I push it open, my gaze immediately sweeps the interior to locate Nanette. She’s on the couch with the remote pointed toward the TV. She gives me a quick glance over her shoulder before turning back. “Hurry up. The game is going to be starting soon.”

  It seems a passable truce has been reached between my houseguest and me. True to her word since her apology three days ago, Nanette has been an overly gracious guest. It made for a nice, stress-free weekend. I’d spent Saturday hanging out at my house doing laundry and general cleanup. Nanette helped out with that and we actually had some easygoing conversation along the way. She came to the game with me that night and was not bent out of shape at all when I told her I was going to stay at Bishop’s place. We offered to drop her somewhere but she said she was just going to hang at my house for the rest of the evening. I thought it was cool that she did not feel the need to go out and party, but Bishop wasn’t buying it. He called it “the calm before the storm.”

  Yesterday I spent the entire day with Bishop and it was amazing. We went hiking in Papago Park in the morning and spent the afternoon chilling at his house, which also may have included some hanky-panky of the orgasmic kind. That evening he took me to an out-of-the-way Peruvian restaurant that he had heard good things about. Bishop and I are both adventurous eaters. We dined on seviche, anticuchos—or beef heart kebabs—and salty plantains. We were there for two hours and I don’t know where the time went.

  He stayed with me at my house last night. We watched some TV on the couch, and with a full and happy belly, I fell asleep with my head on his lap. I don’t know how I made it into the bed, but I woke up this morning with him kissing my forehead and dashing off to catch the team plane to Houston.

  I spent several moments after he left staring at the ceiling and replaying the last few days. We have fallen into a relationship. A real relationship. We haven’t talked about lies, fake engagements, or ways to mollify my father. We talked about each other, we held hands, and we ate meals together. We watched TV and he carried me to bed when I was asleep.

  He didn’t even bother to wake me up to have sex, which I totally would’ve met with a big smile on my face.

  But he didn’t.

  And that somehow makes the relationship all the more real, because it meant that’s not the only reason he stayed the night.

  Walking into the living room, I dump the pizza box onto the coffee table. I turn toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms and call out to Nanette, “I’m going to get my pajamas on. Grab us some plates.”

  “Got it,” she says.

  It only takes moments to get out of my dress and into a pair of sleep shorts and a camisole top. My feet are always cold, so I put on a pair of fuzzy socks. I wash my face quickly, slapping on some moisturizer, and I’m ready for dinner and a hockey game.

  When I make it back into the living room, Nanette has plates, napkins and two bottles of water. She’s already halfway through her first slice of pizza.

  “This is really good,” she says while chewing a mouthful. She then nods down to the coffee table and I see a ten-dollar bill lying there. “For my share.”

  “Thanks,” I say, once again thankful that Bishop had a talk with Nanette about her manners as a guest.

  I settle onto the opposite end of the couch from where she sits after pulling a huge slice of pepperoni pizza onto my plate. It has the appropriate amount of grease on it and I’m hoping it will be close to is good as what we could get in New York, but knowing it will never quite make it.

  We both eat in silence while we watch the pregame show on TV. I have to say watching on TV versus being there live is completely awful and unacceptable. It’s frustrating because I have to depend on them to show me what I want, and I want to see Bishop.

  In the games I saw him play, I never really realized how much I watched him like a stalker. My eyes would be pinned on him during warm-ups, trying to gauge how his legs looked and if his head was in the game. The TV gives you none of that because the sports announcers would rather talk and see themselves on screen. I know once the game starts I’m going to be equally as frustrated, since I won’t be able to see Bishop while he’s on the bench. It’s not that I stare at him 100 percent throughout a game, and I most definitely follow the action as a good Vengeance fan should. But having the ability to glance over at him and see how he’s doing when not on the ice is something I will not take for granted again. I don’t intend to miss any more away trips.

  The TV cuts to a commercial just as I’m finishing my first slice. I wipe my mouth with my napkin and lean forward to grab another. Nanette does the same, and when we settle back in, I use this opportunity to ask her about how the job interview went.

  She has been noticeably mum about the entire thing, I think mainly because she may be embarrassed about her past partying with the members of the Vengeance team and front office staff. In turn, I have not once told her that I had been dabbling within the merchandising division. That I had been doing work for Sebastian with the hope that he would bring me on full time over there. I didn’t tell her that I was suspicious whether there was actually a job opening and figured she was just going to have to go through the process and we would let the chips fall where they may.

  My curiosity is getting the better of me. “So…how did the interview go today?”

  Nanette smirks at me with a triumphant look on her face. She giv
es me a sly wink. “It’s in the bag.”

  “In the bag?” My stomach flips in shock and then drops with disappointment.

  She gives me a side glance and a broader smirk. “Let’s just say I gave the best interview of my life and Sebastian was a satisfied man when I walked out the door.”

  My stomach rolls, as I think I know what she means. But I have to make sure. I lighten my voice to a conspiratorial tone and say, “Ooooh…You have to give me details.”

  That’s all it takes for Nanette to spill her guts and tell me why she is looking and acting so triumphant. She puts her plate down on the coffee table and turns toward me, sitting cross-legged. Leaning forward she practically gushes about her interview. “So I figured that when Sebastian offered me an interview it was not going to be a typical interview. There was enough innuendo that night at the bar. And as expected, he had me give him a blow job and I happily did so. I mean, he’s so hot and I would not mind working for someone like that. He was practically speechless when I left his office. I expect I’ll be getting the offer any day now.”

  It’s a true testament to my willpower that my mouth doesn’t drop open and I keep an amused look on my face. “You’re so bad.”

  “You have no idea,” she says with a laugh. “But that’s how things happen. As women, we have to use every weapon in our arsenal to get what we want. If giving Sebastian a little extra happy in the process is what it takes, so be it.”

  I want to ask so many questions. Like how does she even think that was professional? Doesn’t she feels debased? And how in the hell can you give somebody a blow job that you don’t even know? That’s absolutely gross.

  Clearing my throat, I force a bright tone into my voice. “Well, good luck.”

  I simply can’t say any more. There’s no way I can validate what she just did.

  She doesn’t seem to care. She grins at me and says, “Thanks.”

  Chapter 24

  Bishop

  Brooke wasn’t in her office, so I head to the receptionist desk in the lobby of the management suite. The woman sitting behind the desk looks up at me with a warm smile. “Mr. Scott, how can I help you?”

  I’m impressed. I’ve never met this receptionist and yet she knows who I am. That means either she is a big Vengeance fan or she has taken the time to study all of the players.

  I smile back at her. “Hey, I’m looking for Brooke Perron. I was over in her office and she wasn’t there. Wanted to surprise her for lunch. Any idea where she is?”

  The receptionist turns to her computer screen, taps a few keys on the keyboard, and swivels to look back at me. “It looks like she’s in conference room number three with Mr. Parr. They’re working on a merchandising proposal and needed the room to spread out.”

  I rap my knuckles on the desk twice and grin at her. “Thanks so much.”

  “Anytime,” she returns, and then points to a door. “Down that corridor, take it to the end, and turn left. You’ll run into the conference rooms.”

  I follow her directions in search of my girl.

  We flew in late last night from Houston and I texted Brooke when we landed. She didn’t respond until this morning, which verified what I had suspected: she was asleep. With a few more texts exchanged, we made loose plans to see each other after she got off work today. She of course had no clue I had planned on surprising her at lunch.

  I walk past Christian Rutherford’s office. The door is open and he’s looking at something on his computer. His eyes come up and I wave a hand at him as I walk by, but he calls out, “Bishop…got a minute?”

  I like Christian. He’s a hands-on general manager, but he’s not overbearing about it. He’s also incredibly approachable, acting more like a brother in arms than our boss.

  When I walk into his office, he stands up from his desk. His suit jacket is thrown over the back of his chair and his dress shirt sleeves are rolled up to midforearm. He’s a former professional hockey player, turned coach, turned general manager. He knows almost everything there is to know about this sport and the league.

  He extends his hand to me and I shake it. “Good to see you,” he says. “Hell of a tough game last night.”

  I give a brooding nod. We were handed our first loss in Houston. “A lot of things we could’ve done better. We’ve got some work to do.”

  Christian smiles at me. “I have the utmost faith in you and the rest of the team.”

  “Appreciate it,” I return.

  “Hey…Just wanted to ask how are things going with you and Brooke. I know that has to be a little tricky given that she’s the coach’s daughter.”

  “It’s actually going very well,” I tell him, and it’s refreshing that I can say something that is truthful about Brooke’s and my relationship.

  “Coach told me the other day that you two will be getting engaged soon. That’s exciting.”

  Now we’re getting into tricky territory. Brooke and I have agreed to extend our charade a bit longer. We’ve also agreed to go ahead and do a fake engagement to get her dad settled down. But saying the words out loud, even with the best of intentions, makes me feel a little guilty. “Yeah…Soon.”

  Very soon, actually, but I don’t tell Christian that. I had a lengthy conversation with my mom just this morning about this topic.

  Christian stares at me a moment before saying, “Well, that’s great. I wish you the best of luck.”

  I stick my hand out for him and we shake. “It was good seeing you, Christian. Thanks for the words of encouragement.”

  “Any day,” he says, and turns back to his desk.

  To the left at the end of the corridor, I can see the conference room dead ahead at the next intersecting hall. The wall is made of glass and my gaze immediately locks on Brooke. They stay pinned on her as I walk down the hall toward her.

  I have to admit, beyond looking gorgeous, she looks to be in her element. She’s wearing a light gray skirt with a pale blue blouse. Her hair is pulled back into a fashionable twist and I’m actually surprised to see her wearing glasses. I didn’t know she needed them, but fuck, they look super hot on her. She looks like a sexy librarian.

  Standing at an easel set up at the end of a long conference room table, Brooke is pointing to a graph and talking to Sebastian, who is leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. I can’t hear what’s being said as the door is closed.

  I check out Sebastian for a moment. I’ve never met the man, but I know it’s him because I had looked up his bio on the team’s website when Brooke first told me that she might be working with him. He’s dressed in a suit, which is typical of all front office management, and he seems to be immersed in whatever Brooke is saying. They engage in a back-and-forth conversation for a moment and Brooke shakes her head before moving to the conference room table where there are all kinds of documents spread across it. She starts combing through until she finds what she’s looking for. Bending slightly at the waist, she places one palm flat on the table and with the other flips a few pages. When she finds what she needs, she taps her finger on it. Her neck cranes and she looks at Sebastian while still tapping the document, saying something to him. He in turn pushes off the wall and moves to stand beside her.

  I’m almost at the conference room door when he bends over to take a closer look at the document she is referencing and puts his hand on her lower back as he does so.

  It’s a bold move.

  Intimate.

  It fucking pisses me off.

  I shove the conference room door at the same time I see Brooke jerk away from his touch. The door slams into the adjacent wall, and Sebastian jumps about a foot in the air as he turns to me with wide eyes. I give only the briefest of glances to Brooke, but I find her glaring at Sebastian in reproach.

  The fact that Brooke thinks it’s as inappropriate as I do makes my rage burn h
otter and I come barreling around the end of the conference room table to get at him.

  I vaguely hear Brooke gasp, “Oh shit.”

  I don’t give any more thought than that, as I am entirely focused on Sebastian, whose eyes have now started bugging out of his head because a six-foot-five enraged hockey player is barreling toward him. He retreats until his back hits the wall and then my forearm is against his throat, with my other hand splayed across his chest to pin him in place.

  “Bishop,” Brookes says in a sharp voice. “Back off.”

  I ignore her, keeping my eyes pinned on Sebastian. “Did she ask you to touch her?”

  Sebastian shakes his head furiously, eyes filled with fear.

  “Did she in any form or fashion indicate to you that she was interested in you in any way?” I ask him.

  Again he shakes his head.

  “This is your only warning. Touch her again and I’ll break whichever arm you use to do the touching.”

  “Bishop,” Brookes says in an exasperated voice.

  I continue to ignore her. Leaning in, I put my face just a little bit closer to Sebastian’s. “No one touches what is mine.”

  Okay, that came out a little like…like…I should run over and pee on Brooke or something.

  Shaking my head, I immediately release Sebastian. He nods his head effusively at me. “I got it. Didn’t mean anything by it. I wasn’t thinking. It won’t happen again.”

  Jerking my head toward Brooke, who I note is now standing there with her arms crossed and glaring at me, I order him, “Apologize.”

  I listen as Sebastian gives a long, and I’ll admit heartfelt, apology to Brooke. He then turns to look at me with his eyebrows raised, questioning whether or not I will demand anything else of him.

  I’m done, though. I think I made a good point. I tell Sebastian, “If you don’t mind, I would like to take my girlfriend out to lunch. Do you need some time to finish up this meeting?”