Edison nodded, looking at where he was gesturing. There was still mounds of dirt all over the place, but Edison could see what they were trying to do. Either way, it was going to look a lot better than what they’d had. “I think that’s going to look amazing.”
“It will! I’ve seen the final design. Bishop’s the one who made it.” The guy held his big hand out, palm up, “I’m Trent, by the way. I’m Bishop’s brother by another mother that didn’t want a damn thing to do with neither of us.”
“Oh.” Edison laughed slightly before it tapered off. What Trent said was both kind of funny and kind of sad, if true.
“I asked you to wait in the truck.” Bishop’s voice was raspy as he glared at his friend, who was still working overtime to boost him up. If he only knew. Edison didn’t need selling on Bishop. He’d made up his mind that if he had room to squeeze him into his schedule, he’d jump on it. He just wanted to be around Bishop and soak up more of his attention.
Trent used a towel hanging in his back pocket to wipe his forehead. “You forgot to leave the keys. It’s hot in that damn truck.”
“Then wait on the outside.”
“Just give me the damn keys.”
“Here,” Bishop growled.
Edison laughed a bit louder. They really did behave like actual brothers. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Trent.”
The man stopped short and turned to face Edison with a perplexed expression. He wondered if he’d said something wrong. “Wow. I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before. Did you hear that, B? He said it was a pleasure to meet me.”
Bishop looked as if he wanted to choke his friend. Instead, he gripped Trent behind his neck, which must’ve been rather hard because he grimaced and ducked, trying to get away from the hold as Bishop shoved him towards their white F150 a few spaces down. Bishop’s tone said the conversation was over. “I heard him. Can you wait in the truck, please, Trent?”
“Sure. Okay. Easy, man.” Trent got away from Bishop and walked over to their truck and got it started.
“I just need to drop him off at home and then I can come by if you’re not busy tonight,” Bishop said.
“No. Not busy at all. I’m not busy most nights.” Edison shouldn’t have added in that last bit, but oh well, it was out now.
Bishop stepped closer, close enough for Edison to smell his sweat. He made sure not to roll his eyes behind his lids as the thought of bathing in Bishop’s sweat crossed his mind. Edison locked his knees so they didn’t shake.
“If you give me your address I can stop by. I won’t take up much of your time,” Bishop said, his voice going deeper and deeper. Edison’s pants got tighter and tighter as he tried to discreetly position his messenger bag in front of him.
“Sure,” he said, trying to sound calm, although he was pulsing with excitement. Bishop was coming to his house. “I’ll be there waiting. Whenever you get ready.” Shut up, you’re sounding desperate. Edison fished into his inside pocket for his silver and black pen then used it to scribble his address on the back of another business card. After he tucked his pen away he handed the card to Bishop, noticing how hard he was staring at him. God, why did he watch him like he did, as if Edison was everything? Those dark eyes continued to roam his face brazenly, and while Edison continued to fall deeper into their abyss, Bishop’s fingers brushed against his during the exchange. That sharp gaze flew to Edison’s mouth at his quick exhale. The contact was too brief to analyze, but the slight feel of those calloused fingers touching his skin made Edison’s dick throb so hard that he panicked.
“Um, okay then. I’ll see you there.” Edison yanked his car door open while he fumbled awkwardly to keep his bag in front of him. He dropped into his seat and hurried to say goodbye before he closed the door. “Just call me if you get lost.”
Bishop was still standing there with a confused, but quite entertained look on his face. When Edison was around the corner, he groaned so loud it made him cough. He yanked his tie away from cutting off his air supply and undid his top two buttons. Real smooth, Edison. Shoot! He was driving home with wood so hard he could’ve been a lumberjack.
Chapter Fifteen
Bishop
“Just give me a shirt,” Bishop grumbled, holding the small bath towel tight around his waist while he tore through Trent’s dresser. It looked similar to his. Very few pieces to choose from.
“You’re gonna look like a big guy in a little shirt,” Trent chuckled, barely sparing him a glance away from his video game.