Chapter Nineteen
Edison
“You got any plans this weekend, Edison?” Mila asked, turning off the lights around her desk.
“Nothing really.” Edison kept his head down while he packed his messenger bag, not wanting her to see him blush when he thought of Bishop coming over his house again. Last time had been... well, enlightening, to say the least. “Yard work.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “You were adamant about leaving on time today, I thought maybe you had a hot date with a bad boy.”
“Ha!” he yelled, because he didn’t know what else to say. A certain bad boy was all he’d been able to think of this past week. The ex-convict he’d invited into his home. He’d thought Bishop only looked the part. Rough around the edges, growly and intimidating because he was misunderstood. No. It wasn’t an act. Bishop was a real bad boy. One who had caressed his cheek when he was feeling like crap in a dark parking lot. One who constantly checked out his body as if he was a rump roast with all the trimmings. One who acted as if he enjoyed, and wanted to be in Edison’s company.
“You don’t have to sound so shocked. It wouldn’t be a terrible thing to have some fun, Edison. I swear you’re twenty-six going on sixty-six. Those books and flea markets can’t keep you warm, darling.” She waved on her way towards the lobby. “Have a good weekend. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Bright and early,” was his usual reply. Edison could feel the fluttering butterflies in his stomach. He’d been waiting for Friday forever, and it had nothing to do with the new book he’d just downloaded at lunch. He stalled around the empty office for a bit, making sure most of the support staff was gone. Edison glanced out of his window and saw that the ground crew had cleaned up for the day and were loading their equipment back onto the trailers. Edison hoped he’d run into Bishop so he could ask him how he wanted to do this evening.
In the elevator, he toyed with the button on his suit jacket, deciding to leave it open. He smoothed his hand over his sky-blue tie and took a deep breath. He could do this. He was an adult and so was Bishop, and he was going to make his intentions known. The moment he opened one of the doors, Bishop was standing at the bottom of the steps with Trent. Edison forgot what he was going to say as he took in Bishop’s strong form. He was dirty and sweaty from working in ninety degree heat all day, but damn if he didn’t look good enough to pounce on. He glanced up at Edison with those dark eyes, and his knees went weak at the smile that curved one side of Bishop’s wide mouth. The slightest of smiles but it was there. He played it cool as he walked down the steps, grateful he didn’t stumble, and stopped in front of them. “Good evening.”
“Evening,” Bishop said, barely opening his mouth, those piercing eyes roaming freely over Edison’s face.
“Pleasure to see you again,” Trent said with humor teasing his tone. “How was your day?”
Edison laughed when Bishop huffed in annoyance. Bishop’s friend was funny. He was shorter than Bishop, but he was muscular, and just as stocky. He had his hair cut close and had the same tanned, sun-warmed skin. He had brown eyes and full pink lips, a good-looking guy, but when coupled with his fun personality, he was quite attractive. Edison found himself getting sucked in, and laughed as Trent reached out to shake his hand.
He grasped Trent’s thick palm and shook it firmly, “It’s nice to see you too, Trent. And my day was good… really good. How about yourself?”
“B, this guy is unreal.” Trent grinned, then released Edison’s hand. “With crazy soft hands, too.”
“Bye, Trent,” Bishop growled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Edison’s dick jerked at the timbre of Bishop’s voice and the authority in his tone. He bit his bottom lip as he tried to inch his bag forward without either of them noticing. However, he didn’t think he’d fooled Bishop.
“Yeah, peace. See ya, Eddie.” Trent left without another word.
“Goodbye.” Edison waved. He glanced back up at Bishop and saw his eyes were smoldering. Edison didn’t know how he was going to do this. He was out of his element and far out of his league. He wasn’t a dater or a social butterfly. He’d been an introvert all his life. As an adolescent he’d grown up listening to the ramblings and old-timing ways of seventy-year-old men instead of hanging out at the oceanfront, or at Dave & Buster’s with his peers. Now, here he was at twenty-six with less sexual experience than a sixteen-year-old.
Bishop stepped closer. It was hard for him to think when Bishop took over his space and assaulted his senses. “You look nice.”