Edison caught the magazine before it could fall to the floor. When Skylar left, Edison felt as if he could breathe again. It was a shame that he held his breath around him anyway. It wasn’t a second later before Edison tossed the magazine onto the table beside him.
“Good for you,” Bishop said. He gave Edison a look he didn’t quite catch—maybe an expression of understanding—then went up to the cash register to make his purchase.
Edison didn’t think Bishop had been paying attention to them anymore. He’d cowered like a spineless puppy in front of his co-worker, so he thought Bishop was disgusted at his weakness. Or maybe Bishop was just being nice and humoring him, before he punched him in the gut in the parking lot. Edison was next and he didn’t bother feeling some type of way when Bishop finished his transaction and left without another glance in his direction.
Nice. Typical.
Edison unlocked his car door with the fob and got inside, tossing his books onto the passenger seat. He cranked his AC up again and sat there a second, wishing he did have some place to go that was more fun than his kitchen. But the loud courtyard in Town Center or the bustling bars were not appealing to him. Skylar was right. He acted like a dang grandma sometimes. Chastising his employees for wearing skimpy clothes, droning on about etiquette and good work habits, or admonishing them for partying at all hours… on a weekday, gasp.
His stomach tried to show its attitude at only having a protein box and a cold, vanilla latte at the café, as if wondering what happened to the beef shanks it had been promised. He’d eat one or two of them with a salad tomorrow. Edison didn’t call himself being on a diet, but over the past couple of years he’d been mindful now of how he prepared his food and how much he ate at once, with a few slip-ups here and there. Still, he wasn’t disappointed with his current weight, some people were born big-boned—it was genetics. But he did want to be healthy. His father had died of a heart attack at sixty-one years old and he swore he didn’t want to end up that way too. So, he was trying to make life changes, not temporary diet changes. Those never worked for him.
Maybe I’ll go by Unc’s house and hang out there—
Edison hated the sharp yelp that escaped his throat at the sound of hard knuckles knocking against his driver-side window. Fudge! He caught his breath then glanced outside, only able to see dark clothes covering a massive body that obstructed most of his view of the outside world. Edison swallowed thickly—it was Bishop. Had he come back to teach him a lesson? Suddenly, the AC felt like it’d been switched over to heat. Well there was no damn way he was getting out of his car. His pop didn’t raise no fool and this wasn’t about to be an episode of Parking Lot Wars. Looking around but trying not to appear too frantic, Edison forgot how to lower the window. He stared at the controls on his door, then pressed the wrong button, sending his rear window down. He took a deep breath and got it right on the third try.
Edison tugged at his tie and tried to sound casual as if he wasn’t sweating through his clothes. “H-hey, Bishop. How’s it going?”
“Good.”
Edison chanced a glance upwards but even bending forward a bit, he still had a straight view of Bishop’s crotch… so close to his window. Edison turned his head quickly, facing forward and concentrating on not making eye contact with that sizable bulge again.
“You okay?” Bishop asked.
Edison didn’t know why his chest overreacted with every small statement Bishop made. The man didn’t say many words, but what he did say was so much. And his voice, it was like nothing he’d ever heard, not even in his dreams. The sound deep, and raspy… almost guttural. The way Bishop sort of frowned when he spoke, even when asking how someone was doing, made it sound too intimidating to answer. As if behind Bishop’s words were deep-rooted emotions that the other person couldn’t handle.
“Edison.” Bishop stooped lower, his ruggedly-fine face coming closer into view.
He met Bishop’s eyes and held them the best he could. They were just so darn dark and deep. Edison was moving in his seat, yes, and he was rubbing his wet palms down his thighs, but he didn’t look away. He wanted Bishop to say his name again, with that air of command laced with concern. He cleared his throat and gathered himself together since Bishop obviously wasn’t there to maul him. “Yeah, sure I’m good. I was just trying to decide where to go hang out, ya know.” Edison shook his head. Stupid.