Bad Boy Ink (Get Ink'd #5) - Ali Lyda Page 0,26

face was so deeply ingrained, I was shocked it didn’t fix there permanently. He too was feeling the pressure of having so many witnesses, because he lowered his voice as he addressed Bryce. “I don't know who you think you are, but you do not get to lecture me about my own family. Especially not in public.”

Bryce never lost his easygoing smile despite the animosity pouring off my father. He only shrugged and said, “If you don't want your dirty laundry aired, then maybe you shouldn't hang it out to dry. Don’t drag your son in public if you don't want someone to call you on it.”

I might have been even more astonished by Bryce’s defense of me than my father. My anger slipped out of me like water in a sieve, and I was forced to suppress a hysterical giggle. I felt a rush of gratitude toward Bryce, something I hadn’t felt toward pretty much anyone, ever. I had thought he was going to take my father's side, or placate him, just to make things smooth and easy. Instead, I was experiencing—perhaps for the first time in my life—what it was like having someone in my corner. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

I looked at Bryce then, wondering what my father saw. While Bryce was heavily tattooed, he also had an easygoing and affable look to him. With long, wavy blond hair like a surfer and a chiseled jaw covered in light stubble, he didn't have the same intimidating, bad-boy appearance that many of the others at Get Ink’d had. The one thing he had in common with the other people he worked with was that he was insanely good-looking. Like, stop-traffic attractive.

Bryce had made himself, had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and all that, and my father was still judging him. Finding him lacking. All because of something as meaningless as his appearance.

There wasn't time to ruminate any more on the combination of Bryce’s incredible looks, the fact that we had just been clicking so well, and Bryce’s defense of me, because my father was already sneering nastily.

“I don't know who you think you are, son,” he snarled. It was his full-on “do you know how important I am?” voice.

“I'm still figuring out who I am, sir, but my parents named me Bryce. I work at a tattoo shop and do some consulting work with IT.” He leaned forward, never taking his eyes off my father. “The problem is, I get bored sometimes. I'm kind of like a treasure hunter, you know? An internet Indiana Jones. And what I like to search for is dirty little secrets that people might not want to get out. I don't suppose that you have any secrets? Something that I should go hunting for? Because I do love a challenge.”

Bryce stretched and crossed his legs, looking for all the world like we were talking sports at a bar instead of making threats in a ritzy French bistro.

My father went white as a ghost, which not only brought me pleasure but piqued my curiosity. He turned his angry stare to me instead. “I suppose since you think I threw you out like the trash, I shouldn't be surprised that you landed amongst garbage.”

Ever the one to have a last word, he turned on his heel and walked away.

That's when I saw him jerk his head and wave his arm, summoning someone. From a table at the back, my mother stood, looking too thin and frail, like a reed in the wind. Like she didn't know which way it was going to blow or which way she should lean to keep from snapping.

Her eyes pierced me, and her lips moved like she wanted to say something. Sharp pain bloomed in my chest at this and I realized how much her silence hurt. I willed her to speak up. But she didn't say anything, and she didn't stop at our table. She kept walking, following my father out of the restaurant.

As soon as the front door shut behind them, Bryce reached out and grabbed my hand to squeeze it. His grip was warm and solid. “Are you okay?”

I sagged in my seat, speaking way too honestly but too exhausted to filter myself. Too tired to pull my hand away from his touch. “Not really. I wish I was at home in bed with my comic books, to tell the truth.”

This was another thing my parents had never understood about me,