Royce shook his head. “It’s a study group. They should be gone by the time you get there. I’ll just hang at the bar or something.”
Bishop needed to leave, he did. He knew Royce was flirting with him but he couldn’t think with his cock. But damn. Five fucking years. He did want to feel Royce shudder in his arms but certainly not yet. “Let’s talk tonight.”
Royce blinked a few times. “Okay. Then I’ll see you tonight.” Royce frowned up at him again as if he was seeing something he didn’t like.
Sly may have been right about his ex. Royce was high maintenance, demanding, and oftentimes, mean. He only cared about one person… himself. And Bishop thought that used to be enough for him, that that was all he deserved. But he’d matured over the last five years, having grown up the hard way. Prison had a way of turning a boy into a man whether they were ready or not.
“Bye, Bishop.” Royce turned and hurried back inside. Bishop stood a moment with his hands limp at his sides, his body still vibrating from being touched.
Chapter Four
Bishop
When Bishop left the alley he saw Trent leaning against a rundown dry cleaners with a white Styrofoam to-go container in one hand and a large coffee in the other. When he was almost to him, Trent thrust the box at his chest. “We’re freaking late as shit. Here’s the decent meal you wanted so badly. It’s cold. And so is your coffee.” Trent practically tossed the cup into his hand then started walking back in the direction they’d come.
Bishop didn’t let his annoyance show. Instead, he followed a little way behind his friend to let him stew in his anger alone because currently his own mind was racing with thoughts of his date tonight… he had a date. What the hell am I going to say to him? How would he get Royce to see that he’d changed and was a different man? Still someone he could be proud of regardless of his IQ score.
Sitting next to Trent on the bus, Bishop hurried to eat his gummy pancakes and cool eggs. It was better than starving all day, and since he hadn’t been home he also didn’t have his lunch cooler. That meant he’d have to purchase fast food on their break, which he hated. They only had two options in the area they were working today—eating a greasy burger, or heaven forbid, some Taco Bell and their damn mystery meat.
“Ya know. You keep fussing at me about moving forward, looking ahead, forgetting the past. Are you just spouting this bullshit to me? Because it damn sure doesn’t seem like you’re taking that advice. Royce is in the past.” Trent spoke up, after riding in silence for twenty-five minutes and staring out of the window as the bus moved them deeper into another adjoining city—Chesapeake.
“I’m not going backwards, Trent,” Bishop mumbled. “Not trying to, anyway.”
“You think he wants something more than your dick?” Trent glared at him.
Bishop bristled in his seat. Fuck. He couldn’t ignore that he was punching himself in the back of the skull with that very same question. “I guess I’ll see tonight.”
“You’re going out with him? Man! I knew it!” Trent yelled, making the bus driver raise her eyes to her mirror. Her narrowed gaze returned to road when Trent lowered his voice. “Unbelievable. He was practically humping you in that alley like a horny Rottweiler with his pink thingy hanging out. I can’t believe you’re being so blind.”
“Sometimes a man has to see things for himself,” Bishop said calmly.
He stood fifteen minutes later and stepped off the air-conditioned HRT bus and into the scorching sun. His forehead heated fast and the beads of sweat were beginning to roll down his temple. Damn. He was gonna roast today. At least he had his black bandanna in his back pocket; that would keep the sweat out of his eyes. Bishop didn’t have his gear, his cooler, or his wide-brimmed hat. Shit. Maybe Mike had an extra hat in the truck somewhere.
Bishop doubled his speed, realizing they were now over thirty minutes late. He heard the riding mowers and blowers already going as he made his way across Volvo Parkway to the small strip mall they did on Mondays. He and Trent hurried onto the trailer and began unpacking the other weed eaters. He also grabbed his hedge trimmers and pruning shears. Bishop checked the grounds for his boss, but he didn’t see him. He must be on the back side. Good. He and Trent got on the piece of property closest to the street, closest to passers-by. Mike liked him to be responsible for the designer beds and ground beautification.
Bishop realized it was lunch time when he saw the rest of the guys began to work their way back to the trailer from various parts of the property. He and Trent were both trying to avoid eye contact with their boss as he strolled by them, speaking to Manny about the prospect of a new contract in Virginia Beach. Manny was Mike’s best friend, had been for the last twenty-plus years, he was the manager and Bishop was the crew leader. It hadn’t taken him long to earn that title, especially after his designs started to make them way more money. He didn’t stop shaping the wide, four-foot, Dwarf Holly bush, paying extra attention to the fine details, noticing if even a twig was out of place.