Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 133180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“You lost the bet so you’re buying dinner,” Mike said as they climbed back in the truck. “You didn’t get that last strike.”
“I remember,” Bishop droned. He fastened his seatbelt and checked what fast food was around them. “Wanna do pizza? Chinese?”
“Cool. We’ll take home Chinese.”
Bishop couldn’t believe the day he’d had. He’d felt like shit last night after realizing he could never have anything with Edison, or even a man as amazing as Edison. Then his dad had shown up. Shown up for him like never before. Bishop had been resigned to a day in bed, listening to the same audiobooks and contemplating how he could change his circumstances. Now Bishop was feeling okay because this was a relationship he deserved and one he could build on.
“Deadliest Catch and Chinese.” Bishop chuckled.
“Oh, hell yeah,” Mike agreed eagerly. “Tomorrow we’re catching a fucking tuna, B.”
Chapter Thirteen
Edison
“Edison, these are delicious. I keep telling Carlotta that she should go to your place and take some cooking lessons from you. Oh, man. Falling off the bone.” Edison’s uncle, Gino continued to gush and stuff his face with Edison’s leftover beef shanks. “Any more mashed potatoes?”
He tried not to blush as he reopened his Tupperware bowl and scooped some more of the butter and chive whipped potatoes onto his uncle’s half empty plate.
“Look at that belly! You eat good enough,” his aunt yelled from the kitchen where she was washing the last of the dinner dishes.
His uncle invited him over every Sunday for dinner since Edison’s father passed, but he didn’t always intrude on their family time. He and Carlotta both had full time jobs, and Uncle Gino volunteered at the senior center on Saturdays, so Sundays were the only time they had to spend together. But whenever he did come, he tried to be as useful and generous as he could. This time he’d brought three dishes and a dessert to add to Carlotta’s stuffed shells and ham.
“I love your cooking, Carlotta—don’t pay him any attention.” Edison smiled. It did feel good being around his pop’s brother for a while. He’d gone stir-crazy all day Saturday, thinking about Bishop and the way he’d caressed him. Okay, touched him. No, it’d definitely been a stroke. Now he wasn’t sure what he was going to do or say when he saw him on his way into work tomorrow.
He didn’t know if he should just give him a casual wave and continue on his way, or go over and make a point of saying good morning with his head held high so Bishop could see his face. Edison had replayed that line over and over in his head Friday night while he’d laid in bed wanting.
“Edison.” His uncle snapped his finger in his face.
“Yes,” he blurted, then cleared his throat.
“I see you’re still keeping yourself clean, kid.” His uncle beamed, trying to lighten the mood. He stared at him with dark brown eyes, first checking out his face, then his hair, then his clothes. “Looking sharp, Edison. Not a nick-mark in sight.”
Edison frowned, feeling almost insulted. A nick! Not since I was sixteen!
“Hey, hey, easy.” His uncle laughed, nudging his shoulder. “I’m just messing with ya, kiddo. I know you got your pop’s hands… steadiest in the south.”
Edison didn’t speak due to the lump clogging his throat. Hell. It’d been two years, he thought he’d be good by now. Not over it… but okay. Maybe he wasn’t yet, because he’d lost his best friend, not just his father. Edison rubbed his smooth jaw, letting the sensation relax him. He’d sharpened his straight blade the night before, so it’d be nice and fresh for his morning shave. It was sad what his few joys were in life.
“I’m gonna head on home now, I have to get up early for work.” Edison stood and started taking his remaining dishes into the kitchen where Carlotta was just about finished. He came up behind her while her hands were still in the sink and kissed the back of her head. She was shorter than him by several inches, which was kind of difficult since he was under six feet himself. “Have a good evening, Carlotta. And thanks for everything.”
“Oh, you too, Edison,” she said, her Italian accent more pronounced than his uncle’s, since she had been born and raised in Pienza until she was seventeen before coming to the United States to live with her grandparents. “And don’t take so long to come back, we miss you. You’re family, sweetheart, you belong with us at the dinner table.”
“I won’t. Promise.” Edison went to rinse his bowls, but she took them from him. Giving him one of her patented glares, “I’ll do them. You can get them when you come back.”
Edison knew better than to argue with her, and he also got her completely non-subtle hint. His pop wouldn’t want him to isolate himself the way he had.