Out of Play

“Hey,” I say as I jump out of my truck. “If you wipe that cigarette smell off, wa

Bishop glances at the newly started cigarette in his hand and drops it to the ground, frowning. He stares at his hands for a moment before meeting my eyes.

“Well, shit.” I fold my arms. “Grumpy Bishop is back. What’s up with you?”

“Some shit with the ban—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know…Maybe another time, or…”

“Come on.” I grin, hating how grouchy he is. But he saved me from myself the other night in the hot tub, so maybe today I can save him. “You know you’re curious. Go brush your teeth, get your ass in your snowmachine gear, and come play.”

He pushes out a breath. “Give me a sec.”

He disappears into his cabin, and like an idiot, I’m holding in a smile because he said yes.

…

“So, what does the mighty Snow Queen have in store for this evening?” he asks as he steps into the garage, smelling like mint toothpaste and cigarettes. At least he tried.

I let the stupid queen name pass because it looks like his day was worse than mine. “A ride somewhere cool.”

“Where?” he asks as he sits on the machine next to mine.

I stare at him for a moment, wanting to do something to get the frown off his face. “Trust me?”

He gives me his hot half-smile again which sends a rush through me. “Hell, no I don’t trust you. But I’ll follow you out of here for a while.”

I bite my lip to hold in a grin and hit the gas so hard that the front of the machine floats for the first hundred feet or so.

No matter how fast I go, I can’t shake Bishop. He’s not moving ahead, because I’ve taken two turns on the trail, but he wants to make sure that I know there’s a chance he could beat me if he knew where we were going. I can totally appreciate that.

We hit the edge of the mountain and start the climb. He’s going to love this, and as I keep my thumb on the throttle and we keep climbing, I’m even more glad he was on the porch when I got there.

Once we pass the abandoned-mining-house-turned-abandoned-lodge, it takes me a few minutes to find the exact spot. As his machine sprints in front of mine and then waits, I know he’s impatient.

Boys.

Finally, I find the entrance to the old mine and turn off the machine. It’s dark out now, and I’m really glad I know the way back home because there will be no light left.

“What is this?” he asks as he pulls off his helmet, eyeing the black hole that is the mining tu

I toss him a small flashlight as I turn mine on. “Come on.”

Bishop grins in the faint light, which is the exact look I wanted to get from him after I saw him frowning on his porch.

The temperature warms drastically as we step inside. “Caves stay constant, so they’re warmer than outside in the winter and colder than outside in the summer.”

The gray walls are rough, wet, and close. I can touch both sides when I stretch out my arms, and can just barely stand upright. Even our flashlights don’t push away much of the darkness.

“Is it safe?” he asks.

“Are you scared?” I lightly punch him in the chest, suddenly very aware that it’s only the two of us, and he’s a bit close. And has one sexy smile. Flits of nerves hit again, and I step back, not having any idea what to do about them.

He makes his scoffing noise, but I’m not totally buying his bravado. “No. I just don’t want to die inside a mountain in Alaska, that’s all.”

I spin and light up his face, making him squint. “So, where do you want to die?”

He laughs and pushes my flashlight away. “Warm, happy, on a beach, with a hot girl. Or a few.”

A bubble of happiness fills me because I got Bishop laughing. “Of course.”

We’re in about fifty feet in from the entrance now and the rusted rails for the mining cars appear out of the dirt.

“Holy shit.” He looks down. “Is this an old mine?”

“Yeah. I love this place. It hasn’t been used since the forties, but they did tours when I was little. The lodge we passed was open when I was a kid. We used to snowmachine up here with my dad to get burgers.”

Bishop opens his mouth, I’m sure to ask about Dad, but closes it again. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I let it out. Bringing up Dad isn’t a good idea in front of someone I don’t know well. Or, really, anyone.

“Anyway. It makes me sad that the place shut down.” I sit on the dirt, which feels bizarre after snow being on the ground for so many months.

“This has to be a big party spot, huh?” he asks continuing to walk ahead.

“Too far out.” I shake my head. “And a kid got lost in here about four years ago, so it turned into one of those crazy ghost stories that scares the shit out of everyone.” I shine my light on Bishop’s back as he keeps walking. “And after that first kid disappeared, every time we came out to party, we lost someone.”

He stops. “Really?”

“No.” I laugh which sounds sort of like a weird, girly giggle before I make myself stop. “I’m messing with you, California Boy.”

He shakes his head and turns toward me. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nope.” I stand. “Wa

“Can we get in?” He starts to move back my way.

I’m biting my lip again to hold in my smile knowing what his reaction will be. “Garrett’s the realtor, and I know him, so I know where the key’s hidden.”

“Of course you do.”

…

I both love and hate walking through this old place. I see my dad in here, laughing with Mom, feeding her fries over the table. Ten is too young to lose your dad.

Our flashlights make crazy shapes on the walls as we move through the tables and chairs covered in dust. The windowpanes are so filthy that our light barely reflects off them as the beams follow lines on the walls.

I’ve never gone to the rooms upstairs—the empty place is a bit creepy—especially in the dark.

“This could be so cool.” Bishop turns around, letting his light shine across the wooden bar, the chairs, and tables.

“Could be,” I agree. “It was.”

“You could have a small stage over here, you know, musical talent and stuff.” He’s picturing it all right now. Differently than I am because I’m thinking about what it used to be, and he’s thinking about what it could be.

I turn to see where he’s looking. There used to be a jukebox there. An old one.

“And rooms upstairs?” He points his flashlight at the ceiling and looks up.

“Yeah. And then”—I point to the far wall—“there’s an owner’s house back there. It isn’t much, but it would be awesome.”

“Another piece of Pe

I cover my face until he points it away.

He gets it. It’s so crazy how he understands what people I’ve known my whole life don’t. “I do love it here.” I nod. But I’m getting this edgy feeling in my chest, like our conversation might go too far. Maybe I could just redirect. “So.” I turn to face him in the dusty dining room. “Who are you?” Maybe he’ll answer a direct question since all my sideways ones don’t seem to work.

“I’m Bishop.” His voice sounds serious, and his eyes don’t leave mine. And even in the dim light made by our flashlights, and the odd shadows moving around between the chairs, his dark brown eyes are deep. And I bet he feels deep, too.

“Yeah. I got that part. Bishop Ripe from California.” I’m settling into the fact that this guy is a bit of a mystery, and it doesn’t bother me as much as it should. Maybe it’s that he’s temporary, so it doesn’t matter. Maybe I’m actually mellowing out.