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“I’ll explain the situation.”
“Which is what, exactly?” I start pacing, trying to find a way to calm myself down, but the more time I have to let this sink in, the worse the panic gets. The hashtag #puckbunny is attached to the video. It’s essentially my worst nightmare come true.
“That we’re dating.”
“You can’t tell him that!”
Bishop crosses his arms, the furrow in his brow deepening along with the downturn of his lips. “Why not?”
I flail and pace some more. “Because . . . because you can’t! This looks so bad!” I’ve been made to look like a puck bunny. And now all the work we did to get Bishop back in the game means nothing because we’re eating each other’s faces. I made out with him at a work function. It makes me look anything but professional now. And any recommendation he might have given me is useless since everyone saw us playing tonsil hockey.
“Well, the easiest way for it to stop looking bad is if we tell people we’re dating.”
“But we’re not dating.”
Bishop pokes at his cheek with his tongue. “Are you still hung up on your douche ex?”
“What? No! Of course not.”
“Then why can’t we be dating? We spend all our free time together.”
“That was for PT.” I hear what he’s saying, and he’s right: it makes the most logical sense. But I can’t get out of the spiral of panic that this video incites. I’ll be right in the middle of Bishop’s limelight now that he’s back on the ice. The same limelight I’ve worked so hard to stay out of. The one that’s only ever given me grief the very few times I’ve been inadvertently caught up in it.
Until now it’s been blissfully peaceful. Sure, Bishop would pick me up in public places, but he always wore a hat and sunglasses, and I always had a hoodie to hide behind. At work no one would make a big deal of him coming to the clinic because everyone was used to athletes, and no one wanted to be the uncontrollable fan who loses their mind over someone they might one day have the honor of treating. Plus I work on a university campus, which is the last place anyone would ever expect an NHL player to hang out.
“Last night had fuck all to do with PT,” Bishop says.
“You haven’t touched a woman in how long? Emotions were running high. You’re on testosterone overload, which I totally get. You were doing me a favor, and we took it to the next level.” Stevie, stop talking! I know I’m spewing the most horrible BS and I need to stop, but I’m freaking out.
Bishop blinks slowly. “I thought we already established that this wasn’t a favor. It was me making sure that your dick ex knows that you’re not available and he doesn’t have a chance with you. Not ever again. That video makes things a lot easier, if you think about it.”
“Easier how?” All I can see is the nightmare this is going to be: people asking questions and wanting things from me because I know Bishop and I’m related to RJ. All the time I’ve spent protecting myself from the spotlight has been for nothing.
“You don’t have to hide behind hoodies and sunglasses anymore. I can pick you up whenever and wherever.”
I stop pacing and spin to face him. He’s still naked. And so am I. He still has a semi, and I’m anxious. “That can’t happen, Bishop. We can’t be seen in public together.”
“Why the hell not?”
Because I’ve worked too hard not to be Rook Bowman’s sister just to end up as Bishop Winslow’s girlfriend. My phone rings before I can open my mouth to share that, and like an idiot I answer the call.
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all morning! What the hell is going on?” Awesome. Now I get to deal with my angry brother.
“Hi, RJ.” I yank the bedsheet free and wrap it around myself, because it feels weird to talk to my brother when I’m not fully dressed.
“Seriously, Stevie? You’re making out with Winslow in public now?”
“Relax, RJ, it was just a kiss. It’s not like he stole my virtue or anything. That’s been gone since junior year of high school.”
Bishop makes a noise that sounds a lot like a growl, but my brother continues his angry tirade, forcing me to give him my attention. “I did not need to know that, and it’s not the point. Winslow was told to keep his damn hands off you while you were working together, and clearly that’s a bunch of bullshit. How long has this been going on?”
This has so much potential backlash: things I hadn’t considered in the heat of the moment, like Bishop getting in trouble. So I do the only thing I can think of as triage. “It was me. I kissed Bishop. He came with me to the event as a favor because Joey was going to be there with a date, and I didn’t want to go alone. This is on me; it’s my mistake.”
