Bishop Read online

  Brooke and I had actually talked about this, and we decided to play it the way any other in-love couple would. We’d attend functions together, and when we traveled, she’d be in my bed with me if I rated a room on my own. That was never known until the start of the season, and single rooms came not only by seniority, but by performance. Still, preseason we most likely would all be paired up with roommates.

  Well, that’s not exactly the arrangement we came to. In fact, she specifically said she would not be in my room, since she was not about to flaunt that in front of her father. I conceded that she would have her own room, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t be fucking her on road trips. She just doesn’t know that part yet.

  “You’re the only one that knows this is a sham,” I tell Dax. “We’ll stick to the same story that we gave the coach. We started dating a few months ago, fell hard and fast, blah-blah-blah. Not much else to tell.”

  “Going to be weird seeing you all cozy with a chi—,” Dax starts to say, but my glare redirects him. “I mean…Brooke.”

  That’s the truth. In the three years we’ve been friends, neither one of us has had a serious girlfriend. In fact, in my twenty-eight years of life, I never really have. I mean, sure, I’ve dated women exclusively and for lengths of time, but I’ve never been in love.

  And I’m thinking dating a woman casually versus dating one you’re supposedly in love with are probably two different things. As a professional hockey player, I think casual dating means maybe being able to hook up once a week for dinner and a movie. Definitely fucking after. Or maybe taking a woman to a charity gala—you know, like arm candy. And then, well…fucking after.

  But this thing with Brooke.

  Our fake “serious” relationship is probably going to play out in a vastly different way. Especially if her father is to believe us.

  “This might be more complicated than I thought,” I admit to Dax.

  He chuckles as he twists the cap of his water bottle. He points it at me. “You’ll figure it out, bud. Maybe you should read some romance novels or some shit. My sister reads them all the time and says that if men read them, and acted like the dudes in those books acted, women would be a lot happier about giving blow jobs.”

  I can’t help but snort. Dax’s sister, Willow, is the last person I’d take dating advice from. She goes through boyfriends faster than I go through M&M’s when I have a chocolate craving.

  My phone rings and I pick it up from the table where I’d set it earlier. A smile forms on my face when I hear the opening “Ah-ah-aaaaah-ah” of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song.” My mom is a total Led Zeppelin freak and it’s her favorite song, so it’s her ringtone.

  “What’s up, hot mama?” I ask as soon as I connect the call.

  Dax leans across the able, puts his face near the phone, and yells, “Wa-a-a-z-up, Mama Scott?”

  I lean away from Dax with a glare, but my mom’s laughing on the other end. “Tell that sweet boy I said hello.”

  “He’s not sweet,” I say, but it would be futile to get her to believe me on that. She adores Dax. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely voice this morning?”

  “Just wanted to say hi,” she says almost wistfully. “I tried to call you yesterday to wish you good luck on the first day of training camp, but got your voicemail instead.”

  She had indeed called me. It was during the team meeting and I’d turned my phone to mute. After the meeting, we went straight to the ice. Then after that I’d hit the gym hard, trying to squat, deadlift, and chest press my frustrations away. After that it was dinner, then I was getting lost in Brooke. I hadn’t had a chance to call her back.

  “Sorry,” I tell my mom. “Yesterday was just really hectic.”

  “So how was it?” she asks me guardedly. My mom more than anyone knows how disappointing it was for me to get traded away from the Vipers when they were stacked to really kick ass this year. “How was the coach? The other players? What about the training staff? Are they cool?”

  Chuckling, I settle back into my chair and tell my mom all about it. She’s been such an integral part of my hockey life she deserves my time to indulge all her curiosities.

  Marianne Scott raised me solely by herself after my father died of a heart attack when I was seven. He got me started in hockey, but my mom took over as my biggest supporter after he was gone. She’s a financial analyst for an insurance company that has a main office in London, Ontario, where I was born and raised. All through minors and major juniors—which I was fortunate to play for London so I didn’t have to stay with a billet family—my mom was there for almost every single game, even traveling over six and a half hours to watch me play in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan.

  Needless to say, we’re close.

  After I won the gold medal in Sochi in 2014 playing for Team Canada, I gave it to my mother as way to thank her for her support and dedication to me during those formative years and beyond. Of course, she is insisting she’s just “holding” it for me until she dies, but whatever. That gold medal is hers now.

  “What’s Coach Perron like?” she asks after I wind down. I’d obviously steered clear of the topic of my coach, not wanting to get drawn into deceiving my mom by mistake.

  “It’s hard to tell,” I reply, which is the truth. It’s also the truth when I say, “He’s hard, but those that have played for him before say he’s fair.”

  Then, to completely redirect her even further away from the topic of Brooke’s dad, I ask her, “Have you decided what games you want tickets to yet?”

  My mom is pretty high up in her company, having worked there for thirty-one years now. They are very flexible in letting her travel to come watch me play, partly because I’m a native son of London and big shit in the NHL, and partly because my mom can pretty much work from anywhere as long as she has her laptop.

  “I’ll definitely want to hit the games close to me,” she tells me. “Detroit, Buffalo. Maybe Pittsburgh. And I’ll pull up the schedule and decide on the ones I want to come to for the first half of the year.”

  That brings a smile to my face. “Sounds great. Just let me know and I’ll get working on the tickets.”

  Of course, it would actually be Brooke’s job to help me secure tickets for the away games, but hey…what are girlfriends/fiancées for, right?

  “Let me talk to her,” Dax demands, and rips the phone away from me. I let him have it because he’s become like a son to her. He starts telling her all about his new workout regimen, and because my mom will be sincerely interested, I know they’ll be talking for a bit. I head out of the kitchen to get into my workout gear, not in the slightest bit concerned that Dax will tell my mother about what’s going on with Brooke and Coach Perron.

  He’s got my back always.

  Chapter 7

  Bishop

  There have been nerve-racking moments in my life.

  The NHL entry draft, waiting to see when I’d be picked and where I’d go.

  First time I stepped onto the ice as a professional hockey player.

  The last few minutes of the gold medal game in Sochi.

  Walking into a team event with Brooke Perron on my arm.

  Honestly, I’m not sure which one is the worst, but my stomach is in knots. It’s not only because people are going to be shocked as shit to see us together and the lies are going to unfold as our fake story is brought out, but also because she and I haven’t seen each other or talked in three days.

  We’ve completed training camp, and our first preseason game is day after tomorrow. The new team owner—a rich dude named Dominik Carlson who also owns a professional basketball team in LA—rented out the swankest restaurant in Phoenix for us and gave the team carte blanche to eat and drink whatever we wanted. The invitation included spouses, kids, significant others, and even arm candy that I was sure many of the players would sho
w up with tonight.

  This get-together was purely to celebrate this new team as a whole and bring us together as a family. It would be the first time all of the players, coaches, team staff and front office staff, plus their extended families, would come together under one roof to get to know each other. I expect Mr. Carlson is going to be picking up a six-figure bill tonight, but I’m sure he can easily afford it.

  “Is it your hand that’s sweaty or mine?” Brooke asks as we walk into the restaurant. I had grabbed her hand as soon as I met her on the other side of the car where the valet was helping her out.

  “Shit,” I say as I drop her hand like a hot potato and wipe my hands on the bottom of my suit jacket. Brooke does the same, although she runs her hands down her hips. I’m not sure that slinky black material is going to help much, though.

  “It’s fine,” she murmurs, taking my hand again, and I’m thankful to feel cool, dry palm against cool, dry palm. “We’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  I sure as shit hope we will. This is as disconcerting as sitting down at her father’s table earlier this week to face his scrutiny and potential wrath. Neither Brooke nor I made any effort this week to see each other, and I’m not really sure why. I know I demanded that we engage in a whole lot of fucking to get to know each other so we could carry this off without a hitch, but that wasn’t really necessary. Let’s be honest, that was totally self-serving to me, but if she didn’t complain or tell me no, I had to assume she was just as into it. I think the number of orgasms she had that last night together, as well as the completely satisfied yet sleepy smile on her face when I left, speaks volumes.

  I actually held back in part to see what Brooke would do. Would she call me and ask to get together? I have to admit, the fact she didn’t dinged my ego a bit. She’s totally into sex with me, there’s no doubt. But maybe she’s just too shy to initiate? Or maybe once a week is good for her or something? Or perhaps she needs something more from me before she gives it up, and that right there would definitely mean we were in a relationship.

  I guess.

  Not sure.

  Regardless, we lost three days we could have been getting to know each other to help solidify this ruse. Even more important, due to inaction on both our parts, we lost out on a whole lot of great sex. Now we’re both getting ready to walk together in front of the entire team and eyebrows are going to be shooting skyward everywhere.

  This is going to be especially so, since just last night, a large group of the players—including significant others—met for dinner and drinks. I did not ask Brooke, although I thought about it quite a bit. In the end, I just sort of chickened out putting off the inevitable awkwardness that would come with questions when we were seen together.

  The player and the coach’s daughter.

  It was going to be portrayed like a fucking episode of the Kardashians, and there were going to be questions upon questions from everyone.

  Speaking of which, I better bring Brooke up to speed. “So…there was a get-together last night. A bunch of the players and their wives and girlfriends.”

  “Okay,” she drawls.

  “Well…we didn’t go together,” I add as I reach the door and open it for her.

  “That would be a true statement,” she replies tartly as she walks through and I follow.

  I reach out, grab her hand, and pull her off to the side. A few of the players and their guests come in, casting curious glances at Brooke and me. “People are going to wonder why you weren’t there last night, so I figure we should get our stories straight.”

  “You’re just now worrying about us having our stories straight?” she asks with a cocked eyebrow. “Right before we’re walking into a team event together as a couple for the first time?”

  I ignore the pointed jab. “So what should we say to people who might ask why you didn’t come out last night?”

  “Tell them the truth,” she says with a casual shrug. “I was working.”

  “You were working?” I repeat dumbly.

  “Yeah…I was working.”

  “Why would you be working at night?” I ask her, now completely interested in her on a different level. “You’re assistant to the director of team services. I know exactly what that job entails, and I doubt it’s much more than a forty-hour-a-week job.”

  Brooke’s chin tucks in and she crosses her arms defensively over her chest. “I suggest you not malign my job if you want this relationship to last more than the next ten seconds.”

  I’m duly chagrined, but before I can apologize or explain my curiosity in a more tactful way, she continues. “As it happens, I’m also working part-time in the merchandising department. There wasn’t a position available when I first applied, and yes, they did create this job for me as an accommodation to my dad, but it’s not what I’d like to be doing with my time. My background is in merchandising, and I’m hoping I can slide full-time over there.”

  Now that’s interesting. “Merchandising. What does that mean? Did you go to school for it?”

  Her eyebrow arches higher. “Seriously, Bishop? You want to get my life story down right now?”

  Okay, so perhaps I should have put in some more effort this week getting to know her rather than obsessing about sex with her and waiting for her to call me like a petulant kid.

  I blow out a long breath. “Okay…sorry. We should have made some time this week to discuss these things.”

  “Yes, you should have,” she says, throwing a tiny jab of her own.

  I hold my hands up. “Whoa, I didn’t see you reaching out to me. You know, you’re the one that got us into this mess. Why didn’t you call me and ask that we get together to discuss these things?”

  Brooke’s eyes flash with amusement rather than the anger I thought I’d get. Her arms drop, only for her finger to come up and poke me lightly in the chest. “Because I know your idea of a get-together and mine are two totally different things. You made it clear that you want the sex benefits, and I didn’t want to call you and have you thinking that’s all I was after.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that,” I assure her.

  Another cock of the eyebrow. Damn, she’s not believing much of what I say.

  “Look,” I say softly as I step in closer to her. I snag her hand and bring it up between us, squeezing it gently. “Let’s get through dinner and we’ll stay for a bit to be sociable. But then let’s get out of here and go somewhere and talk. We can go to a coffee shop or something, okay?”

  That’s apparently all she needed to hear, because her face softens and she squeezes my hand back. “I won’t say I’m sorry, because you told me not to say it again, but I very much understand day in and day out it’s my fault we’re in this situation. I don’t want to make things difficult for you. And to be honest, I didn’t reach out to you because I didn’t want to bother you. I’m sure you have a lot on your plate and would rather be doing anything other than playing ‘fake relationship’ with me.”

  “If I had to play ‘fake relationship’ with someone, I’m glad it’s with you,” I tell her earnestly.

  That’s no shit.

  “You’re sweet,” she says with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes, and it makes me laugh. “Ready to get this over with?”

  “Ready,” I tell her as I turn for the hostess podium. But then another thought strikes and I turn back toward Brooke, backing her into the corner. Bending my face down to get near hers, I say, “We don’t have to have sex. You know that, right?”

  “I know,” she says in a breathless whisper.

  “I mean…I want to have it,” I quickly say so she doesn’t think otherwise. “And you seem very much into it with me. But if I’m wrong about that…well, just know that’s not my priority. It’s getting through this charade with your relationship intact with your dad and without him throwing me off the team.”

/>   “He can’t do that,” she says dryly.

  “I know that,” I return with a grin. “But he can make my life hell.”

  “We want the same things, Bishop.” Her words brush across me light as a feather, her voice is so soft, yet their meaning punches me in the gut.

  She knows what I want. That’s her.

  She wants the same thing, which means she wants me.

  If that’s the case, then fuck if I’m going to stand back from her. I think in this moment there’s no need to use the excuse we need to get to know each other to put on a good show, but rather it’s more we can get through this fiasco and also have a good time doing it.

  At least that’s the way I’m reading it, and I’m sticking to that.

  “Let’s start the show then,” I tell her, and lean down to brush my lips across hers. Her breath comes out in a shaky pant across my lips, and when I pull back, her eyes are bright and promising.

  Without another word, I tuck her hand into the crook of my arm, then turn to lead her into the restaurant. At that same moment, Erik comes through the doors with the type of woman I’ve seen him with on a few occasions. She looks like she came straight from sunny California with a mass of bleached blond hair and huge tits that practically spill out over the top of her dress, the hem of which barely covers her ass.

  I shake my head in amusement as he walks toward us, his arm around the woman and hanging low enough I’m betting his hand is on her ass.

  “What’s up?” Erik says, and starts to hold a fist out for a bump when he notices Brooke standing close to me with our arms linked. His eyes get big and his mouth drops open. “Whoa.”

  I know exactly what he’s thinking. It’s what everyone else in there is going to think too.

  Bishop Scott is banging the coach’s daughter and nothing good will ever come of that.

  “Brooke, have you met Erik Dalhbeck yet?” I twist my neck and drop my gaze down to her.

  The smile she bestows on me makes me want to pull her in closer. She shakes her head. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”