He raps on the top of the table and turns his somewhat wary smile on me. “So, uh, looks like everything is covered for decorations, huh?”

Bishop took care of everything the day after we picked up the suitcase and had that talk in his car. Since then he’s been making Joey sweat over it. Just this morning he sent an email with an itemized list of what’s being delivered. We don’t even need to pick anything up. “Looks like it.”

“Is there an invoice? We’re supposed to pass that on to management. They said to keep it under a grand, and there’s a lot of stuff on that list that looks kind of expensive.”

“It’s a donation.” I start packing up my lunch, uninterested in being anywhere near Joey right now.

“Oh, okay. I guess all we have to worry about is setup, then.”

“We’ll help with that!” Pattie and Jules collect their things as well, and we leave Joey alone in the staff lounge.

We still have another twenty minutes left in our lunch hour, so we take the opportunity to grab coffee from the shop across the street.

“You’re bringing Bishop to this thing, right?” Pattie asks.

And we’re back to talking about their favorite benched hockey player. “He doesn’t want to come to my freaking work event. Plus it’ll be all of those athletes who want to be professional hockey players. How much would that suck for him? He’ll be mobbed the entire night.”

All the people I work with have been cool about it when he drops by, but then they work with athletes who often eventually become professionals, so they know better than to fangirl or fanboy. People will be all over him, and I might indirectly end up in the fringes of his spotlight. I’m not sure how to feel about that.

“I bet he’ll want to come anyway.” Jules shoots a sly smile at Pattie.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” I don’t plan to ask him. He already did me a huge favor by getting my suitcase for me and helping me with the decorations, so I don’t want to put that on him too.

Later the same evening, I have Bishop’s leg thrown over my shoulder, and I’m almost lying on top of him to get the deepest stretch possible—the dude is flexible—and his leg hair is tickling my cheek.

“I can see down your top,” he groans.

“You’re the one who bitches about my hoodies irritating your sensitive skin.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say anything about not wearing a bra.”

“I am wearing a bra.” Hanging out with Bishop has grown increasingly confusing recently. He still makes inappropriate comments, and we spend a lot of time together, but unless we’re in front of Joey or he’s hugging me good night, he never puts his hands on me.

“Not a very good one if I can still see your nipples through the fabric.”

I release him from the stretch. “Would you look at that? You managed to hold that for thirty seconds with only a minimal bitchfest about something.”

“Well, you were crushing my dick, which is trying to react to your nipples, so I think my bitchfest is warranted. Are we done with the torture for tonight?”

I eye his crotch. “I think we’ve probably both had enough.”

He gets up off the floor with only the smallest of grunts. He glances at the clock. “Shit. The game’s starting.” He rolls over the back of the couch and stretches out along the length of it. He grabs the remote from the coffee table, turns the TV on, and flips channels until hockey comes on. Minnesota is playing Vegas, and Seattle is facing off against them next week. It will be Bishop’s first game back on the ice.

“Make yourself comfortable.” I roll up the yoga mat and tuck it away before I head for the kitchen.

“Wanna grab me a beer? There should be a few left in there from the weekend.”

“Anything else you want? Should I make you a sandwich? Maybe a fruit and cheese platter?”

“Nah, I’m good. Maybe later.”

“Obviously you missed the sarcasm.”

He tips his head back and grins widely. “Calm down, I’m kidding.”

I return to the living room with a beer for each of us. Bishop moves his long legs enough for me to sit down and then stretches them out over my lap. It’s his way of not-so-subtly asking me to massage his thighs postsession.

“That fundraiser-event thing at your work is next Saturday, right?”

“Mmm.” I tip my head back and take a swig of my beer, then rest the bottle high up on his thigh, sort of near his junk.

He doesn’t react, just tucks one of his arms behind his head, making the muscles flex. “Is that an mmm, yes?”

“It’s next Saturday. You’ll be coming back from your away series. You’re getting regular massages from the team therapist, and your team PT will make you stretch while you’re away, right? And you’ll use the sauna. I’ll email him later this week.” His team PT and I correspond directly because it’s easier for both of us. Also, I’ve discovered that Bishop will omit information if he’s the one passing it along.

“What time does the thing start?”

“Not until five, but I have to be there early to set up, so we won’t have a session until Sunday.”

“My flight lands at noon on Saturday. What time do you have to leave to help set up?”

“I plan on getting as much done as I can Friday night, but I don’t want to miss the game, so we’ll see. Pattie and Jules are going to help me. We’ll go in early Saturday morning to finish up, and I’ll probably get ready at Pattie’s. It depends on timing and stuff.”

“You wanna take my ride and make it easier on yourself?”

I pause with my beer half an inch from my mouth. “You’re offering to lend me your SUV?”

“You’ve driven it plenty. You don’t have a lead foot, and you can parallel park like a boss. It’s just sitting there otherwise, so why not?”

“Uh, I don’t know, because guys’ cars are like their girlfriends?”

“Mine isn’t. And the tailpipe doesn’t make a very good hole to stick my dick in, since it’s hot but not wet and tight.”

I dig my thumb into the muscle above his knee.

“Ahh! Fuck. Stop!” Bishop flails and grabs my hand. He threads his fingers through mine to keep me from doing it again. “That was nasty and unnecessary.”

“So were the words coming out of your mouth.”

“Whatever. Anyway, back to this work shindig. Is it fully formal or semiformal?”

“Uh, formal, I guess. Suit and tie for guys, nice dress for girls.” I’m going shopping with Pattie and Jules early next week.

“Okay. So since I’m landing at noon, I should be home by, like, one, one thirty at the latest. You can swing by and pick me up at, like, two thirty.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Just sorting out timelines in my head. You can pick me up at two thirty, or whenever is good for you.”

I don’t bother to hide my annoyance at his freaking entitlement. “I already told you, I can’t fit in a PT session that day. I have to get my hair done and do my makeup and maybe even my nails.” I’m not big on self-pampering and that kind of thing, but it’s a formal event, and Pattie and Jules are excited to get all dressed up and looking pretty, so I figure I might as well do it too.