Chapter 8
8
Colt Bishop
W hit: Get your ass dressed. I’ll be at your house in five, and I’m picking you up.
Cope: Hey, man. Haven’t heard from you in a few days. How you feeling?
Bounding down the stairs, I find both of my parents in the living room, sitting in their respective recliners as they watch the Sunday morning news, coffee mugs in hand, robes tied around their waists, and slippers on their feet.
“Good morning, Colt,” my mom says with a smile. “Where are you heading to?”
“Whit’ll be here in a minute. I don’t know where we’re going; he just told me he was picking me up.”
“Well, that sounds fun.”
“Want me to bring you home anything?” I ask, slipping my feet into my boots that I keep by the door.
I’m still stuck in this damn sling, but I’m hoping I can get rid of it soon enough. I had my first physical therapy appointment earlier this week and it sucked. It hurt, and I was sore for days afterward, but I knew that would happen and expected it. Regardless, I’m over this damn sling. It’s too restricting, and I’m ready to get back to being able to do little, normal tasks.
My mom shakes her head. “That’s alright, but thank you for asking, honey.”
“Okay, I’ll be back later,” I call out as I unlock and open the front door. Whit’s truck is waiting in the driveway as I jog down the steps. Pulling open the passenger side door, I slide inside, tipping my chin at Whit as I do. “Hey, man. Where the hell are you taking me?”
He chuckles. “I got to run to the store to pick up something, and I’m taking you with me.”
“You dragged my ass out of the house to run errands with you?”
“Yes,” he replies simply. “It’s good for you to get out of the house, you know.”
“Okay, Mom,” I tease, buckling my seatbelt. “Where’s Reggie? Couldn’t he go with you instead?”
Whit’s jaw tenses as he puts the car in reverse and backs out of my parents’ driveway. “He’s working,” he explains. “And besides, he’s not the one out of work due to an injury. Like I said, getting out of the house is good for you.”
“You guys have been together quite a while now, yeah?” I ask him.
He nods, attention focused straight ahead on the road, hands firmly placed at ten and two on the steering wheel like the good little driver he is. “Yeah, it’s been about two years.”
“Damn. You guys planning to move in together any time soon?”
His face scrunches up, and I laugh at the way his glasses shift on his nose as he does. “No, why would we do that?” he asks, like he’s appalled I would ever suggest such a thing.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I deadpan. “Maybe because you’re in a serious relationship, and that’s typically what couples do after a certain amount of time to take things to the next level.”
Whit snorts—a sound completely out of character for him. “What do you know about serious relationships, Mr. I Have A New Body In My Bed Every Night?”
Scoffing, I say, “Hey, I take offense to that. I’ll have you know, I haven’t slept with anybody in, like, a month!”
“A whole month,” Whit replies in mock horror. “I’m surprised your dick hasn’t fallen off from loneliness.”
“Ha ha. Whit’s got jokes today. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed, you old man.”
“I’m serious,” he goes on. “A month has got to be some sort of record for the Colt Bishop.”
“I’m not that bad,” I groan. “You make me sound like some sort of sex addict.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“There is nothing wrong with getting a little love while I’m on the road,” I reply. “People practically throw themselves at me after the rodeos.” Gesturing a hand down my body, I add, “Who am I to deny them all of this?”
Whit pretends to gag, which makes me laugh. “Please, you’re just as bad as Shooter. Does it ever get heavy carrying that huge-ass ego around all the time?”
“Fuck off,” I choke out between laughter.
Pulling into the parking lot of the home store, Whit murmurs, “Let’s go, you sex-deprived sad sack.”
I huff as I climb out. “What, did you bring me here to help you pick out new couch pillows? ”
“Yeah, right.” Whit snorts. “Because out of everybody we know, I would go to you about home décor style.”
“You’re kind of mean today,” I grumble.
Glancing over at me as we walk through the automatic doors, he grins almost mischievously. “I think you’ll live.” Inside the store, Whit leads us toward the back. “I’m picking up an order.”
As we’re walking past one of the aisles, I spot somebody that makes my lips tip up into a grin as I do a double take. “Morning, Doc,” I drawl, coming to a stop. “Fancy running into you here.”
William’s jaw clenches as he glances over at me. “Hello, Colt.”
My eyes flit to the man beside him. “Howdy, Dr. Andino,” I say with a grin. “How’ve you been, sir?”
“Good morning, Colt,” Dr. Andino says in the warm, familiar way he always does. “Please, call me Roger. I’m retired now,” he goes on. “No need for the honorifics anymore.”
“Can do, Roger.”
“I heard you were back in town,” Whit says to William. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been well,” he replies, voice deep and gruff. “Can’t complain. How are you? I heard you took over your dad’s clinic.”
Whit nods. “I did, yeah. I’ve been good. Business is doing great.”
“We’ll be seeing you at the office soon,” Roger chimes in.
“Is that right?” Whit asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
Roger nods, looking pleased with himself. “I adopted a dog from the shelter yesterday, a two-year-old wiener dog. Show ’em the pictures,” he urges, nudging William with his elbow.
Brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line, William reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. After a few moments, he turns the screen around for us to see the cutest little blonde, long-haired dog.
“I love that breed,” I murmur. “Such sweet dogs. Boy or girl?”
“Girl,” William grunts, pocketing his phone.
“What’s her name?”
“Winnie,” Roger offers. “That’s the name she came with, and I don’t see a reason to change it now.”
“Winnie’s cute,” Whit chimes in. “The name and the dog. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“How’re you holding up?” Roger asks, directing the question at me. “I’m so sorry to hear about the accident.”
“I’m doing fine,” I reply. “I’m eager to get the sling off, but I’m not rushing it. I know these things take time.”
“Should only be a couple more weeks now, shouldn’t it?”
I nod. “Hopefully. Going from being fully independent to not being able to do hardly anything on my own has been a challenge.”
“You’re young and fit,” Roger remarks with a warm smile. “You’ll be back to normal in no time, I know it.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope so.”
William clears his throat. “Well, guess we better let you get back?—”
“What’re you boys shopping for today?” Roger asks, cutting William off.
I have to bite back a grin at the annoyed expression on his face. The humor is quickly replaced, though, as heat ripples through my veins when I catch him looking at me… again.
Since he’s been back in town, I’ve fantasized about having another taste of him more than once. I’ve gotten pretty good at jacking off left-handed, and I’ve come with his name on my lips several nights now. It’s one of the most frustrating things I’ve ever experienced, knowing what it’s like to feel someone’s body against mine, but also knowing it can never happen again. If it were up to me, we would’ve been sweaty between sheets half a dozen times already.
I’m not one for repeats. Typically, once I’ve had someone, I’m good and on to the next. But the way I crave another taste of William is next level, and honestly, it’s probably mostly because there can’t be a repeat. It’s not like that with anybody else. If I wanted a repeat, I could have it from anybody except him. Maybe it’s the challenge I crave and not necessarily him.
“Oh, I’m finally getting around to buying a hutch I need for my dining room,” Whit responds. “We’re picking it up before heading back to my place so I can build it. What about you guys? Getting stuff for Winnie?”
“Yeah, we gotta make her feel at home,” Roger replies.
“Alright, Dad,” William chimes in. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to be here all day.”
Chuckling, I say, “Somebody is in a mood today, Doc.”
He scowls at me, which only makes me laugh harder.
“Okay, okay,” Roger murmurs. “We’ll let you boys go, but it was nice to see you both.”
“You too, Roger.” Nudging William’s arm as they stroll past us, I add quietly, “See you later, Doc.”
Whit throws me a funny look, but doesn’t say anything. After William and Roger are out of sight, he leads us back toward customer service. He apparently paid for the hutch ahead of time, and they have it ready for him. An employee brings it out to the truck for him, placing it in the bed. I don’t know why he bothered bringing me along for this journey. It’s not like I can be of any help to him at all while he brings this giant-ass box inside his house.
As soon as we’re inside Whit’s truck, he turns toward me. “ What the hell was that about?”
My heart stutters in my chest as I avoid his gaze and put on my seatbelt. “What do you mean?”
Starting the vehicle, he says, “Don’t bullshit me, Colt. What was with the tension between you and Will?”
“There was no tension,” I lie, trying my best to hide the smirk wanting to come out.
“You’re so full of it,” he remarks. “I want the tea.”
My head snaps in his direction, and I snort. “You want the tea ? Who are you and what have you done with my crotchety, cardigan-wearing Whittaker?”
That earns me a chilling scowl. “First of all, I am not crotchety,” he replies, holding up a finger. “And second of all, sorry.” He breathes out a laugh. “One of my new students at the clinic constantly says stuff like that, and I guess some of it stuck.”
“I can only imagine how fun that is for you,” I tease. Crotchety may have been a stretch, but Whit truly is the grumpiest old man-like thirty-something-year-old I’ve ever met. I’m not fully convinced he doesn’t fill his spare time at home crocheting hats or something for fun.
“It’s not bad,” he muses. “Do not change the subject. Spill.”
He pulls into his driveway, putting the truck in park, clearly not letting this go. Rolling my eyes, I unbuckle my seatbelt before turning to him and saying, “If we’re going there, we need to be a lot less sober than we are now.”
Whit pins me with an unamused expression. “It’s barely noon.”
Tossing him a toothy smirk, I shrug. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”
Heaving a sigh, he unbuckles his belt. “For fuck’s sake. I’m going to regret asking, aren’t I?”
“Probably.”