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“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Oh my god. No one has ever shown me respect by calling me “ma’am”. One little incident with Bishop and this boy suddenly found his southern manners.
“It’s okay,” I say.
“Not it’s not okay,” Bishop says literally shaking him like a wet rag. Somehow the boy’s flannel doesn’t rip. At least that’s one good thing about being a hipster…they do buy some really expensive clothes that hold up well. I bet when he was studying the thread count on the tag he never expected he would need it like this. “She’s letting you off easy because she’s a woman and she’s forgiving. I’m not. And I never forget a face.”
Bishop rolls his fist literally turning the boy in the air to face him. “Especially one that’s pissed me off…and tried to take what’s mine,” he says before he takes a big step forward and heaves the guy into a big stack of hay bales.
It’s not hard to see he gets the wind knocked out of him, but he manages to stumble to his feet and wobble away somewhere.
“How do you like this one,” Bishop says as if nothing just happened.
I shake my head in disbelief and smile at his transition from what just happened to our pumpkin challenge.
“It looks…perfect!” I say.
“So I win, then?”
“Yes, you win,” I say going up on my tiptoes as he gives me a hug and a big kiss on the cheek.
“This should be on the house after what just happened, but let me go pay real quick.”
“I can go with you,” I say.
“Nah, you can just enjoy this nice place right here.”
“It looks like it belongs in a postcard doesn’t it?” I say taking in all the pumpkins and the darkness and the light posts that shine on them. And the straw paths are so quaint and cute too.
“You belong in a postcard, with me, on some far off deserted island.”
“I can free up my schedule real quick,” I say and he flashes me that smirk.
“I’ll be right back and we can talk about it.”
“What if someone else tries to talk to me while you’re away?” I ask, just teasing him as he turns to go.
“Believe me. They won’t. And if someone else tries the next time I’ll have to ask you to turn your head while I take care of it,” he says as he turns back around to go find the cash register.
I replay his words in my mind realizing he’s one hundred percent serious about what he just said.
And I’m ninety-nine percent sure I wouldn’t want to turn my head, and I’m not quite sure what to think about that.
But I am one hundred percent sure about one thing. This is going to be the best Halloween ever.
Chapter Twelve
Bishop
I pull into my driveway wanting to take her inside and finish what we started at the haunted house.
But just like it wasn’t right then, it’s not right now.
But damn it’s not stopping me from thinking about it.
Or her either. I can see she’s nervous, fidgeting with the bottom of those shorts. One second she’s got a white knuckle grip on them and the next second she’s smoothing them out.
I want to grab them by the sides and yank them down my damn self. No fidgeting, just flicking…my tongue across, around, and on top of what’s underneath.
“Thanks for a really fun evening,” she says as she reaches for the handle.
“I’m getting out too,” I say, reminding myself out loud not to grab her and pull her body into mine.
“Oh,” she says as her hand lingers on the handle as her gaze lingers on my lips.
Suddenly I open my own door and get out. I couldn’t say anything even if I would have tried. It would have just come out like a hungry groan and I’m not sure I could have stopped myself.
But I’ll be claiming her soon enough, I know that with one hundred percent certainty.
And the look in her eye tells me she does too.
But tonight I’ll conjure up ever ounce of self-discipline I have and walk her to her door like a gentleman. She can go inside and bask in the glow of our time together and I can go spend some time underneath an ice cold shower.
But no matter what little tricks I try I know none of them will work.
My blood runs hot for her and I will have her.
Tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
October 31st (the next day - Halloween)
Penelope
“You okay,” my classmate Teresa asks me in our morning Business Management 101 class.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say.
“Really, because that’s the third time in a row I just asked you,” she says.
“I was just thinking about what the professor said,” I say, trying to hold back a giggle.
Why? Because I’m not talking about this professor. I’m talking about Professor Boudreaux, or Bishop as he insists I call him.
