His lean body is resting against my door frame, legs crossed and muscular arms crossed over his strong chest.
Broad shoulders strain against a black fitted T-shirt, all of which taper into a fit waist. Tree trunk size thighs that look about as dangerous as his massive hands that are attached to tan, veiny arms.
"Just needed the peace and quiet for a little bit, B," I say brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. Bishop made me feel. Whenever he was around, I brightened up instantly.
I didn't fool myself, I knew I was younger than him, and plus I was five feet something of legs, and more fucking legs. Raging lion’s mane red hair and a face with more freckles than skin. I wasn't B's type, even if I was of age.
But I couldn't explain that to my heart, she didn't care. She just wanted Bishop Maverick, and there was no telling her any different.
I was awkward when I wasn't on the ice. My form of communication scared boys my age off. I didn't want to talk about how cute they were. I wanted to talk about last night's game, or the new Call of Duty that I am absolutely dominating at.
It's as if guys thought I was an alien because I enjoyed sports and didn't have an obsession with boy bands. It was bad enough that I was taller than most of the guys in my grade, but I made it worse by being, 'more of a man' than they were.
Apparently boys like soft, dainty roses for partners, and I was a wildflower─stubborn, difficult, strong, and impossible to tame.
Talking to Bishop was like talking to Riggs and my dad. Easy. Natural. It was like skating. We just clicked. He didn't ask me why I never fixed my hair, or why I always wore band T-shirts. Hell, he bought me some of them, like the wicked Jimi Hendrix shirt I'm wearing now. He got it for me for Christmas last year.
He got me on a level other people didn't. When I was sad, he saw right through me. He'd take me to the ice, because he knew the only place that truly cheered me up was the rink. He knew that pizza cured my attitude, and Lemonhead candies were the only way you were getting your way.
He was my closest friend, my best friend. Of course, Riggs was my best friend too, but it had always been different with B.
My body is tucked into my nook in my room. My eyes look out the window at the buildings that litter Chicago. I didn't grow up in a house with a yard, with a quiet neighborhood. I lived in a loft apartment in downtown Chicago, where the sounds of sirens, trains, and wind lulled you to sleep at night.
The windy city wasn't for everyone, but it was home to me.
"Would giving you your gift early cheer you up any?" Bishop says playfully as he moves from the doorway towards me. At the sound of a gift, my ears perk, and I twist my body letting my feet dangle off the edge of the nook.
"Maybe, I'd have to see it first." I shrug with a smile on my features, letting him know I am joking.
My black T-shirt hangs loose on my body, as do the boyfriend jeans that sit on my waist. A pair of old Converse completes my look. The look of a girl who looks like she dresses in the dark inside a boy’s closet.
Bishop tosses a box of Lemonhead candies at me, and I catch them gracefully.
I raise an eyebrow. Don't get me wrong, I love these things, and I am thankful for anything B gets me, but Lemonheads? Really? For my birthday?
"Whoa, big spender," I joke, opening the box of candy and popping a few of them into my mouth. The sweet, tangy taste coats my taste buds. I ate these things so often it cracked the roof of my mouth.
He continues to walk towards me, pulling a black box out of his back pocket, and holding it out towards me. It's too big to be a ring, so obviously he isn't proposing. Bishop knows I hate surprises, and I can't stand not knowing what someone is getting me. It irritates the shit out of me.
I reach forward trying to grab the box, but he pulls it away from me.
"Ah ah, not so fast, kid." He smirks, and I glare at him. I cross my arms pouting. My pouty face always works.
"We are going to do this? Really B? You're going to act like you aren't going to give me that, old man?” I say, throwing out the 'old man' because he called me a kid.
He scoffs, "I'm not old, you shithead!”
"What about that gray hair you found the other day?" I snap back raising my eyebrow.
"It was one hair!" he complains, defending his youth. He'd come over─stressing over the fact he'd found a gray hair the other day, and I thought my dad and I were going to laugh ourselves to death.
I hold my laughter in, as I pull the blackmail card.
"If you don't give it, I'm telling Coach Reynolds the reason you couldn't make the benefit game was because you were hungover!"
He challenges my glare with one of his own, two lions facing off as per usual. I'm the one who wins, always. I don't know why he bothers at this point.
"I was not hungover, I overslept. Such a drama queen, Vallie." He brushes off my accusation with false confidence.
"Oh, so oversleeping is you showing up at my house smelling like cheap booze and stale perfume, at seven in the morning looking for my dad, who was at the benefit that YOU were supposed to be at?"
I watch his face shift from amused to slightly embarrassed, checkmate.
I also didn't mention how I force-fed him Tylenol and Gatorade until he passed out on the couch. Then proceeded to cover for his drunk ass by telling Dad he was sick and forgot all about the game.
"First of all the booze was very expensive, and how do you know what stale perfume smells like?"
My stomach rolls at the question. Well, Bishop, because I'm not fucking stupid. You smelled like all those blondes you leave games with. I know you're hot, and I know what sex is.
Some of them are brunettes but normally, it's always blondes. Puck bunnies. They hover after the games trying to get a wedding ring by flashing their tits at the hockey players. They think if they spread their legs quick enough it'll end with a ring on their finger and a brand new BMW to go shopping in with their AMEX card.
However, he has never, not one time, brought one here. Not a single one has made it past my front door. The day one does, I think my heart might break.
I know I have zero chance of ending up with Bishop. But the thought of him with anyone for longer than one night makes me sick. But I know one day, she will walk past that door frame and break my heart.
She will walk in with her long, blonde hair, small frame, and pretty smile. I will have to do my best not to be a snarky bitch, and my dad will tell him that he's glad Bishop is finally settling down. It'll be one of the worst days of my life. I know it.
I shrug my shoulders, "Because I'm not stupid, and I have eyes. Now can I please have the gift?" I ask sweetly.
He runs a hand through his golden locks, and takes another step closer to me, placing the black box in my hand.
I raise my gaze to his eyes, smiling, and even though there is a matching grin on his face, I swear his eyes say he is nervous. He sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. A few pieces of hair fall into his eyes.
I swallow and run fingers across the long square box. I pop the box open, and I'm confused at first.
I stare down at the gold chain, shining in the black box. Attached in the middle of the necklace is a matching gold circular pendant. My fingers reach out and trace the outer edges where it reads, 'Saint Sebastian, Pray for me.' The inner image of the pendant is an image of two hockey sticks crossing.