A Favor for a Favor Page 59
“Like fungus.”
I chuckle quietly. “We’re quite the messed-up pair.”
“Everyone has a demon or two, Stevie. You just gotta learn how to live with them and find other people who think all your good parts outweigh the bad.” Bishop gives my neck a squeeze and drops his hand. “You ready to go home?”
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
When we get back to the apartment, I fully expect Bishop to come in so we can do his PT and deal with the decorations. But when we reach my door, he pulls me in to him. At first I don’t get what’s going on, and then I realize Bishop is hugging me.
I’m slow to react, but eventually I wrap my arms around his waist and settle my palms on his broad back, the muscles flexing under the skin. I rest my cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt, listening to his heart thumping steadily. He smells really good, like greasy takeout, but also faintly of cologne.
I realize that this is the first time Bishop has hugged me on purpose. It doesn’t escape me that it’s also the first time he’s really opened up to me about his life and who he is, or that it’s also been an emotional day and maybe that’s why he’s being all . . . affectionate.
Eventually he leans back, and I tip my chin up so I can see his face. His expression is serious and intense, although that’s fairly common for him. I’m pretty sure I have burger breath, so I make sure I exhale through my nose.
His gaze moves over my face like a gentle caress. “We need to talk about last night.” His arms are wrapped around me, and I’m still shocked by the hug, so it takes me several long seconds to process his words.
I let my palms settle on his forearms. “We can pretend it didn’t happen, can’t we?”
“Is that what you want?”
I shrug and stare at his Adam’s apple. What I want is for him to tip my chin up and press his lips to mine. But all I can think about is what Joey said about him being a rebound, how Bishop dismissed it, how I don’t want to use him, and how I should be focused on his rehab and not what dating him would be like.
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.