Bishop: A True Lover's Story

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So this is Town Center? Nice. Bishop had ridden past it a few times but had never ventured down the streets and into the shops. It was a trendy hangout location with a lot of hip restaurants, bars, coffee shops, boutiques, a popular courtyard that showcased local musicians, and even a brewery. It was the most up-and-coming area in Hampton Roads. The luxury condos in the thirty-eight story skyscrapers in the midst of it all were so expensive Bishop could only blink at the crazy prices. Town Center was the place to be, to hang out… if a man’s pockets were deep enough.

He parked the truck in the lot closest to Market Street and sat there a moment, taking in his surroundings. People milled about on terraces that overlooked the city. Women and men ambled along the clean sidewalks, laughing and enjoying life, looking carefree. He felt a culture shock. His clothes were decent enough, but he was still feeling self-conscious. And for the briefest moment he wished Trent was there. This is stupid. Get out the truck. It’s just Royce.

He triple-checked the name Royce had sent of the restaurant with the letters on the door. Gordon Biersch? He didn’t know what kind of name that was or who it was, but it must’ve had everything to do with beer. Because the first thing he saw as he approached the hostess stand was a long bar with beer taps for miles. Behind large clear doors were huge steel containers with wiring and tubes running along the ceiling. Holy shit. He was tall enough to see over the crowd in the bar area, scanning the heads for honey blond hair.

“Hello. Welcome to Gordon Biersch. How many in your party?” the hostess asked politely.

Bishop stopped his search to give her his attention. “I’m meeting someone.”

“What’s the name of—?”

“Bishop.”

He spun around when he heard his name called and felt the light caress across his shoulder blades. Royce was standing there looking as sexy and enticing as he remembered. Shredded skinny jeans and an almost sheer, baby blue T-shirt. Bishop’s body reacted sharply, and he had to stop himself from pulling Royce to the nearest dark corner.

“Don’t look at me like that, Bishop. You’re the one who wanted to talk first.” Royce used air quotes when he said talk.

“I do.” Bishop found his voice, but he didn’t recognize it. He was practically breathless. He needed one of those beers.

“Come on. We have a table over here,” Royce said, gripping his hand and guiding him farther into the bar section.

There were curved booths along the partition that separated them from the dining room. On their side were high-top tables and longer ones to accommodate bigger parties that wanted to get tipsy together. He wasn’t expecting such a dense crowd on a Monday. Bishop frowned, remembering that Royce said he’d be alone. “We?”

“They’re leaving. We’re all done now. This is my poly-sci study group, Bishop,” Royce said as he approached a table that had two young women sitting there and a guy wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a displeased sneer.

That wasn’t really a proper introduction, but since it did look like they were packed to go, he didn’t overthink it.

“Evening,” Bishop said, taking a seat on the end. One woman gave him a nice greeting, the other even reached over to shake his hand. However, sneering dude made a show of closing his thick textbook and shoving it into his raggedy book bag. Bishop didn’t have a chance to assess what the guy’s problem was—but he had a pretty good idea—before the waitress approached the table and set a long single page menu in front of him.

“And what are you drinking this evening?” she asked, sounding too bubbly for a quarter to ten at night. “You must be the super smart one, huh? You don’t need to study, you can show up two hours late, learn everything in ten minutes then spend the rest of the night drinking.”

The girls at the table laughed and Bishop smirked it off as well, but for some reason Royce was looking like a deer caught in headlights. Bishop couldn’t ask him anything about it, so he kept his attention on the server. “I’m not a student. I’ll have mozzarella sticks and a Bud Light draft.”

The waitress smiled sweetly at him. “We don’t have either of those.”

What kind of bar didn’t have cheese sticks or Bud? Bishop glanced over to see Royce with his head in his hands.

“Shit. I knew this would happen.” Royce took Bishop’s menu from between his fingers and began pointing at some of the bigger headlines. “This is um, says Brewery Starters. It’s the appetizer or starting dishes. Then wings are here. Tacos… lots of different types.”

Bishop took his menu back, wondering what the fuck had possessed Royce to do that. He’d never done that before. Years ago, before he’d known I couldn’t read. But that was then, and this was now. Bishop saw the uptight guy across from him trying to hide his smile. Bishop felt his neck heat as all eyes landed on him, but he played it cool. This wasn’t his first dance. Bishop glanced over at the bar. “I didn’t pay attention when I came in. It’s my first time here.”