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“Uh,” I start, my knees nearly giving out. “I just wanted to wear it one last time before…”
I trail off when he stops three inches in front of my face.
“Now a good time to talk? Let’s go.”
Moments later, the two of us are in the locked dressing room, and Bishop towers over me, backing me into the corner.
“I’m not waiting a second longer. I need to know.”
“Bishop. Have you eaten or slept? You still don’t look right.”
“I’m a desperate man who only wants to eat sticky buns, but my girl won’t make them for me anymore.”
I correct him, “They’re not sticky buns. Those are different from cinnamon buns, and I’ll tell you why….”
“Jesus Christ, if you don’t realize I’m not talking about breakfast, I’m going to explode. I’m talking about you. I’m hungry for you. You’re my sticky bun. Now gimme.”
I have to laugh until I realize the slightly crazed look in his eye is completely serious. “Here?”
He nods slowly. “I’m going after what’s mine. God knows that other sap won’t fight for you, so I’m taking what belongs to me. You belong with me, Cherise. We belong together. I know you feel it.”
He’s not wrong. He’s so far from wrong I’m almost ready to forgive him for making a scene at my job. He’s so far from wrong that my dampening folds between my thighs grow wetter the longer I take in the entire picture of him: the disheveled, desperate, frustrated, demanding, jealous picture of him. And now, I don’t have a single reason to feel guilty for being aroused when my boss is close to me.
I admit I have the urge to let him suffer. Just a little bit longer.
“You were right about one thing. I honor my commitments. I’d never cheat on anyone.”
If his jaw ticked any more, he might break it.
“You should smile more, you know that?”
But instead of smiling, he quirks an eyebrow and grinds out, “Give me something to smile about.”
I swallow in response to seeing his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“I broke up with him.”
Bishop backs up about an inch. “What? When?”
“That’s the other thing I did in Charlotte.” Before I can finish speaking, Bishop has me surrounded. He towers over me, his hands going around to the small of my back.
“You did it,” he says. And for the first time in the one month I’ve known him, he smiles. Secluded in a bridal shop dressing room, I’m strangely happy I get this smile all to myself. The man has laugh lines. And dimples. Dimples! Who knew?
The first touch of Bishop’s lips against mine is as soft as feathers. But it feels like a thunderstorm pounds in my chest. He softly swipes instead of kissing, gently sweeping across my skin to my ear. His breath warms me as he says, “I can’t live without you, Cherise. Everything made sense when I met you, and when you left, I didn’t care about anything I thought was important before.”
My knees feel weak with the way Bishop’s lips lightly map out every inch of my neck, but I manage to speak. “For me, it was the opposite. I met you, and suddenly nothing made sense.”
Bishop freezes, his hands gripping my hips, and he looks at me. “Oh?”
I nod. “I was being pulled along in a way that I thought made sense, and you came along and undid all of that.”
The smile has melted slightly into confusion. “Then what are you doing here, at a dress fitting?”
“I wanted to try it on one last time. To see if I wanted to keep it. Just in case.”
Bishop rests his forehead against mine and says, “Sweetheart, you are gonna need a dress all right. But it ain’t gonna be the dress he wanted. It’s gonna be what you want. Every inch of your wedding is going to be your choice. Where you live, what you do, what you wear. Name it, and it’s yours.”
“I don’t care about the wedding unless you’re up there, standing under the arbor, waiting for me.”
