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“He asked if he could buy me one.”
“Same problem.”
“Not even remotely.” I shift, trying to turn a little more toward him, but there’s nowhere to go without brushing against his chest.
So naturally, that’s exactly what happens. His hand instantly tightens on my hip.
Neither of us moves.
I tip my chin up. “You’re an ass.”
“So I’ve been told.” His voice is lower now, almost lost beneath the music. And he’s still not moving.
“Bishop.”
“Laney.”
“Are you going to let me out?”
His eyes hold mine for another beat before his mouth curves, the scent of soap and cedar invading my senses yet again.
“You trying to get away from me?”
That should be an easy question. It isn’t.
I take another sip of my drink. Definitely stronger than the first one. Or Bishop is standing too close again. One of those. Maybe both.
We head back into the players’ room, and Bishop keeps ending up beside me.
Not intentionally. At least I don’t think it is.
Except every time someone squeezes past, his hand finds the small of my back. When I move, he notices, which is becoming an increasingly dangerous thing to know.
His beer, meanwhile, barely seems to move.
He’s been nursing that second one for a while, and when someone starts talking about ordering another round, Bishop tips the bottle toward a couple of the younger guys.
“Anyone driving, you’re done.” A chorus of complaints follows.
“Bitch about it all you want,” he says. “Figure out rides before you figure out your next drink.”
Captain Bishop. Not loud about it. Not controlling. Just paying attention and looking out like always.
And watching him quietly take care of everyone without making a big deal out of it makes my chest feel annoyingly full again.
I finish the last of my drink and set the glass down.
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
He gets up to follow me.
“I’m a big girl. You don’t have to follow me, Da—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” A dare flares in his eyes.
I want to say, "Or what?" but even with liquid courage I can’t because I don’t know what would be worse. He calls my bluff. Or he doesn’t.
I shut my mouth, and Bishop shifts his legs to let me out from where I’m wedged between him and the table.
