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I blink. “When?”

He shrugs. “About three seconds after you fell asleep.”

My stomach dips. “Oh.”

He notices immediately.

“Not like that.”

“Then like what?”

Bishop leans back slightly and rubs a hand over his jaw.

“I don't know. Just…” He pauses. “Last night was a pretty big deal.”

I stare at him. “Yeah.”

“And I don't want to screw it up.”

There's something unexpectedly vulnerable about the admission. Bishop doesn't usually struggle to find the right thing to say.

He's the guy who can walk into a room full of strangers and leave knowing half their names—the guy who can calm an entire locker room with a joke.

But right now, he's looking at me like he's trying to figure out the rules of a game he's never played before.

I set my fork down. “Neither do I.”

His gaze meets mine. For a second, I think he's going to say something else. Something important. Instead, his phone vibrates against the counter.

Once.

Then again.

He glances toward it.

And I watch the change happen.

It's subtle. His shoulders stiffen. The relaxed expression disappears from his face. He reaches for the phone.

I catch the name on the screen before he turns it over.

DECLAN BECKETT.

Of course.

Because apparently the universe has decided I can have exactly one peaceful morning before reminding me that Bishop is my brother's best friend.

Bishop reads the message.

His jaw tightens.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

He types something.

Then stops.