Page 56 of Bishop

I wasn’t sure if there was going to be any red wine in this place, but I was crossing my fingers. Call me uneducated, but I doubted bikers were guzzling chardonnay by the case full. However, it certainly looked like everything else under the sun was available as I scanned the rows and rows of rainbow-colored bottles.

Moving closer, I leaned against the aged wood and began reading all the fancy labels. I didn’t see any wine, so I lifted the heavy divider and went behind the bar to check underneath where I knew hidden shelves would house additional, less essential items.

I wasn’t normally this pushy in someone else’s home, but I thought I’d earned the right after the hell I’d survived tonight. And I had my heart set on a glass, or entire bottle, of Pinot Noir.

Checking underneath the bartop, I saw there was a wine rack. There were only a handful of choices, but I was ecstatic when I saw that there were some reds at the bottom. Though there wasn’t any Pinot, I was able to unearth a fairly cheap bottle of Merlot and set it aside for when Amelia joined me. I might have been ballsy enough to jump behind the bar, but I didn't feel right about opening any of this stuff without her express permission.

When my phone pinged with a text, I set the bottle down and circled the bartop to take a seat, read my message, and wait for Amelia.

The message was from Bobby, who was just checking in on me. When I hadn’t called at our usual time, she’d gotten worried and reached out to me directly. Damn it! In the chaos of everything that had happened tonight, I hadn’t checked in on my friend. Furiously typing back to let her know I was fine, I didn’t notice when someone else entered the rec room.

My back was facing the door as I typed, trying to assuage my friend that all was well. There was no way in hell that I was telling her what happened. If I knew Bobby at all, she’d try to get involved in this mess to protect me, and that was the last thing I wanted. Just the thought of my dear friend getting mixed up in my problems turned my stomach.

“What the hell?” I heard a snide voice behind me screech, and I distractedly looked behind my shoulder to see what was wrong.

To my horror, it was the same girl I’d walked in on trying to give Matty a handjob near the dumpster. Now my stomach dropped for a whole different reason.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” the blonde shouted, and I had to quickly look down to remind myself.

“A sweatshirt and jeans,” I stammered, totally confused as to why she so vehemently objected.

I mean, not to be rude or anything, but I couldn’t tell what the heck she was wearing besides what looked like a toddler’s sundress. No joke. It was so short it made most miniskirts look demure in comparison. If she bent over at the waist even an inch, her entire backside would be exposed.

My answer only seemed to enrage the woman further. “Don’t play dumb!”

I wasn’t playing. I truly didn’t know what the hell she was going on about. I blinked, trying to come up with an adequate response. When I took too long, she answered for me.

“That’s Bishop’s hoodie!” she accused, like I’d claimed it was mine somewhere in this surreal conversation.

“I know. It’s okay. He told me I could borrow it. I’m not stealing it,” I returned, hoping my response would pacify her some.

I must have failed because the woman’s pretty face turned mottled with rage. “Did he, now?” she returned, her anger just a few degrees shy of the boiling point.

“Yes, he did,” I spoke slowly, not sure if my words would further offend her or somehow calm her down. But, looking at her icy blue eyes burning holes into my very soul at this moment, I was guessing it was the former.

Maybe Matty had lied to me. By the way this woman was acting, it seemed like they’d been more to each other than just casual sex. I wanted to believe what he’d told me, but was I being too naive? Was there more to their relationship than just something physical? Were they still together even? My confidence plummeted and I began to nervously wring my hands.

The blonde moved across the room like a panther on a mission. The smile that formed along her shiny lips was anything but friendly. It was cold, calculating, and predatory.

“You’re the cookie girl from the party. Ava, right?” she returned, a malevolent glint in her eye that put me on alert.

“Evie,” I corrected. “And I own a catering company,” I explained, deciding I didn’t like the way she’d described me. Sure I made cookies. But the way she made it sound, I was some weirdo who walked around the Clubhouse doling them out from multiple pockets like a bird lady does seed at the park.

“Whatever,” she hissed, her sharp red nails balling into fists onto her hips. “You were the creepy bitch at the last Club party watching Bishop and I fuck!”

Even though I knew she was trying to shame me with her word choice, I couldn’t stop the rush of pain it caused when she’d said it.

Stealing my spine, I said, “I was throwing trash away. It’s not my fault you were hanging out by the dumpster.”

Okay, that statement hadn’t helped matters any. If Cici wasn’t burning with anger before, she definitely was now.

“Did you just call me trash?” she hissed, like a scalded feline ready to defend her territory at any cost.

“No,” I carefully stated. “That’s not what I said at all.” I’d merely implied it, I thought angrily.

Cici sidled up to my seat at the bar. She was so close, we were practically touching. “What the fuck does Bishop even see in you?” she asked nastily then. Her narrowed eyes scanned my face as she tried to piece the perplexing puzzle together. “You’re nothing special. You’re not even that pretty. He must just get off on your little girl-lost act. That must be it. The man never could ignore the damsel in distress type. No worries,” she said with a cold smile, “he always comes back to my pussy. He might like the idea of a virgin queen, but in the end, all men think with their dicks. And when he does, he’ll come running back for what only I can give him.”

Amelia walked in before I could respond. She took one look at this situation and accurately assessed it. “You okay, Evie?”

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