Out of Play

“Drum kit. And fair enough.”

Somehow him agreeing that we’re okay not being nice makes me want to be. I start to talk three times before I find words because Bishop looking as good as he does, and playing drums like he does, and being new, and the crazy butterfly things I can’t shake from my stomach…I’m just in a different kind of territory with a guy, and it’s territory I don’t know how to deal with.

I can feel the twinges of nerves pushing words out faster than I know I’ll want them to come. “Our game got pushed back because the kids who live in Barrow can’t fly out until the storm passes. I’m going snowmachining with the guys tomorrow. You like to go fast?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

His “maybe” gives me some relief, making me wonder what my problem is. Why would I care if he wanted to come or not? “I’ll give you a knock after school. I have extra gear and stuff. I’m tall so it’s all for guys.”

“No pink snow pants?”

He’s actually teasing me. I can’t believe it, and now I’m actually looking forward to doing something fun with him. Finding another way to make him relax a little. Maybe even actually smile again.

I’m gri

…

When I jump out of my truck to head for Bishop’s cabin, all I hear is drums. The guy is crazy good. Definitely good enough to join a real band. Not like the guys who hang at the music store, making up band names for a group that would rather get high than practice.

I bang on Bishop’s door, even though part of me wants to wait until his song finishes. That could take forever. The guys’ll be here any minute, and I have to be suited up and ready to go or they’ll get ahead on the trail. I’m not following any of those pansies down my trail. I knock again and Bishop doesn’t answer, so I step inside. “Come on! You’re not wimping out on me are you?”

Bishop stops playing with a murderous look on his face.

I choose to ignore it, even though there’s something to be noticed about a guy who feels so much. Good or bad. “The drums will still be here when we get back, but your chance to go for a ride and watch me make asses of the guys on my team happens now.”

“What if I was playing naked?” He wipes his hand across his forehead—damp with sweat like it was yesterday. His expression is unreadable.

A lump forms in my throat at the thought of what he’d look like playing the drums with no shirt. How his body would move without conscious thought. The way the muscles in his chest and abs and arms would flex. Something foreign washes through me with the idea of it, making my legs jelly for a second.

Whoa. This is new. Mitch doesn’t make me feel that.

Silence presses in until I find my Pe

His scowl is replaced by something almost like a grin. “You’re nuts.” He shakes his head, still partially gri

“Come on.” I step back, needing to be out of the small room. “Let’s get you suited up.”

Bishop grabs his coat, shoves his feet into his boots. “I have to talk to Gary real quick.”

He jogs to the other cabin and knocks. Okay. Strange. I don’t have to tell anyone when I snowmachine. Maybe it’s a city boy thing.

A minute later, we’re at my house. As soon as I step in the door, I start tossing outdoor gear his way.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” His brows pull together as he watches the pile at his feet grow.

“Put it on?” I suggest as I finish suiting up and reach for my boots. Still not looking at him after his naked comment.

He lets out a breath, but I see a hint of a smile as I look at through my hair. I almost offer to help him with the snow pants, which have some crazy straps, but he figures it out before my boots are laced.

He’s so quiet. I start to wonder if he’s always this way. I’m not, so quiet people u

I open the door to the part of the garage with the two snowmachines. Gramps has money, Mom just doesn’t want him to use it. But he does once in a while—hot tub, new snowmachines, my truck.

I point to Gramps’s favorite machine. “You can take that one. It’s an 800, so you’ll be able to keep up.”

Another small smile hits as he sits on the seat. He scans over the black and orange cowling covering the engine, at the two skis in front and then underneath him at he checks out the thick rubber track. “Anything special I should know?”

I stand next to him and point to all the important pieces. “Gas. Brake. If a tree is smaller than my wrist, you can drive over it.” I hold up my hand.

He cocks a brow.

“When in doubt, always hit the gas.”

He nods once and again almost smiles. “Nice. I miss riding my bike in the city. Maybe this will be close.”

“Trust me. It’ll be better. And I know this sounds crazy, but we’re headed to Matt’s parents’ hayfields, and the snow is deep. If you really want to play, turn the handlebars the opposite direction you want to go, hit the gas, and lean the direction you do want to go. It’ll lift up the side of the machine, turn you around, spray snow, and make you look like you know what you’re doing.”

His brows go up, and I’m noticing his eyes again.

“You’re not going to make me look like an ass, are you?” Bishop wrings his hands together as though he doesn’t know what to do with them.

I shrug and try not to laugh. “Try it for yourself, and you’ll find out.”

“Are you always like this?” A corner of his mouth goes up, and my stomach tenses just a bit at the way he’s looking at me.

“Are you always so quiet, grumpy, and introspective?”

He shrugs. That, to me, is an affirmative.

I toss him his helmet. “See you on the trail.”

We start the machines just as Mitch and Matt pull up, and I won’t be behind them, so I grab a handful of throttle and rocket out of the garage to make sure I’m in front. Bishop’s right behind me. The guy catches on quick.

In seconds, we’re flying down the trail at close to seventy. We hit Matt’s hayfields ten minutes of speed later. Mitch raises his hand in the air and makes a circle—snowmachine language for “we’ll all play here for a while.”

Bishop pulls up next to me

I have to yell over the sound of the machines. “We’re all just screwing around. Do what I told you with the skis, worse that’ll happen is you’ll fall off in a pile of snow and have to climb back on.”

“Okay.” More than just the corners of his mouth are turned up now. It’s an actual freaking smile on the king of grouchy.

I’m so good.

Chapter Seven

Bishop

Adrenaline races through me, making me feel higher than any drug ever has. I’ve ridden bikes, dirt bikes, four-wheelers, but this? This feels different.

Cold air whips around me the faster I go, but I can’t make myself slow down. I don’t want to. I do what Pe

Part of me wants to try and show her up, but the other part—the stronger half—is having too much fun to turn it into something else. I just want to keep going, enjoying the freedom that I’m not sure I’ve ever felt. It’s like nothing can catch me here—not my psychotic dad who I pretty much had to pay off to get him to leave us alone, not fans, my anxiety, my manager…not even my personal guard.