Bishop releases me but doesn’t put any distance between our bodies. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I shouldn’t have—”
I shake my head and cut him off before he can finish that sentence. “Things got intense. Let’s just forget about it.”
He’s silent for several long seconds. “Okay. If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”
“Okay.” I start to turn toward my apartment door. I want things to stop being awkward between us. The sooner we have a session, the easier it will be to get things to go back to normal.
Bishop wraps his hand around mine, stopping me from keying in my code. “I’m going to call off tonight’s session, and we can work on the decoration stuff tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow? Why not now? It’s not that late.”
“Just because you want to pretend nothing happened last night doesn’t mean it didn’t, Stevie. It’s been an emotional night for you, and if I come in right now, I’ll be inclined to deal with things that you don’t seem to want to.”
“Are you psychoanalyzing me?”
“More myself and the potential outcomes of my actions. I’ll go take a hot bath and do some stretches, and tomorrow we can go back to tormenting each other when emotions aren’t running as high.” He bends, and I feel the warmth of his lips against my crown.
I have to force my hands to stay at my sides and not wrap around his neck. I have to fight not to tip my chin up or take back what I said about pretending last night didn’t happen.
Bishop drops his hand, steps back, and winks. “Your hair smells a lot nicer tonight, bae.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He waits for me to let myself into my apartment. I stand with my eye pressed against the peephole and watch him unlock his door, confused about what happened and worried about the flutter in my chest.
CHAPTER 19
THE EVOLUTION OF FRIENDSHIP
Stevie
“So you’re just friends?” Pattie has asked this pretty much every other day since Bishop stopped by the clinic for the first time to pick me up, something he’s gotten in the habit of doing over the past couple of weeks.
“We’re friends, yeah.” I bite the end off a fried pickle. They’re oddly delicious, even when they’re no longer hot and crispy.
Pattie points a pita triangle covered in hummus at me. “Don’t think I didn’t see what you did there.”
“We see what you did there.” Jules motions between her and Pattie.
They exchange a look and turn their arched brows on me.
I don’t say anything else, because there is really nothing else to say. I’m still rehabbing him, and as I suggested, we pretend that the grind and almost-kiss never happened. But when I’m alone, in bed, it’s a whole different story.
“He’s supposed to be back on the ice next week, right?” Jules props her chin on her fist.
It’s annoying that everyone in the hockey-watching world is aware of Bishop’s recovery schedule. “Yup, and I’ve been asked to keep working with him, since they expect him to need more TLC once he’s back in the game.” Every time we have a session after his on-ice practices, he’s stiff and sore because he pushes himself too hard.
“I bet he’s going to need more TLC.” Pattie pokes her cheek with her tongue and makes suggestive hand gestures.
“It’s not like that.”
“You’re together all the time. You cut nights out with us short so you can fit in rehab sessions. He picks you up from wherever you are, even if it’s across town, and he video calls you when he’s away with the team. How is it not like that?”
He always wears a ball cap, a hoodie, and sunglasses when he picks me up from anywhere that isn’t the clinic. I didn’t even have to ask him to do it either. Because he gets me. Once he even wore a fake beard. It drew more attention than if he’d walked in in his damn underwear, since it was a Santa beard. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but we haven’t even kissed.”
They both freeze with food items halfway to their mouths.
“That is total bullshit,” Pattie says.
Jules nods her agreement. “I’ve seen him kiss you.”
“Let me rephrase: we have not exchanged saliva.”
“But, but . . . we’ve all seen him kiss you,” Pattie splutters.
They’re not wrong about the forehead and temple kisses; those are frequent and almost always when Joey is present. There was only that one time when things got out of hand and our sex parts met through clothing and his mouth was close to being on mine. I shake my head to clear the image of me riding his lap. “On the forehead or the temple, maybe, but not here.” I motion to my mouth.
“What about here?” Jules points at her crotch with a pita triangle. A glob of hummus drops into her lap. “Ah crap!” She grabs a napkin and starts dabbing at it under the table. “Man, now it looks like I have a jizz stain on my yoga pants.”
“Go to the bathroom and wash it off.”
“And miss this conversation about your not-boyfriend boyfriend? No way!”
“First of all, if I’m being kissed, it better be on the face lips before my nether ones; secondly, he is not my boyfriend.”
“Well, why the hell not?” Pattie tosses her balled-up napkin on the table.
“Because we’re just friends.”
“But you’re always together,” Jules says.
“Because I’m rehabbing him.”
“There has to be more going on.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but there isn’t.”
“Is this because of your brother?” Jules crosses her arms. “Is he the reason you two aren’t hooking up?”
“No.”
“Then what’s it about?”
“The season has started, and he wants back on the ice, so he’s focused on rehab, and so am I. He’s been working really hard, and it’s paying off, obviously. His determination is impressive.” And sexy. So, so sexy. It’s been incredible to watch him push himself right to the very limit of what’s comfortable. I’ve learned exactly where his line is and how to pull him back from it. It’s been gratifying for both of us to see him make such incredible progress over the past few weeks.
At that moment, my least favorite asshole drops into the seat beside me.
Joey doesn’t make a move to put his arm around me. I’m not sure exactly what Bishop said when he retrieved my suitcase, but Joey has backed right off. It’s been nice.
On the other side of that shiny, happy coin, he’s also started openly flirting with women in front of me. It’s more of an annoyance than anything. That stupid fundraiser-dinner thing with all the damn athletes is coming up soon, and I know he’s going to bring a date. It’s not that I care if he brings someone; it’s that I’m not interested in making small talk with his next victim. I realize that I haven’t wanted to cry about what happened in a while. Looks like I’m making progress too.
“How are you ladies doing today?” He shifts his chair so he’s angled toward me.
Pattie and Jules give him frosty smiles and respond at the same time with, “Fine.”