Part 12 (1/2)

Payton wanted to push you out of your comfort zone? That maybe the list was as much about Honor as it was about her friend. ”Nothing. Let's do this. How about you go first? That way you don't have to worry about it for too long.”

”Can you just strap me to the chair and do it?”

”I can definitely do that, but not anyone else.” He nudged her earlobe with his nose and breathed her in. She smelled all sorts of good.

The corner of her mouth lifted. ”Maybe if you talk dirty to me, I won't think about the needle digging into my skin.”

”Sweetheart, I'll do whatever you need.”

”You would, wouldn't you?” She squeezed his hand a little tighter. The tiny gesture of thanks was one more reason he couldn't stay away from her.

”Every time.” He'd stepped this deep into the waters and apparently he didn't know when to stop. Or if he could. He hated the thought of any other man taking care of her needs. Stupid, since the main purpose here was to help her follow through with her promise to Payton, not bond over getting inked. If anything, she seemed determined to keep an emotional distance from him, too. Just as Payton had done when she dumped him without a word.

Honor let go of his hand and pushed open the door to the tattoo parlor. ”This time works.”

”This time?”

”I helped you get a gift for your mom. You're helping me cross something off Payton's list. After this I say we're even and there's no reason to keep seeing each other.”

Bryce flinched. At least Honor gave him some warning.

Chapter Seven.

Honor's entire body trembled. And it had almost nothing to do with the needle about to puncture her skin.

”The inside of your wrist is a great place to do this,” Ryder, the tattoo artist said, holding her hand, palm up. ”I don't go very deep into the skin-about 1/16 of an inch-so you'll hardly know you're being touched. The process is more irritating than anything else, like a hot vibrating sensation.”

She squeezed her lips together to keep from giggling like a nervous teenager. Ryder could no doubt feel her shaking, but it was the hot vibrating sensation in her other hand giving her the most trouble. Bryce's fingers were laced with hers and his thumb kept rubbing across her other wrist.

”Remember it's all in the mind,” Bryce said. ”Think about how bad you want this.”

Sitting in a black leather chair that unfortunately did not include any restraining devices, she held her head to the side, her cheek pressed into the chair back, chin tucked close to her shoulder, eyes on Bryce, and did just that.

She also tried not to think about how bad she wanted him.

”Everyone has a different threshold for pain,” Ryder continued, his throaty voice a perfect match to his muscled, tattooed body. ”Feeling apprehensive is normal. Even guys my size with multiple tats get nervous. It's the body's natural defense and endorphins kick in. The first minute is usually the worst and then you'll realize it's not that bad and relax.”

Honor nodded. ”Let's do it.”

”Here goes,” Ryder said.

Bryce didn't flinch when she squeezed his hand tighter than she'd ever squeezed anything before in her life. Since the moment she'd sat in the chair, his eyes had been on hers. He'd kept her with him, kept her right there like it was just the two of them. His eyes said even more than his words. They said you've got this. They said you've got me.

She couldn't compare his attention to any relations.h.i.+p she'd had before. Guys didn't stay. They played and left. That's how she worked it, wanted it. If she never committed, she'd never let anyone down. No one would get hurt. Living up to the kind of love her parents had was something she'd never accomplish.

But Bryce seemed intent on getting to know her, not forgetting her.

It scared her to think about letting his friends.h.i.+p go. If he weren't holding her hand and staring into her eyes with care and warmth, she would not be sitting in a tattoo parlor right now following through on one of Payton's wishes.

It freaked her out more to think about keeping him around. Despite her best efforts, her heart had gone and gotten involved. Would Payton approve? Did Honor deserve to feel something good for a little while?

Tiny beads of sweat rolled down her sides. The tattoo gun made a high-pitched buzzing sound, like an electric razor, and she tried to tune it out. She pressed her feet into the footrest on the chair. Instead of thinking a needle punctured her skin, she pictured a tiny pin pus.h.i.+ng down and dragging across her skin.

”You're doing great,” Bryce said. ”Tell me why Faith?”

Since reading Pay's list, she'd given a lot of thought to the kind of tattoo she wanted and it always came back to Faith-the simple, yet meaningful word tattooed in a thin, handwriting font.

”It's Payton's middle name.” And maybe, just maybe, having the word inked on her skin would renew her trust and confidence in herself. ”It's not a bad word to live by either.”

”No, it's not. I'm a pretty bada.s.s wordsmith, and I like it.”

Honor squinted. ”You're telling me you have a way with words?” He did. He so did. But she'd get a second tattoo before she confessed that.

His lips curled into an irresistible challenge. ”Let's play a game. I'll give you a word and you tell me the definition. We'll take turns until one of us doesn't know the meaning.”

”Okay.” Her dad had drilled new words into her every night for months before the SAT. Not to mention she'd won the poetry slam in college.

”Ladies first.”

”Collywobbles.” She relaxed her hold on his hand, Ryder's pinp.r.i.c.ks not so bad anymore.

”Stomach pain or queasiness.” He scooted back into his director's chair in an obvious attempt to show her he could do this all night. ”b.u.mbershoot.”

She lifted her cheek from the chair and angled her head sideways. ”An umbrella. Wabbit.”

”That's not your Elmer Fudd impression is it?”

”No smarta.s.s, it isn't.” The muscles in her legs loosened as her feet eased up on the footrest.

Ryder cleared his throat. ”That's good. You need to take this guy down, Honor.”

Bryce let out a fat-chance huff. ”Wabbit means exhausted or worn out. Unless you're in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Then it means rabbit.” He smirked. ”Hootenanny.”

”A country or folk music get together.” Honor let out an untroubled breath. ”Bishop, you're making this too easy.” She ran her thumb back and forth over his, their fingers still entwined. ”Fard.”

”Repeat the word please.”

Honor chuckled. ”This isn't a spelling bee, but you look really cute all serious, so I'll give this to you as your one free pa.s.s. Fard.” She pictured Bryce as a young boy dressed in a collared s.h.i.+rt and vest, listening to his English lessons in earnest.

”I won the spelling bee.”

She laughed harder. ”Of course you did.”

He glared, but she felt it like the sun peeking between clouds. If he only knew how much his brains turned her on. ”Face paint.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he rushed to add, ”Or make-up.”

”Right,” she said.