Out of Play

“Used to want Mitch.” My gut tightens. And maybe will want him again after she knows the truth.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” Again she looks away. She’s so different from Pe

“And?” I prompt her to see if she’ll keep going.

“I know she wouldn’t believe it, but I’m happy for her. Pe

I chuckle. “That sounds like her, and yeah, she is cool. And I’m sure she doesn’t really hate you.”

I smile at Becca before leaning back in the seat to watch Pe

I expect to see drills or something, but they’re slamming into each other like they do in games, only they punch one another for fun when they get hit. This is some serious shit, and I like her even more for it. That she’s not afraid to be out there giving as many hits as she takes.

Though, that could really backfire when I tell her what a prick I am.

Chapter Eighteen

Pe

Damn, the boy can give a compliment. He sits four rows lower, way off to the side of Rebecca, and watches until we finish.

“So, you and the renter, huh?” Mitch throws an arm over my shoulder as we head off the ice which feels nowhere near as good as it did before Bishop came along.

“It’s Bishop, and he’s just giving me a ride home.” And hopefully more of last night when we get there.

He cocks an eyebrow. “He’s been here for a long time for someone who’s only giving you a ride.”

I raise my hands in the air with a grin. “‘Cause I’m awesome on the ice. Who wouldn’t want to see this?”

Mitch leans in. “You’re not fooling me, Pen. Just admit you like the guy.”

“I might.” I pull off my helmet to cool down.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Mitch smiles. “That he came to watch.”

“Screw off.” I grin as I push him. But yeah, it feels good. Now I get it. Why Mitch likes Rebecca here.

I give Bishop a wave before heading to the locker room to shower and change. For the first time that I can remember, I know it’ll feel good to get out of my hockey gear and back into something that makes me feel like a girl—even if it’s wearing a guy’s clothes.

…

We drive home in silence, but Bishop looks twitchy. He keeps readjusting his hat and rubbing his hands together. It’s making me a little crazy.

“You were amazing out there,” he says again.

It’s obvious he has something he wants to say. “You said that already.”

He shifts again.

“Bishop. Just spit it out. You’re making me insane over here.” I give my knuckles a little rub. After hitting Bitty, and then wearing my hockey gloves, they’re all irritated again.

He pushes out a breath of air. “So you know how you asked me who I am?”

The edges of nerves are creeping in with how weird and tense his voice sounds. “Yeah…”

“Shit.” He rubs his face. “Okay. My name’s not Ripe. It’s Bishop Riley. I’m the youngest member of Burn. I’m the drummer, and—”

I laugh. Hard. And then our eyes catch, and his are so wide and serious that it makes me laugh harder. “Shut up. I call bullshit.” That band is hot. What is he trying to pull?

He fingers his lip ring and stares.

Is he serious?

“No.” I shake my head, which is starting to feel light and floaty and strange with the possibility of who he is. “No way. I know that band.” There’s no way he’s some rock star. No way. But even as I think that, it means that a lot of things about him make sense. How he’s always hiding under that hat. The name. The drumming that’s unreal. The babysitter. Freaking Pat who got all smiley when we came in, who should have called me when he knew. Maybe that whole anxiety crowd thing is a serious problem. I thought he was going lose it after my game.

“Your iPhone in here?” he asks.

I point to the front pocket of my pack, but I’m starting to tense up like he might not be bullshitting me. Was some rock star living next to me this whole time?

Bishop pulls it out and scrolls for a minute. “Here.”

It’s the label art for Burn. All five guys. It’s black and white and a bit grainy, but holy. Shit.

“What the hell?” I mean, I knew he was keeping stuff to himself, but, “What the hell?” My heart feels like it’s beating too high up in my chest, making it hard to breathe or swallow. How did I end up sharing a hot tub and kissing some guy who’s part of a kick-ass band and not know?

“Part of me being up here is not letting on who I am. I want you to know, but I don’t want you to know, because cool people turn into weird people when they learn who I am.” He sounds so defeated. “They look at me different. Treat me different. I don’t want—”

Usually, no one knows who the drummer of a band is, but when they’re young—and hot—people notice. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. I mean, maybe if I spent as much time in front of the TV or reading stupid magazines as some people I know, I would have recognized him. So, I’m freaking out. Honestly. But no way am I going to let him see that. “Wait. You think I’m not going to give you crap just because you’re some drummer in a band?” I cock a brow. “Like I won’t demand a rematch of your total fluke win on the snowmachine? Or double check all your work on my car to make sure you didn’t screw anything up?”

I laugh, but it’s a little forced because I’m sitting in the truck with a drummer from a band that I know.

“Are you actually pissed, freaking out, and trying to hide it?” He pulls off his hat and runs his hand over his hair.

“No.” Yes. Totally yes.

He sighs. I look at him and he looks nervous. Upset. Like this is a really big deal to him.

“You answered too fast. I know you hate it when people lie to you… Fuck, this is such a screwed-up situation. I didn’t expect to…” He shrugs, looking more somber than I’ve ever seen him look. “To fall for someone up here. Especially since—” He shakes his head.

Fallforsomeone. Something decidedly girly flutters in my chest. I clear my throat. “I do hate it when people lie to me. But I knew you weren’t telling me everything. It’s not like you kept that a secret. You even asked me not to dig, which is admitting something’s up. I don’t know. I guess that makes it feel different. Or at least, I want it to feel different.” I stop Bitty in my driveway. I’m trying not to think about how totally freaking out I am, because a rock star drummer—Bishop Riley—is in my car. I’m wearing his clothes. And we slept together last night.

He sighs. “There’s more, Pe

Nothing could be bigger than what he’s just told me, so it can wait. “Follow me.” Mom’s car is thankfully not here. “I need to hide for a while.”

Bishop follows me in silence up to my top story room. I lock the hatch behind us, hoping Mom won’t be back for a while.

I slide my arms around his waist, and enjoy feeling the warmth of him so close. I try not to do any kind of internal squealing at who he is.

His fingers slide across the back of his pants. The ones I’m wearing. “I like you in my clothes.”

I gently bite his bottom lip. “You also might like me out of them…a little.”

He moves his head when I try to kiss him. “Pen. I… Shit. I have a problem with—”

“Freaking out in large crowds.” I chuckle, even though I’m still wound up tight. It all makes sense now: his reaction at my hockey game, why he didn’t share, and why he’s here alone. “I know. You picked a good spot if you don’t like people but don’t think that gets you out of watching me play. They have pills for that stuff, and I want you at my next game.” I poke him in the chest and then stare for a moment at where my finger just was, because after last night, I want another shot at being that close to him. But now I’m wondering what happens when he leaves. When he goes back to his real life. Or maybe I need to be just thinking about now. What I want now. How I’m finally the girl a guy likes enough to be with and not just flirt with. Not just any guy, either. Bishop. The only guy who gets me.