“No, don’t!” He tries to prevent me from clambering out of his lap, but his face is contorted into a grimace of pain.

I wriggle free and scramble to the other side of the couch. As soon as I’m no longer grinding my lady parts on his junk, he cups himself, then slams his head against the couch cushions a couple of times while he continues to groan and swear. “I just want some goddamn friction! Is that too much to ask for?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for friction.” I’m all pitchy and breathless.

He rolls his head toward me, gaze moving over me in a hot, angry sweep. “I managed to whack off in the shower yesterday. It didn’t feel awesome, but at least I got a little relief.” He jabs an annoyed hand toward the obvious bulge behind his hand. “This is damn well torture.” He’s still cupping himself protectively—as if he’s worried I’m going to spontaneously hump him. He was the one who pulled me into his lap, not the other way around.

“It’s probably divine intervention or something.” I avert my gaze before I can do something even stupider than trying to make out with him, like offering him a handy or a blow job to take the edge off.

He opens his mouth to respond, but his phone buzzes on the coffee table and his brother’s name flashes across the screen. At the same time mine flashes with a new message. Thank God for poorly timed interruptions. I pick up my phone, even though the message is from Joey, which I’m not at all interested in checking. But at least now I’m not staring at Bishop’s bulge. I can feel his eyes on me as he reaches for his phone.

“Ah shit,” he grumbles.

“Is everything okay?” I side-eye him so I don’t have to look directly at him.

“My brother can’t find his freaking insulin.”

“Is he at home?”

“Yeah.” He hits the call button and brings his phone to his ear. I can hear Nolan’s muffled voice. “You check the coffee table . . . the fridge . . . the linen closet? Fuck. If I tell you where I keep it, then I’m going to have to find another place to put it so you don’t lose it. You what? Jesus, Nolan. How the hell did you find it?” He runs an aggravated hand through his hair. “I’ll be right there. We’ll be talking about this shit, though. I was in the middle of something.” He ends the call. “I gotta go. He found my spare earlier today and now he can’t find either kit, and he’s been looking for an hour already.”

“Oh God, that’s not good.” I follow him to the door.

“No. It’s really not. I wish he’d take this more seriously. One day I’m not going to be here to save his ass.”

“You know, you can keep a couple doses here if you need to, just in case.”

“That might be a good idea.” He steps out into the hall, crutch braced under one arm. “Oh, and this discussion isn’t over.” He motions between our crotches.

I roll my eyes. “I think it would be better if we chalked that up to hormones and pretend it never happened.”

Nolan opens the door before Bishop can argue. He looks from Bishop to me without making eye contact and grimaces. “Sorry for the interruption.”

“You should be, asshole. You ruined my night.”

“Let me know if you need any help,” I offer.

Bishop waves me off, and they disappear into his apartment. I close the door and lean against it, running my fingers along the edge of my jaw where Bishop bit me and down to my neck where he sucked the skin. I rush to the bathroom and flip on the light. The spot is flushed pink, and there are tiny crescents from where his teeth were.

The near kiss is the only thing I can think about when I get into bed. And it follows me into my dreams. I don’t need the complications that come with getting involved with Bishop, but I don’t know that I’m going to be able to keep my crotch from gravitating to his if I find myself in a situation like that again.

CHAPTER 18

RESISTANCE IS FUTILE

Stevie

Joey corners me the next morning at work and tries to ask me all kind of questions about Bishop and what’s going on between us.

“I’m helping him rehab, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your big yap shut about that.”

Joey crosses his arms and leans against the locker beside mine. A tuft of hair peeks out from under his arm, and I imagine his armpit troll suffocating. “It looks like a hell of a lot more than rehab going on. Does he know we used to date? I get it, Stevie, you need a rebound, but this really isn’t a good way to get back at me. Who’s going to get hurt in the end?”

It frustrates the hell out of me that he automatically assumes I’m hooking up with Bishop as a means to get over his idiotic ass. “What are you trying to do here, Joey? Give me relationship advice?”

“I don’t want you to do something you end up regretting.”

I slam my locker shut, wishing his fingers would get caught in it. I remind myself that I’m at work and that his goal is to rile me up and get a reaction. There is no damn way I’m going to give him the satisfaction. “I’ve already done something I regret. I dated you for a year. I think that’s going to stay at the top of my list for a while.”

Joey steps to the right when I do, blocking my way out. I want to punch him in the groin. He puts his hands up in mock surrender, or like he’s trying to corral me. “Look, I know you can hold a grudge like nobody’s business, Stevie, but do you know his reputation? Have you seen the kind of women he dates?”

“I don’t hold grudges.”

“You’re still mad at me for making one little mistake.”

“Boning someone who wasn’t me on my birthday is not a little mistake.”

He ignores that and shoves his phone in my face. Apparently he’s been busy stalking Bishop on social media. The hashtag #BishopWinslowSighting is typed into the search bar. “Look at this.”

“Why are you checking out Bishop in his underwear?”

“I’m not checking him out!” Joey looks over his shoulder to make sure we’re still alone. Unfortunately we are. “There are tons of these pictures, and lots of them are recent. Like within the last couple of months there are at least half a dozen. Do you really want to get involved with a guy like this?”

To a normal person, what Joey is showing me would imply that Bishop is a ladies’ man. But I happen to be privy to information regarding the women who are in and out of Bishop’s apartment, and I know they’re his brother’s friends. I even recognize one of the pics as Nolan’s most recent sleepover friend from last week. All the photos have been taken in Bishop’s apartment, and half of them are blurry, as if they were snapped on the sly. In some Bishop doesn’t seem to realize he’s being caught on camera, although in a few he’s covertly flipping the bird by scratching his chin or his temple with his middle finger.

I can easily explain this, but it’s almost better that Joey thinks he’s some womanizing douchebag. There’s even gratification in his believing it’s true. “It’s really none of your business, is it?”

“Fine. I’ll drop it.”

“Look at you, finally getting it after all this time.” Once again I try to step around him, but he blocks my way.