A surge of fear grips my spine as I continuously realize how deliriously happy he makes me. I tuck my head against his chest, breathing him in. The perfect balance of spicy and sweet—the scent of him pulls at my gut and my heart flips over as he whispers in my ear. “I’m sorry.”
Turn down these voices inside my head...Bonnie sings while I think,I can’t. I’ve tried. I can’t.
My gaze catches my engagement ring reflecting in the green neon sign and I take a step back, exhaling the delicious ache in my chest. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I force a smile and as he opens his mouth to explain, I cut him off. “Let’s do something fun.”
He eyes me curiously. “This isn’t fun?”
I narrow my eyes. “This is getting serious.” I grab him by his rumpled button-up and pull him toward the doors, tumbling out onto the moonlit street. I scan the small downtown area for an idea and land on the bright pink flashing neon sign that says,Ink it Out.“Let’s get a tattoo.”
“You’re serious?” he asks, though the way his lips curve into a smile and the way his footsteps follow suit indicate that he’s thrilled about this idea.
“Dead serious.”
He grins wide and grabs my hand and we practically skip across the street like a couple of kids at recess.
“Be right with you!” the tattooed blonde hollers from the back.
The tattoo shop feels like I just stepped back into 1999. Framed tattoo stencils fill the walls with green sticker prices next to each, and binders with plastic inserts are stacked on the glass front desk. It smells like ammonia and disinfectant and the loud buzz of the tattoo iron being held by the bald white dude in a leather vest would indicate he hasn’t updated his technique since the 90s.
I love it.
“Will they tattoo us even though we’re drunk?” JP whispers, and I stifle a giggle.
“Of course,” I respond, flipping through the binder. “What are you getting?”
“Well, since I was coerced into getting a tattoo approximately ninety seconds ago...”
I laugh, loud and maniacal, throwing my head back.
“I don’t know if I can decide,” he says, and I laugh again. “I’m serious, Jules.”
“Oh come on, it’s just a tattoo.” I flip to the page with Chinese symbols that no doubt need the translation to be double checked for accuracy.
“Just a tattoo? Jules, they’re permanent. Forever. Forever ever.”
“Don’t be a wuss.” I flip the page again, this time reaching the tribal style tattoos.
I sense him still next to me. “Are you feeling stifled? Watered-down in your life right now? Because this is very unlike you...”
“Don’t therapuetize me.”
“Just pointing out the obvious.”
I glare at him just as the blonde reenters the room. “What can I help you with?”
“Hi. I’d like to get a tiny taco on my wrist, please.”
JP’s jaw drops at my choice but I ignore him
“Hard or soft shell?’ she asks.
“Hard. Wouldn’t want anyone to think it’s a burrito,” I quip.
“Heaven forbid!” JP gasps out with mock outrage.
I laugh. The tattoo artist doesn’t, and since I’m still drunk, I laugh harder.
