by Jolene Perry
I can’t sit here in silence with him, though. Not if we’re not kissing. “I’ve wanted a tattoo since I turned eighteen. Just before Christmas.” I want to touch his, but I’m not sure where we stand even though I’d like to be on his lap, so I keep my hands to myself.
“Do it… Let me take you to get one, Penny Jones.”
Excitement rushes through me at the thought of it. “What, now?”
“I’m sure you know who runs a tattoo parlor around here. Maybe someone to do it for free or for a Penny discount or something,” he teases.
In a few words, his whole face has changed. The way he holds himself, even though he’s underwater, is different.
“You’re lighter.” The words just come out.
He nods, his face a shade more serious than it was a moment ago. “A little… I want to be.”
“I don’t know what I am yet.” I wait for him to say something profound. Something that puts all this crap in perspective.
He winks, smiles and slides lower in the water. “You’re a girl who’s going to get inked with me.”
I laugh and move as low in the tub as he did, letting my chin touch the surface. I pull my feet out to rest them on the sides of the tub next to Bishop. Part of me is curious to see if he’ll touch me while I’m there.
His gaze travels up my calves like I hoped they would, and then his brow gets all wrinkled. “Damn, Penny.”
“What?”
“That’s a killer bruise on your knee.”
I pull my leg out of the water, and his fingers rest on the edge of the purple mass, sending jolts through my body. Holy shit, touching a guy has never felt this good, and that’s really saying something because I’m around them a lot. What else can I get away with?
“You should see the one on my side.” I stand and turn for him to see the blue/purplish and yellow-at-the-edges bruise on the top of my hip. The one I have to nudge my bottoms down a little for him to see. “That was courtesy of Chomps.”
Bishop traces the edge of my bruise, letting his fingers linger.
My breathing stops.
The heat from my body is fogging up the air.
No one speaks.
He clears his throat twice before speaking. “Any more?”
I rest my foot on the seat next to him to show him the inside of my thigh where I got caught on the edge of the goal. My body’s going weak on me again as his fingers slide up my thigh from my knee. His eyes follow the trail, and my leg is going wobbly at his touch.
“Penny!” Mom yells.
I jump, Bishop’s hands splash back into the water, and we both exhale at the same time.
She’s leaning from the second story window. Her voice has that forced brightness to it that says I’m the friendly mom to my friends, but it tells me she isn’t happy about Bishop’s hands on me.
“Yes?” I say with equally forced sweetness as I step back and sit down, much farther away from Bishop than I’d like to be.
“Not too late!”
I wave and grin to make her close the window and leave me alone. “She’s never here, and now she’s trying to be like super-mom or something.”
Bishop swallows, watching me with the same want in his eyes that he had while touching my leg. “Guess that’s our night then.”
I’m hoping he doesn’t want it to be the end of our night, because I definitely wish it wasn’t. I stand and get out before the pull to him makes me do something else really stupid. Like kiss him. Or give myself another bruise for him to touch, which I’m seriously considering.
“Is it cool if I stay in for a few?” he asks. “I don’t think I’m hot enough to keep my balls from freezing when I run back to my cabin.”
I point to the cover without looking at him because it makes me want too much. “Just pull up the top.”
“I can do that.”
Once again, we stare at each other like there are a million things we both want to do and say, but neither of us makes the move.
I tighten my towel around me and stuff my feet in my boots. Best to get out of here before I make an ass out of myself, or we end up in a tangled mess in the hot tub in front of my oddly-present mother. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow for my tattoo, unless you flake out on me.”
“I’ll be here.” He turns but then stops and faces me again. “And Penny? I’m sorry…about everything.”
Yeah. Me, too.
I had hoped to get inside and to bed without another confrontation. Unfortunately, Mom has different ideas.
She crosses her arms as she leans against the door to my room.
“Yes?” I grip my towel tightly as I step around her to change out of my swimsuit.
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you being in the hot tub with a boy.”
I snort. “Mom. I’ve never, ever been in a hot tub without a boy unless I was alone.”
Mom sighs, and I pull out clean underwear and pajamas, wanting to rinse off in the shower so I can go to bed.
She’s rubbing her forehead and frowning when she finally finds more words. “But I know your teammates, Penny. It’s different.”
“And you invited Bishop and Gary to stay here on our off-season and told me to be nice.” I widen my eyes, daring her to contradict me.
Instead of fighting back, she pauses for a moment. “What do you know about Bishop?” And the way she says it makes me think she knows a lot more than she’s told me. I’m dying to ask her, but I don’t want to admit that I barely know anything about him, except how he makes me feel. I can’t imagine that helping my case for hanging with him in the hot tub, so I turn to snark. “Bishop Ripe, from California. Spoiled, surly guy who thinks he can work on cars, and thinks he can ride snowmachines—”
“You took him riding?” Mom brows shoot up. “Penny. We don’t have insurance for guests to do that!”
“Mom. Chill.” I sit on the bed, feeling stupid for not even thinking about that. “He’s a friend, that’s all. I wasn’t thinking, okay?” I sometimes hate the renting cabins business, but it does bring in some good cash. And she’s right. One lawsuit over a broken arm would probably destroy us.
“Friends don’t touch each other like he was touching you.” Mom’s jaw tightens. “I don’t see the guys on your team doing that.”
I can’t answer her because it would involve thinking about things I don’t want to think about right now. “You’re never here, Mom. What’s going on?”
She sighs and I swear looks guilty again somehow, staring at the floor but doesn’t speak.
“Fine.” I move past her for my shower. “You get to meddle in my life, but I can’t ask about yours.”
“Penny.” Mom’s voice has a pleading edge to it that I won’t understand until she starts talking, which I can tell she won’t. “You know that’s not fair.”
I’m still so amped up from everything I’ve been feeling over the past few days that I’m all out of patience. “You’re right.” Anger pours through me as I step closer. “It’s not fair that I’ve missed the last two team parties because you were working and Gramps was having a hard night. It’s not fair that I was told to be nice to the people staying here, and now you’re upset about it. It’s not fair that when I felt completely rejected by Mitch, my mom wasn’t around to talk to.”
Her jaw drops. “Honey… I’m so sorry, I—”
“I’m done.” I take the three steps to my bathroom. “Night.”
Closing the door isn’t solving anything but my need to get away, and right now, that’s enough. Why couldn’t the last thing to happen to me before I tried to go to sleep was Bishop touching my bruise instead of this?
Chapter Fifteen
BISHOP
“Do you know that I’m proud to be here with you?” Gary leans back against the couch while I fidget next to him.
“Why would you be proud of that?”
“I hate that we need to be here, but I’m honored to work through this with you. Like I was honored with Troy or when I got my deg
ree.”
Ah. I see where he’s going with this. Opening my mouth, I almost tell him this is stupid. All these talks are lame, but that’s not what comes out. “I’m proud of how I play the drums…of working with Gramps, being friends with Penny, and taking care of my mom.” Which I can’t do if I’m dead…
“That’s good. You should be proud of all those things. You take good care of her. Don’s talked to me about it a little bit.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, but I drum my thumbs and try to settle down. It makes sense they would all know my dad’s a prick. That there’s a restraining order and secret money involved so he leaves us the fuck alone. “She’s always taken care of me. It’s the least I can do.”
Gary nods and keeps talking. For the first time, we discuss my anxiety a little bit, how I feel and how often it happens. I’m sure he thinks it stems from my dad, but I don’t. I don’t think…
It’s a struggle to make the answers come out, but I manage it. He was right. This talk is more than trees and cold air. But…my gut doesn’t ache and I don’t feel like I’ve downed a ton of uppers.
When the time is up, I stop at the door. “I’m going to be out with Penny for a bit.”
He nods. “You know the rules.”
“Yep.”
Halfway out the door, Gary’s voice stops me. “Hey, Troy’s counselor tells him he should try to do one thing every day he’s proud of. It can be something little, like opening the door for someone or doing someone a favor. And when you do, let yourself revel in that. Congratulate yourself. Think you can do that?”
My fist tightens on the doorknob. After what happened with Maryanne, I’m not sure I deserve it. “I don’t know.”
…
I watch Penny as she walks along the wall, looking at tattoo designs for the millionth time. I’m not feeling anxious. Don’t want to push her into hurrying because I like watching her. She moves so smoothly, and I know that’s not something I’m supposed to notice or not something I would have noticed before, but it reminds me of the way she skates, or rides the snowmachines, or hell, the way she does anything. All fluid movements, but with a practiced perfection that I know is all automatic with her.
The tattoo guy sees it, too.
I want to break his nose.
“You’re slow as hell.” I stop right behind her. When my hands start shaking this time, it’s not because of anxiety, but because I want to touch her. We haven’t talked anymore about the kiss, or Loverboy, whose nose I suddenly want to break, but that doesn’t stop me from putting my hands on her shoulders, pretending I’m doing it to knead her muscles, when really I just want her skin beneath mine. She shivers.
Fuck, this girl is going to my head.
She said last night that I’m lighter, and though I still feel like weights are tying me down, I do feel more weightless when I’m with her. I want to hold onto that feeling even though I know everything else is still there, still threatening to pull me under. Shit, Maryanne came up, and I only took a couple pills and didn’t drink. That has to count for something.
That’s not the kind of thing I want to be proud of.
Maybe my talk with Penny last night could be, though. I think maybe I helped her. She trusted me to talk to me, and that means something.
“This is a serious decision, Ripe. You want to see me get inked, you’re going to have to learn some patience.” She turns around, which makes my hands fall off her.
“Don’t call me that,” tumbles out of my mouth. She looks at me like she’s trying to figure me out, and I move my head, hoping she can’t. It makes me feel like an asshole, but I’m not sure she’ll like what she sees. Suddenly, I’m not sure I like what I see.
“It’s your name.” She nudges me.
“My name is Bishop.” And then, because I want to kiss her, or because I need a little space because the way I’m acting is actually starting to freak me out, I step around her. “What about a flower? Girls are supposed to like flowers, right?” Like I knew she would, she gives me a dirty look.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” She crosses her arms and clips me with her hip, and even though I thought I wanted space, I reach out and grab her waist. She sucks in a gasping breath before saying, “You’re getting awfully touchy-feely there, Bishop. I don’t remember saying you could put your hands on me.”
Another weight drops free and sinks away. Leaning forward, my cheek touches hers. “If you don’t want me to, tell me to stop.” She still smells like vanilla and like her car, too. Who would have thought that could smell so hot? And I love how even though she’s tall, even though she’s a fucking hockey player, her body still feels fragile under my hands.
“You’re cocky.” She slips away from me and starts looking at the walls again. Looking at the same designs over and over again. “I don’t see anything. I’m not marking my skin unless it’s something really incredible.”
“Wussing out?” This time, it’s me who smirks at her.
“No, I have standards.”
Ouch. I’m not sure if that’s directed at me or not, so I ignore it. “I get it. That’s why I only have one so far. I love ink, but I’m not putting something on my body that I’m not sure I’ll want there forever. Like my drumsticks, no matter what happens, I know music will always be a part of me…so far, that’s the only thing I’m sure of.” I shrug. Maybe I’m being obvious and said too much, but it’s true.
“You have trust issues, don’t you?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “How did you get that out of what I just said?” But she’s right. I don’t have to answer her because both of us know it’s true. “Now hurry up. If you don’t decide, we’re not going to have time to do this, and then I’m going to start thinking you did it on purpose because you’re…” Again, I lean forward so my mouth is right next to her ear. “Scared.”
She shoves me away and I almost trip over a chair, but I’m laughing too hard to care.
…
“Are you sure you want one there?” I ask. “It hurts like hell.”
She’s picked this feather design that breaks apart and will spread small birds across her ribs.
Penny climbs up onto the padded table and rolls her eyes at me. “I get my ass kicked on the ice every day. I think I can handle it.” Then she looks at the tat guy. “I have a game coming up, so we can’t let it be really big. I don’t want it to screw me up on the ice.”
“Cool. I’ll shrink it down so it’s only a few inches.” He does and comes back to show her. She has to lift her shirt while they place in on her ribs. “Like this?” he asks her.
I think I’m going to like the view.
“If you sneak a touch, I break your finger.”
Hell yeah. That’s my girl. I look over at her tattoo guy and give him a cocky grin. He just rolls his eyes. She’s lying down now on her left side and facing me. Her shirt tucked beneath her breasts. I’ve seen her stomach before—seen a lot of them, but I can’t help myself from admiring the dip in her waist. The flatness of her stomach. And yeah… I want to touch. Want to touch so bad my fingers hurt. “You ready for this? For a needle to poke into your skin thousands of times, over each of your ribs?”
“Wow. You sound super traumatized over this. Did you cry when you got yours, Bishop?” The needle makes its first contact with her skin as she taunts me, but I’m pretty sure she’s too busy talking crap to me to notice. It’s what I wanted. There’s only one little flinch before she adds, “I bet you did. Bet you cried like a baby.”
“Always talking shit. You can’t think a girl is tougher than I am, can you?” It’s so fun pissing her off. And I wasn’t kidding when I said tats on your side hurt. It’s not that I don’t think she can handle it, because I’m pretty sure she can handle anything, but I’m hoping the distraction helps.
I’m sitting in a chair, eye level with her as she lies on the table. Her skin is puffy and red as the needle stabs into her, but she’s doing awesome. Keeping still and not
flinching at all. “So, tell me about this hockey stuff. How’d you get into it?”
“My dad played. Just local teams, pick-up games. ‘Old-man hockey’ is what they call it here. He’s been on the ice since high school. It was the thing we did together. That, and all the guys said I’d never make it. So, you know. I had to then. And when I was out there proving them wrong, I fell in love with it.” She pulls in a deep breath as the guy takes a short break, leaning back and stretching his shoulders and neck. “So, what about you? What started you with music?”
I check out tattoo guy. He’s not paying attention to us. I’m almost 100 percent sure he doesn’t recognize me, and if he does, he’s not talking. I screw with my lip ring for a minute, trying to figure out how to reply. This is dangerous territory to navigate. Trying to decide what to say and it sucks because I actually want to talk to her about it. It means bringing up my asshole father, but I can deal with that.
“Touchy question?” There’s a little accusation in her voice. Penny’s not stupid. She knows something’s up.
“We moved around a lot when I was a kid. My dad was a real prick. Abused my mom and shit.”
Her brows pull together as she processes. “Oh my God. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, sort of surprised I’m even telling her this. “It was a long time ago. She was smart, though. She left him and didn’t look back, but he was also a bastard and he’d follow her. We’d move somewhere. She’d get a job, and a few months later, he’d show up. Restraining orders don’t do shit, by the way.” The only thing that worked was money, but the piece of paper keeps it legal. “So yeah, we moved around a lot. Never had much…”
Guilt starts surging inside of me again—that weight that fell off trying to hook me. Mom always took care of me. No matter how hard it was, she took care of me, and I’m doing a shitty job of returning the favor.
“Did I lose you, Drummer Boy?”
Her words pull me back to the surface. “Drummer Man.” I wink. “So yeah, one of the waitressing jobs she had was right next to this music store. I was like, ten. When she worked, I would go next door and hang out with the owner. He was cool to me. Played the drums, and he taught me stuff. I’d trade hours illegally working for him for lessons. We were there six months. I was fucking pissed when we moved, but like I said, dude was cool and he gave me an old kit. After that, I always played. I’ve learned guitar, too, but I’ll always be a drummer.” Shrugging, I attempt to play it off like this isn’t the big deal it is. I don’t do the whole baring-of-the-soul thing.