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“Just remember: she was mine before she was yours. You’re welcome for breaking her in.” He winks, still smirking.
“You son of a bitch.” I lunge for him but end up in a choke hold before I can do something really stupid, like rearrange Corey’s face.
“What the hell is going on here?” Alex’s voice barely cuts through the haze of red. “Bishop, stop fucking around. King, why the hell aren’t you suited up? You need to be on the ice in two minutes.”
“Just messing around. He’s on it, Coach.” Bishop releases me and claps me on the shoulder. “Channel the anger on the ice. Every puck coming at you is that fucker’s balls.”
I run my hands down my face, trying to find some calm. I don’t like the way Corey is suddenly trying to get under my skin. It’s obviously intentional, and I’m not sure what the purpose of it is.
I finish dressing and try to clear my head and get in the zone. Once I hit the ice, I search for Queenie in the arena. I spot her up in the box with the rest of the girls. Which is good: she’ll be too close to Corey if she sits behind the bench.
I take my place in net and focus on the game, not the one player who gets under my skin. I guess now I know how Bishop felt when he and Rook weren’t seeing eye to eye. It’s hard not to be preoccupied.
I take a few deep breaths and remind myself that later tonight I’ll have Queenie in my bed, under me—or on top, or both—and that she’s finally admitted how she feels about me. She’s my raging rapids, and I’m her calm lake at dawn. We’re good. Perfect. She’s going to meet my family, and they’ll love her. Corey can’t touch what we have.
I do what Bishop suggested and channel all the negative energy into protecting the net. It’s incredibly effective, especially the part where I envision Corey’s flattened face on the puck every time it gets close to the net. We end up with a shutout, which means I feel fantastic about the game, and most of the negative energy seems to fade away with the back pats and my teammates complimenting me on a job well done.
I’m in a great mood as I shower and get ready to meet up with the girls, who are likely already at the bar. Corey’s too busy with whatever’s happening on his phone to pay attention to me, which is probably good for both of us. I’m riding a high, and I would gladly knock him out if he decides we need to have a go at each other.
“You’re going to stay for a couple of beers tonight, right?” I ask Bishop as I shrug into my dress shirt.
“That’s a rhetorical question, right?” Bishop makes an adjustment in his underwear. They always have a ridiculous pattern on them. Tonight it’s a pineapple and olive dancing together. It’s hard not to look at them.
“Uh, just making sure. I think I might have a drink.” I fasten the top button on my shirt and make sure the collar is smooth.
Bishop’s brow quirks. “You all right?”
“Yeah. I’m great, actually. My family’s coming to visit, so Queenie’ll get to meet them, and I told her how I feel about her, and she feels the same, so we’re solid. It’s good. Everything is perfect. I think I might ask her to move in with me. For real this time. Maybe after the holidays. That’s not too soon, is it?”
Bishop holds up a finger, taps his lips a couple of times, and then looks at me like I’m the stupidest person on the face of the earth. “You realize I’m the last person you should ever ask for relationship advice, right? I told the woman I’m married to that her face was a boner killer.”
I cringe, because that’s a horrible thing to say, let alone to the woman who willingly sleeps beside him every night. “That was before you realized who she was, though.”
“Yeah, but the point is, I’m not the person you want to ask for advice. I mean, I’d tell you to pin her the fuck down before she realizes she’s made a mistake, if you were me, but you’re not me. You’re likable and friendly and shit. I’m lucky I’m nice to look at and that I can give my wife multiple orgasms; otherwise I’d be fucked, man.”
“Is that a common thing?”
“Is what a common thing?” Bishop works on tying his tie.
“Multiple orgasms.”
He looks away from his reflection for a moment. “You asking me for pointers in the bedroom?”
“No. Of course not. I know what’s effective with Queenie. I just didn’t realize multiples were that common.” I’m actually a little disappointed. Although I won’t admit that to Bishop, or anyone else. Jessica was always very . . . proper. And basically silent. It didn’t matter how many questions I asked, how much direction I sought, everything was always “fine” or “nice.”
