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Bishop looks directly into the camera and after a long pause he asks,“That what you want, Baby Becks? To kiss a hockey player?”
My pulse kicks. “Maybe.”
“Laney.” He sighs into the phone so hard I swear I can feel it.
“What?”
“You keep starting shit from six hundred miles away.”
I smile.
“Maybe you should come home and finish it.”
His expression changes.
“Working on it.”
A few minutes later, I glance at the time.
“11:11. Make a wish.”
His smile softens. “You still do that?”
“Always.”
I close my eyes. For once, the wish comes easily and when I open them, Bishop is still watching me.
“What’d you wish for?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Convenient.”
“Did you make one?”
He pauses. “Maybe.”
“What’d you wish for?”
“Can’t tell you.”
I laugh. “Jerk.”
“Your rules, Baby Becks.”
Three nights later, the Phoenixes beat Detroit.
My phone buzzes while I’m curled up in Bishop’s bed with Darcy and my pink notebook writing all the words.
Ken: Heading home.
My stomach does something stupid.
Me: Darcy wants to know when you’ll be here.
Ken: Darcy can text now?
Me: He’s very advanced.
