Page 27

Sweat glistening down his —

Nope! Not doing this!

I sigh, pull the door closed, and turn toward the kitchen. Neutral zone, much safer. I pull open the SubZero refrigerator and laugh.

“Seriously?”

Water. Flavored water. Sports drinks. Protein shakes. So many protein shakes. He has enough condiments to stock a diner, and a carton of milk shoved toward the back. I pick it up and check the date. “Eww, gross.” I scrunch my nose. “Expired. No thank you.” I don’t care if it’s three days or one; expired is expired. Actually, if it’s even the day of, I won’t drink it.

After pouring it in the sink, I toss the container in the trash and make a mental note to grab some from the store. At least he has coffee.

The freezer is filled with containers of prepared meals–chicken, rice, vegetables, pasta–all neatly labeled and portioned. Someone clearly makes them for him. That will make Mom very happy to know he’s eating more than takeout every night that he’s not on the road.

My phone buzzes on the kitchen island again.

Ken: Henry get you all settled in?

Me: I’ve been taken hostage by your doorman.

Three dots appear almost immediately.

Ken: Henry?

Me: He bribed me with candy.

Ken: Werther’s?

Me: Obviously

Ken: Yeah, you’re never getting out.

I lean my hip against the counter.

Me: Also, your couch could seat the entire Phoenixes roster.

Ken: That’s the point.

Me: You have a ridiculous number of throw pillows.

There’s a pause.

Ken: I have no idea how many I have. There’s a few.

Me: That’s what I thought, and not a few… A LOT!

Ken: Make yourself at home, Baby Becks.

Me: Thanks :)

My chest tightens at the unexpected weight of his words. Because when Henry said it, it felt polite. But Bishop saying it now feels… different.

Home.

I glance around again. The apartment is beautiful, but it doesn’t feel like the Bishop I knew growing up. Not really. The Bishop I remember is loud and messy. He’s the guy who somehow knows the bartender’s name five minutes after walking in the bar. He takes up space without trying. Makes himself comfortable anywhere. Lives to make people laugh and feel at ease.

Though he has the opposite effect on me; apparently, I’m the anomaly.

The place is impressive, but it could belong to anyone with too much money and impeccable taste. He may live here, but it doesn’t feel like home.