at me for the fight with Hudson or if he just coincidentally got super busy at work immediately after it happened. But I have a plan to smooth things over tonight. I figured with Hudson and Riot out of town on their romantic getaway this would be the perfect time to romance Bishop and hopefully convince him to forgive me.
On my way home from work, I stop at the supermarket to pick up the ingredients for lasagna, which happens to be his favorite, and a bottle of nice wine. I decide to spring for some chocolate covered strawberries as well, even though they’re outrageously priced. Impressing him is more important than the tight clutch I like to keep on my finances.
I beat Bishop home, kicking off my shoes and taking my grocery bags to the kitchen before pulling out my phone and sending him a text.
Leo: How late do you think you’ll be tonight?
While I wait for him to answer, I preheat the oven and pull out everything I’ll need. My phone vibrates on the counter, and I grab it in a hurry, anxious for Bishop’s reply.
Bishop: I should be home in an hour. I wrapped up the big project I’ve been working on so no late night tonight.
I smile. Maybe he’s not still holding a grudge after all; maybe he has just legitimately been swamped at work. Still, it never hurts to cook your man a nice dinner and show him you care.
Leo: Perfect, I’m working on dinner.
Bishop: Great, I’ll see you in a bit.
I close out of the message and throw on some music and then set to work, preparing a delicious apology dinner.
“Oh my god, that smells amazing,” Bishop says, stepping into the apartment almost an hour later on the dot.
“I just pulled the lasagna out of the oven, so once you get changed, it’ll be ready to eat.”
“You’re the best.” He crosses the living room and bends down to kiss me, cupping my face and slipping his tongue between my lips.
My heart flutters and flips as I wrap my arms around his waist and drag him onto my lap, his weight settling against my hardening cock, making us both moan.
“I’m sorry,” I say when he breaks the kiss.
“For what?”
“For punching Hudson.”
“I know,” he assures me, putting both hands on my chest and looking at me with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. “You told me that right after it happened, and it’s been two weeks.”
“I know, but you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I wasn’t—” he starts to say, drawing up short when he sees the disbelief on my face. “Okay, yes a little. It’s not because I’m mad though.”
“Why then?”
“I’m disappointed,” he admits. “I guess when I saw you and Riot getting closer, I started getting carried away with this idea in my head that you and Hudson would work things out, and the four of us would be…”
“Would be what?” I prompt when he trails off.
“I don’t know, a family or something. It’s stupid.” He tries to get off my lap, but I hold him tighter.
“That’s not stupid,” I argue, and he gives me an incredulous look. “It’s not. I’m sorry that things are fucked up with me and Hudson. I want to forgive him if that counts for anything, but it’s hard. I’ve been so pissed at him for so long that I think I have to remember what it’s like to not be mad at him.” Bishop grimaces, and I can tell he’s holding back something he wants to say. “Just say it,” I prompt.
“It’s just,” he says with a sigh, looking at me sort of pleadingly. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? It was a scholarship application over ten years ago.”
My jaw ticks, and pain lances my chest. I know to some extent he’s right, but it hurts for him to side with Hudson so quickly. “It’s not about the scholarship, not really.”
“What’s it about then?”
“Don’t you get it? He never understood why it mattered. He had his head in the clouds, assuming that it wouldn’t make any difference if he dropped off my application or blew it off to fool around with some dude. His parents handed him everything that I had to work my ass off to get.”
“I understand.” He puts a hand over mine. “It was shitty of him not to come through when you were counting on him, and it was shitty of him to not realize how important it was.”
“Yes, thank you.” I let out a breath that was making